There’s a movie (I can’t remember which, unfortunately) in which a couple of young people enter the home of an old lady in Florida and kill her. Their justification is that the old lady’s pension funds -and her decisions to have them-, have killed many more people and she is therefore guilty of their death.
It’s weird to discuss this online, and the weirdest thing is probably that I don’t even feel very strongly. I should scream my head off in despair, but instead I just “sense”, on some intellectual level, that something is wrong. If anything, I feel like I’m rather more sensitive than the rest of the population and secretly I can be a bit smug.
A guy called Robert hasn’t been able to find work for nearly a decade. He owns a field, but the crop has failed. He has no money and no food. Nobody around him has money or food so he can’t even beg. Maybe there is food on the shelves of a shop a few miles from where Robert lives, but he cannot afford it. So Robert went without eating, apart from tree leaves. He got so weak that he was admitted to hospital. Yet, the hospital did not keep him. They discharged him, telling to eat more or he would die. Food was not an option. Robert prepared to die. He said goodbye to his family and kids. He prayed to God for their welfare. After a couple of weeks Robert died.
I’m not making up this story. I’m not even making up Robert’s name. I Skype to Rwanda and I think that’s way cool. I’m good at networking, at linking people to each other. I speak several foreign languages. I’m reasonably clever. Yet I did not find a way to network with Robert. I did not implore my church and my work colleagues to help me find solutions. I was busy with other things.
If Robert had been my brother I’m sure I would have found a way. How complicated can it be to wire some cash directly to Malawi? People who have loved ones in Malawi do it all the time. By the looks of it, I have no loved ones in Malawi. Robert died of hunger and I did nothing. And I knew, the whole time.
Or rather, I sort of knew… Because I did not dig up the topic all that much. I sort of knew that there was a famine going on. Terrible stuff, but like I said, I was busy. There is a scene in The Pianist where the main character manages to emerge from the ghetto in which he’d been hiding, alone, everybody else having been deported. When he gets into the normal streets, people are buying bread, cheese, flowers, life goes on normally. Don’t find out. Don’t find out. Don’t look too closely. Stay safe. It’s none of our business.
By the looks of it, I have the moral fibre of a N*zi-supporter. I’m worried that God will never forgive me the death of Robert and my refusal to find out whether the stuff Robert went through is happening right now to someone else. I’m worried that God will never set me free me from the sin of indifference. I’m actually letting my Lord starve, knowingly. I haven’t yet taken any significant steps to demonstrate solidarity with those who, like Robert, are excluded from the capitalist project.
It’s weird to discuss this online, and the weirdest thing is probably that I don’t even feel very strongly. I should scream my head off in despair, but instead I just “sense”, on some intellectual level, that something is wrong. If anything, I feel like I’m rather more sensitive than the rest of the population and secretly I can be a bit smug.
A guy called Robert hasn’t been able to find work for nearly a decade. He owns a field, but the crop has failed. He has no money and no food. Nobody around him has money or food so he can’t even beg. Maybe there is food on the shelves of a shop a few miles from where Robert lives, but he cannot afford it. So Robert went without eating, apart from tree leaves. He got so weak that he was admitted to hospital. Yet, the hospital did not keep him. They discharged him, telling to eat more or he would die. Food was not an option. Robert prepared to die. He said goodbye to his family and kids. He prayed to God for their welfare. After a couple of weeks Robert died.
I’m not making up this story. I’m not even making up Robert’s name. I Skype to Rwanda and I think that’s way cool. I’m good at networking, at linking people to each other. I speak several foreign languages. I’m reasonably clever. Yet I did not find a way to network with Robert. I did not implore my church and my work colleagues to help me find solutions. I was busy with other things.
If Robert had been my brother I’m sure I would have found a way. How complicated can it be to wire some cash directly to Malawi? People who have loved ones in Malawi do it all the time. By the looks of it, I have no loved ones in Malawi. Robert died of hunger and I did nothing. And I knew, the whole time.
Or rather, I sort of knew… Because I did not dig up the topic all that much. I sort of knew that there was a famine going on. Terrible stuff, but like I said, I was busy. There is a scene in The Pianist where the main character manages to emerge from the ghetto in which he’d been hiding, alone, everybody else having been deported. When he gets into the normal streets, people are buying bread, cheese, flowers, life goes on normally. Don’t find out. Don’t find out. Don’t look too closely. Stay safe. It’s none of our business.
By the looks of it, I have the moral fibre of a N*zi-supporter. I’m worried that God will never forgive me the death of Robert and my refusal to find out whether the stuff Robert went through is happening right now to someone else. I’m worried that God will never set me free me from the sin of indifference. I’m actually letting my Lord starve, knowingly. I haven’t yet taken any significant steps to demonstrate solidarity with those who, like Robert, are excluded from the capitalist project.
Small steps yes. I have taken lots of small steps. Tiny steps which serve as a smoke screen to hide the callousness of my indifference but still make me look all nice and spiritual to outsiders. I'm sure the devil loves those outrightly disobedient small steps. I would if I were him. The truth is that I don’t even dare to pray. So I try to hold prayer in but I can't. I cry for the mercy of God on my life. I'm crazy to even hope.
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