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An article I read on a Honduran teenager jailed by police has me reading articles on illegal immigration to Canada and the drug trade, the manifold problems faced by the poor of Central America, and other related issues. The reason for my interest is the original article; as soon as I read it a thousand ideas boiled to life in my mind. Suddenly I wanted to create Mage characters and write stories and create a manga; suddenly I was moving the story from Honduras to outer space to feudal Japan; suddenly I was visualizing Serious Novels the length of Tad Williams' To Green Angel Tower, trailing Pullitzers and pretensions in equal measure.
These are, and the last especially, no more than the vague wanderings of an overactive imagination, but they have me sitting here at my computer reading depressing journalistic articles when I ought to be sleeping or at the very least cleaning my apartment. Reading, and wondering at a whole world's worth of misery.
I've never been able to devote myself to any one cause, really. My mother is on a crusade for Venice since her trip there this past summer. Now she studies Italian (and French) with a zealot's passion, uses the internet to hunt down articles about the rising waters of the lagoon where the city is built, and has persuaded my father to add Save-Venice-related charities to the list of donations he makes every year (and carefully enumerates on his tax returns). I helped her to find some of those articles while I was at home (even minimal skills seem impressive to those who lack them entirely), and listened patiently to her rant on the importance of saving Venice, the various things that have caused damage to Venice, and where were the environmentalists when they were dredging the channel and damaging the fragile balance of factors that keeps the city above water level?
"They were there, but no one ever listens to environmentalists, Mom," I said. "Politicians make the decisions. Politicians need money to get elected, so they listen to the people who have money. Environmentalists don't have money, so no one listens to them. They just get to sit around in the aftermath and say 'I told you so,' which doesn't really make anyone happy, least of all them."
And why the hell did environmentalists care so much about a few stupid species of birds or fish, anyway, when the cultural and artistic and architectural treasures of Venice were in such peril? Why weren't they devoting themselves to preserving Venice?
"Different value system, Mom. Environmentalists value life and the natural world over all other things. You value history, art, and the product of human skill and effort."
Not to be insulting my mother, really, she simply wasn't in a mood to be reasonable. And she was, and is, passionately devoted to her cause, which I personally see as admirable. Mostly because I . . . am not.
Venice is in peril, and it's a truly beautiful city, a treasure that belongs to all humankind, a physical reminder of what we can achieve given will and effort and time. Honduras is poor, turbulent, and constantly plagued by gang violence that feasts on the younger generations. Somalia and Ethiopia are experiencing terrible droughts; millions will die of starvation without billions in food and medical aid. In South America, acres of rainforest go up in smoke every minute, and marvelous creatures that no human has ever seen vanish unknown. Racism runs rampant in more countries than I can count, and mini- and not-so-mini Holocausts occur unreported, forgotten. The hole in the ozone layer widens by the day. There is no cure of AIDS, and no vaccine, either. Bird flu is no longer restricted to Asian countries. Every year, the dirty, acidic tears of the sky strip another fine layer from priceless monuments and sculptures around the world. Governments worldwide play fast and loose with the ethical principles their figureheads mouth, and we're no closer to world peace than we ever have been.
Gods, where do I ever start? How can I decide to throw myself, body and soul, into the preservation of the blue whale, or the pyramids of Egypt, or the rebuilding of New Jersey beaches? There's so much need out there, so much to be done, so many causes that demand my attention, my awareness-- that DESERVE it, that NEED it, and not just a little of it. No, they need all of it, every little bit, except every one of them needs it, urgently, right now, yesterday, ten years ago.
Sometimes I feel as if the best thing I can do is simply live my small life and try desperately not to add to any of the manifold problems out there-- an impossible goal, and a luxury that I do not deserve in the least. And certainly not in the face of so much suffering, so much tragedy.
And sometimes I feel as if it's all inevitable, all of it, the suffering and destruction and death, and that no matter what we do it will continue. That indeed it has continued for longer than human history. How much has been lost, over the centuries? How many paintings burned, how many dodos have there been? How many wars have been fought, where afterwards people swore that it would never happen again, that their war was the war to end all wars, so terrible that such a mistake never could be repeated? And yet, and yet, and yet.
Neither attitude is a good one, because they lead to nothing. They lead to people giving up, and that is the one thing we cannot, must not do, not now, not ever. Because if we would end it, or at least if we would stand against the tide, it will not be done by resignation. If there is indeed nothing we can do, is it not all the more beautiful to try? And what if there is a solution, to every problem, what if we can progress, move forward? What if we already have? If so, surely it was not due to willfull ignorance, or pitiful inaction, or people telling themselves that they couldn't change things, the way of the world, such a shame but there you go . . .
Surely not.
