Thursday, September 28, 2017

The Bane of Human Neglect (Essay by Bob Racine)


Just about every weeknight my wife and I watch the evening news on PBS television while we eat our dinner off trays brought from the kitchen to the living room.  You might say that we fill our stomachs with the meal while we fill our heads with the details of current events.  One is a treat, the other a process of keeping educated about history in the making, not all of which is gratifying to say the least.  Normally this practice poses no great problem, but occasionally we come across things on the broadcast that leave a somewhat bitter taste in the mouth to go with the taste of supper, and they do not make for a very good mix. 

Recently we were indulging in our nightly banquet when a segment was run pertaining to widespread hunger.  As is PBS’s policy we were told ahead of time that some of the images we were about to see may be upsetting for some viewers.  I do not recall the exact country in which the shocking scenes were taking place; I think it was one of the African nations – Somalia perhaps or South Sudan.  But that word of caution by the station could not have been more fitting than it was on that occasion.  I remember seeing children with skeletal bodies, with flies buzzing around their heads – heads that could seemingly not move, even though the openness of their eyes indicated that there was still some life in what was left of them, but for how long?  Children, no less!  Some of these inhabitants had swollen stomachs. We saw some victims lying in roadways or curled on dusty ground and even some who were being treated in makeshift hospitals wrapped up in somebody’s embrace.   I would not be surprised to view such conditions if I had been watching scenes from liberated concentration camps after World War II, but this was 2017, a year in which industrialized barbarity was not supposed to happen, when the lessons of the past had taught us that genocide is a scourge that no one wants to repeat.     

I saw all this as I surveyed the dinner tray in front of me, all the nourishing items that my wife had so wonderfully prepared.  There they were on the screen gasping for life, and here we were living high on the hog, delighting in the plentiful bounty that was available to us in our suburban environment, in our secure and well heated and well preserved habitat.

Can we even begin to imagine what it is like to literally not know where the next meal is coming from?  When we affluent westerners run out of a commodity of fruit or vegetable or meat, we always take for granted that it can be replaced.  What do we do?  We just hop down to our favorite super market and buy more, knowing before we set foot in the place that it will be there.  And if we do not have the cash, we swipe the little card and charge it to credit.  We go through these motions without thinking about them.  Maybe we will grouse a bit, if the store is unusually crowded and we have to stand longer than we like in the checkout line.  We may complain, if one of the apples is a bit sour; we may even feel as if we have been cheated.  We do not worry that any one of our favorite foods is going to run out and become worrisomely scarce.  We all know of the hungry thousands, but we do not dwell on the subject as we spread the next serving of butter across our fresh bread or chew into our next fragment of fresh meat or silently swoon over our next mouthful of tasty peas and carrots. 

It should come as no surprise that my initial sensory reaction to those images intruding upon our dinner was the feeling that my appetite was about to desert me.  I watched the wretched bodies and suddenly I could hardly taste what I was eating.  And needless to say I was also flooded with mixed emotions.  Anyone who could watch that display of suffering and not feel at least momentarily shaken is someone for whom I feel gravely sorry.  

I have met people who sincerely believe that the resources of the earth are limited, that there is not enough to go around to everybody, hence there is supposed to be truth in the old bromide that there are “the haves and the have-nots”, that that is a fact of life, unchangeable and unalterable and that the haves must accept it.  If I believed that, I would have had no adverse reaction to those TV images, perhaps a little pity but for the most part I would have drawn a deep breath of relief that I am on the prosperous side of that implacable barrier.  And when we create this world view, we move many feet and inches and perhaps miles closer to feeling superior to those have-nots.  And beyond that we start assigning status to them, based on race, religion, skin color or station.

All kinds of emotions swept down upon me.   First of all came shock.  None of what I was seeing matched anything I had quite witnessed before anywhere.  I felt a bit numb when those images assaulted me.  This was no science fiction, no horror movie deriving from some imaginative writer/director’s pool of daring and curiosity.  This was certified realism captured by a roving camera’s eye.  

