Nisadas

I was reading Seth Godin recently on Demonization. Whilst he writes  what would be interpreted as a marketing-centric post, he makes a very valid point.

The closer you get to someone, something, some brand, some organization… the harder it is to demonize it, objectify it or hate it.

Reading through Achcharu today, I also came across some interesting posts – Indi’s rant against the diaspora in Canada and Rajaratarala’s innovative suggestion for reconciliation.

My socio-political views have and will be private, and are unlikely to be published. However, in all three cases above, one point is common – isolation from each other contributes most to the rifts in society. Seth talks about (or at least I interpret it to be) how being isolated from an issue makes it easier to demonize it; Indi talks about the Diaspora and how they talk to themselves in the comfort of Canada about the war in Sri Lanka; Rajaratarala talks about how giving the opportunity for the internally displaced to live normal lives again will help heal the wounds of war.

During my studies in secondary school, I had the opportunity to be part of the Interact movement (of which perhaps the less said now, the better). Through this I was able to make friends from different schools and different ethnic and religious backgrounds. The single biggest lesson I learnt from this was that there was just so much we all had in common. Teenagers the world over will have the same issues, albeit in different languages and different settings. Why else was Dawson’s Creek so popular amongst TV viewing Sri Lankan teenagers?

Closeted away in their own little enclaves, it’s easier for people to demonize others and act all morally superior. But then again, it takes a lot of confidence and courage to buck the trend and actually treat others as human beings and not as the labels they choose to stick themselves with.

But it all comes down to the fact that you’re no different from me or the person next to you. You didn’t choose the race you were born in to. You didn’t choose the country you were born in to. You can choose who you are – what your actions will mean in the greater scheme of things, no matter how small.

I only hope that the future holds for all of us the freedom to live our lives in relative normalcy and worry about stuff like learning new things, holding a job, raising a family and such-like – problems that have been around as long as civilisation.

In conclusion, I’d like to share something that Terry Pratchett wrote in his book Interesting Times, where the wizard Rincewind while running away from a major battle, finds himself in a field criss-crossed with drainage ditches (I’m hoping that this excerpt falls within fair-use, please notify me if it doesn’t – I can’t afford a lawsuit ):

Someone was watching him.

It was a water buffalo.

It would be wrong to say it watched him with interest. It just watched him, because its eyes were open and had to be facing in some direction, and it had randomly chosen one which included Rincewind.

Its face held the completely serene expression of a creature that had long ago realized that it was, fundamentally, a tube on legs and had been installed in the universe to, broadly speaking, achieve throughput.

At the other end of the string was a man, ankle-deep in the mud of the field. He had a broad straw hat, like every other buffalo holder. He had the basic pyjama suit of the Agatean man-in-the-field. And he had an expression not of idiocy, but of preoccupation. He was looking at Rincewind. As with the buffalo, this was only because his eyes had to be doing something.

Despite the pressing dangers, Rincewind found himself overcome by a sudden curiosity.

‘Er. Good morning,’ he said.

The man gave him a nod. The water buffalo made the sound of regurgitating cud.

‘Er. Sorry if this is a personal question,’ said Rincewind, ‘but . . . I can’t help wondering . . . why do you stand out in the fields all day with the water buffalo?’

The man thought about it.

‘Good for soil,’ he said eventually.

‘But doesn’t it waste a lot of time?’ said Rincewind.

The man gave this due appraisal also.

‘What’s time to a cow?’ he said.

Rincewind reversed back on to the highway of reality.

‘You see those armies over there?’ he said.

The buffalo holder concentrated his gaze.

‘Yes,’ he decided.

‘They’re fighting for you.’

The man did not appear moved by this. The water buffalo burped gently.

‘Some want to see you enslaved and some want you to run the country, or at least to let them run the country while telling you it’s you doing it really,’ said Rincewind. There’s going to be a terrible battle. I can’t help wondering . . . What do you want?’

The buffalo holder absorbed this one for consideration, too. And it seemed to Rincewind that the slowness of the thought process wasn’t due to native stupidity, but more to do with the sheer size of the question. He could feel it spreading out so that it incorporated the soil and the grass and the sun and headed on out into the universe.

Finally the man said:

‘A longer piece of string would be nice.’

Before you point it out, Yes, I’m an apolitical idealist who is quite possibly out of touch with the world around him.

Or maybe not. I’ll fill you in once I’ve figured it out.