Tag Archives: books

Destroying Good

I recently read this in a book by Barbara Demick called “Nothing to Envy,” on the North Korean famine.

“Yet another gratuitous cruelty: the killer targets the most innocent, the people who would never steal food, lie, cheat, break the law, or betray a friend. It was a phenomenon that the Italian writer Primo Levi identified after emerging from Auschwitz, when he wrote that he and his fellow survivors never wanted to see one another again after the war because they had all done something of which they were ashamed.

“As Mrs. Song would observe a decade later, when she thought back on all the people she knew who died during those years in Chongjin, it was the “simple and kindhearted people who did what they were told – they were the first to die.”

It reminds me the feeling I got when I after I read a recent book by Aminatta Forna on her father – how in post-colonial Africa, good people were often killed by those hungry for power, and often with the backing of Western Governments. If there is anything that shows the depravity of modern society, it is this. We allow good to die, to suffer, and let evil succeed. We promote consumerism over caring, and recognize celebrity over compassion. How many celebrities do you know? Compare to that to how many people helping humanity you know.

We believe that economic growth precedes human rights, that development must take place first before dignity. Yet, in that process of “development” it is when we lose the best of humanity. Who were the 300,000 people who died when Idi Amin was in power in Uganda – the ones who stood up against injustice, or the ones who went along with his repression? Who are the ones in North Korean gulags today? Why is it the brave journalists who report the truth being killed in Russia, while the party-line promoters are getting promotions?

In China, the Dalai Lama, the most genuinely happy person that I’ve ever had the presence to see speak, is demonized and his followers, persecuted. Tibetans who follow the party line, and turn-in suspects to the Government, are rewarded with positions and power. The cultivation – and promotion – of evil, while good people are throw in jail, tortured, and forced into re-education camps just for their beliefs.

Where does good come from? I believe that the ability to be good lies in every person’s heart, but nothing cultivates that good more than being around caring, loving people. A strong, family, something that I’ve been blessed with, is essential to I am. I’ve also seen how people with abusive parents, or bad role models, have to struggle to find themselves. There are amazing exception, but too often, if you’re not surrounded by good, you don’t cultivate it within yourself.

If society demonizes and destroys good, if famines, war, conflict, and strife take the genuine people first, and leave only the selfish people, what sort of society are we building? If we keep destroying the small base of good that exists, then perhaps there is some truth to the right-wing argument that humanity is becoming immoral.

Another book I’m reading is “Carry Me Home,” by Diane McWhorter. Its a poignant, meticulously researched and detailed history written by the daughter of one of Birmingham’s white aristocracy, whose family was part of the machine of repression in the south’s most segregated city. Her ability to write something with such clarity about your own family’s place in a dark, terrible history is incredibly moving,

So there is hope – but only if we are really willing to tackle the darkest depths of our common history, as Ms. McWhorter is bravely doing. After graduation, I plan to do the same.

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Exile vs Traveling

I’m just about to finish reading Aminatta Forna’s book, The Devil that Danced on the Water. The book traced the author’s memories and search for truth about her father, who was killed in a shame trial in their homeland of Sierra Leone.

For three years, from age six to nine, while her father is in jail, her family is forced to stay in England. During that time she aches to go back to her home, feeling out of place, lost, in a foreign country. They aren’t prisoners, though, and do travel around Europe, and to America, but it’s an illusory freedom,

“There is good reason exile was once used as punishment it is a life apart, life on hold, life in waiting. You may begin full of strength and hope, or just ignorance, but it is time, nothing more than the unending passage of time that wears down your resilience like the drip of a tap that carves a groove in to the granite below. Exile is a war of attrition on the soul, it’s a slow punishment, and it works.”

As someone who often travels – some would say, self-imposed exile, grasping the meaning of exile is tough. To us, exile seems like a weak punishment, preferable to jail, or torture. The world is a such a large place, if I’m forced to be outside my home country, I feel it’ll be easy to find another place to call home.

Through her poignant, descriptive writing, though, I felt her longing, her aching, of being away from her place. Humans are a species that craves comfort, despite our new-found modern desires in today’s globalized world. Her father, when he returns from jail, ignores the advice of his friends and confidants to leave Sierra Leone. The few times that he goes abroad, he is always drawn back home? Why?

Even though I am a creature of globalization, someone who has trouble answering the questions “where are you from,” in Forna’s tale I saw a struggle I’ve often dealt with myself. Its no secret that I don’t like NYC, and I often tell people that I prefer San Francisco. But I also tell people that I don’t want to live in San Francisco in the future either. Why? I think that there are two ways to see where you want to be. One is to look, and search, for your ideal city, where you feel the most welcome, where people are interested in similar things to you. San Francisco is far more “my” city than New York. For most of my traveling life, I used to

Forna’s father was a moral man, who cared deeply about his country. He had, by chance, gotten the opportunity to study abroad, to gain an education that none of his siblings could. He took that education, that opportunity, and returned home to try and turn his country, newly independent and full of hope, into a better place. His soul was firmly in Sierra Leone. Exile, was, to him, the greatest punishment possible. It would be cutting off himself from his soul, from the country he loved and tried to help, first as a doctor, then as a politician, and lastly, as a businessman.

To me, though, what is exile? It would be being forced to live outside of my dreams, my passion. There is something incredibly powerful about a man, or woman, who is willing to sacrifice their life, as, sadly, Forna’s father ends up doing, because of their values. That is why I travel. To discover, and build, my own sense of purpose, one that will drive me to my goals. Despite my love of travel, in the end, I want to be someplace where I can make the greatest difference, where I can feel like a full human being. To take that away from me, my family, my home, my sense of place, would be the worst possible punishment. It may seem like a fine line.

I’ve yet to find my purpose, but I know I will.

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