And I felt intense anger.  I was mad as hell at the powers that be in that country. How could they by any logic whatsoever have let conditions come to this?   These people were suffering from not only neglect but from political repression.  Somebody’s sense of governmental priority had been corrupted. The barons of the land had laid claim to territory for the most outrageous of reasons, ones that subordinated innocent native civilians to the ash heaps.  It was outright cruelty, insensitive, blind power used to either enslave or to crush, whichever suited the purpose of those who wrote the rules for needless warfare.  Somebody somewhere had decided not to know about things going on in their very backyard.  Of course, we are all tempted to live on that level.  We can so easily choose not to know – choose not to know – about people next door.  After all, who has the time to be bothered

And I felt frustration – the realization of how helpless I was; I wanted to act, but I was frozen in place. And there lurked in my mind a resentment at being forced to watch.  How dare they impose upon my supper hour!  How dare the news people interfere with my comfort!  I begin to understand those who avoid the news altogether or certain aspects of it for the simple reason that it is depressing. Why torture myself?  Why give myself nightmares, when I’m not in a position to remedy what I see? And along with this emotion comes the confounding question of how our remoteness from the centers of power can be overcome.  We want to say, “I’ve been there already; I’ve sweated through that.  Don’t make me do that again.” But of course we know we have to do it again and again.  And alongside this feeling of being invaded was the feeling of embarrassment.  Though I knew that those people on the screen could not see me, I was hesitant to look them in the eye just the same, those eyes that bulged from their faces and bore into mine.            

Guilt was lurking around.  I started reviewing in my mind what I have done to answer the cry of the hungry millions.  Seeing what we saw brings you up short.  You feel as if you have been caught in the act of committing a crime.  

But you know, when you get past the shock, that no such crime has been perpetrated.  Guilt in and of itself is the bluntest of devices for treating the problem of human neglect.  It is only human to be made to feel guilty when there is no basis for the charge of real guilt.  We are all vulnerable that way.  But we have to remember that we are all individually responsible for the oversight of our own consciences.  Our feeling of guilt is no real gift to the needy.  They do not benefit from it.  The only thing they benefit from are our actions, our well planned investments of material resources, our informed donations, a well cultivated spirit of generosity.

One reason I value so much the news accounts on PBS is the time they take sifting through the subject matter, presenting all sides of a political issue, completing the picture.  There is no heavy hand of rhetoric trying to massage our brains.   No one is stumping or attempting to rabble rouse us into some kind of drastic subservience to a cause.  I can watch a program that exposes hunger and starvation in its rawest form without honestly considering myself under siege.  Disturbed maybe!  Heartbroken!  Unsettled!  But not manipulated into impotent guilt. 

So where does all this leave us?  After we have moved beyond the shock and the anger and the momentary guilt, where do we find ourselves?  Nursing our hatred for the perpetrators of such inhumanity will serve no good purpose.  It would be tantamount to gagging on our own bitterness and bile.  We cannot afford to wrap ourselves up in that cloak of abject sorrow until we smother ourselves to death.  I can only speak for myself, but for me what soothes the mind and heart is to tune my ear to hear and my eye to see the abundance of humanitarian activity presently taking place in our world answering the summons of vast need in the Gulf States and in the Caribbean where hurricanes and devastating storms have ravished the homes and the livelihoods of millions of people who themselves face the possible terror of hunger and dehumanization.  Arms and hands are being extended throughout our nation and stretching every nerve to come to the assistance of those who are under threat.  However much the increase in rains and floods may be due to the warming of the earth, however small the world may be getting it becomes clear to all who observe that people across the globe are becoming more of a family than ever before perhaps due to that smallness.  The Global Village is still in play.  Its inhabitants are looking more and more upon the suffering millions and recognizing that they are indeed our sisters and brothers.  Thousands are internalizing that realization.  In that direction the hope of humanity lies.


To read other entries in my blog, please consult its website:  enspiritus.blogspot.com.  To know about me, consult the autobiographical entry on the website for Dec. 5, 2016.

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