Action, inaction . . . they tear at the fragile strength of me from both sides. I despair, and somehow between them I do not despair. I will not hide from it, no. Because sometimes I wonder if in fact the best thing I can do is walk through this crumbling world with my eyes open, and say, "I see you."
And never, ever look away.
These are, and the last especially, no more than the vague wanderings of an overactive imagination, but they have me sitting here at my computer reading depressing journalistic articles when I ought to be sleeping or at the very least cleaning my apartment. Reading, and wondering at a whole world's worth of misery.
I've never been able to devote myself to any one cause, really. My mother is on a crusade for Venice since her trip there this past summer. Now she studies Italian (and French) with a zealot's passion, uses the internet to hunt down articles about the rising waters of the lagoon where the city is built, and has persuaded my father to add Save-Venice-related charities to the list of donations he makes every year (and carefully enumerates on his tax returns). I helped her to find some of those articles while I was at home (even minimal skills seem impressive to those who lack them entirely), and listened patiently to her rant on the importance of saving Venice, the various things that have caused damage to Venice, and where were the environmentalists when they were dredging the channel and damaging the fragile balance of factors that keeps the city above water level?
"They were there, but no one ever listens to environmentalists, Mom," I said. "Politicians make the decisions. Politicians need money to get elected, so they listen to the people who have money. Environmentalists don't have money, so no one listens to them. They just get to sit around in the aftermath and say 'I told you so,' which doesn't really make anyone happy, least of all them."
And why the hell did environmentalists care so much about a few stupid species of birds or fish, anyway, when the cultural and artistic and architectural treasures of Venice were in such peril? Why weren't they devoting themselves to preserving Venice?
"Different value system, Mom. Environmentalists value life and the natural world over all other things. You value history, art, and the product of human skill and effort."
Not to be insulting my mother, really, she simply wasn't in a mood to be reasonable. And she was, and is, passionately devoted to her cause, which I personally see as admirable. Mostly because I . . . am not.
Venice is in peril, and it's a truly beautiful city, a treasure that belongs to all humankind, a physical reminder of what we can achieve given will and effort and time. Honduras is poor, turbulent, and constantly plagued by gang violence that feasts on the younger generations. Somalia and Ethiopia are experiencing terrible droughts; millions will die of starvation without billions in food and medical aid. In South America, acres of rainforest go up in smoke every minute, and marvelous creatures that no human has ever seen vanish unknown. Racism runs rampant in more countries than I can count, and mini- and not-so-mini Holocausts occur unreported, forgotten. The hole in the ozone layer widens by the day. There is no cure of AIDS, and no vaccine, either. Bird flu is no longer restricted to Asian countries. Every year, the dirty, acidic tears of the sky strip another fine layer from priceless monuments and sculptures around the world. Governments worldwide play fast and loose with the ethical principles their figureheads mouth, and we're no closer to world peace than we ever have been.
Gods, where do I ever start? How can I decide to throw myself, body and soul, into the preservation of the blue whale, or the pyramids of Egypt, or the rebuilding of New Jersey beaches? There's so much need out there, so much to be done, so many causes that demand my attention, my awareness-- that DESERVE it, that NEED it, and not just a little of it. No, they need all of it, every little bit, except every one of them needs it, urgently, right now, yesterday, ten years ago.
Sometimes I feel as if the best thing I can do is simply live my small life and try desperately not to add to any of the manifold problems out there-- an impossible goal, and a luxury that I do not deserve in the least. And certainly not in the face of so much suffering, so much tragedy.
And sometimes I feel as if it's all inevitable, all of it, the suffering and destruction and death, and that no matter what we do it will continue. That indeed it has continued for longer than human history. How much has been lost, over the centuries? How many paintings burned, how many dodos have there been? How many wars have been fought, where afterwards people swore that it would never happen again, that their war was the war to end all wars, so terrible that such a mistake never could be repeated? And yet, and yet, and yet.
Neither attitude is a good one, because they lead to nothing. They lead to people giving up, and that is the one thing we cannot, must not do, not now, not ever. Because if we would end it, or at least if we would stand against the tide, it will not be done by resignation. If there is indeed nothing we can do, is it not all the more beautiful to try? And what if there is a solution, to every problem, what if we can progress, move forward? What if we already have? If so, surely it was not due to willfull ignorance, or pitiful inaction, or people telling themselves that they couldn't change things, the way of the world, such a shame but there you go . . .
Surely not.
Action, inaction . . . they tear at the fragile strength of me from both sides. I despair, and somehow between them I do not despair. I will not hide from it, no. Because sometimes I wonder if in fact the best thing I can do is walk through this crumbling world with my eyes open, and say, "I see you."
And never, ever look away.
