The other day, one of my Jewish friends was telling me how she thinks people would be much happier these days if Hitler had won. She says that a Nazi world is a simple world. I asked her if she thought the world was simple in Dachau, where her grandmother died. She told me I make things too complicated. She said that I would have made a lousy Nazi.
I think she was being a little harsh.
Often, just walking down the street I find myself hating people for no good reason. I think that I am right most of the time, and that people who disagree with me are wrong. I believe these things because I feel as though I think more deeply about the world than everyone else.
It took me just under three years to get to the point where I am able to say the things that I need to without fear of repercussions….
It takes less than a half a century to forget the scars of a million innocent deaths. It takes less than a man being willing and able to make a change in the world that keeps him down.
Down, down, down, so softly speaking to no one in particular. It is a free world that is holding me from telling you all the things that you wish that I could say, but at the same time, I am locked in a vault of lost ideas, of unspoken beliefs, of forgotten vendettas…
I am on an island in the China sea right now and I am walking freely, feeling no compassion for the bands of emaciated and wild dogs that roam the streets looking for handouts or perhaps just each other’s company.
It is a free world, and that is what we often forget. That others are not doomed to share our own beliefs.
This freedom can make the world an ideological prison for the small-souled. What is it that can either feeds a soul or cuts it off to atrophy, to wither and die? To fall off in a gangrenous heap and dissolve into its surroundings?
If we were all large-souled, if we were all free enough, then would there be space for emptiness? The emptiness upon which we can project our freedom? The emptiness that serves as a stage for the human spirit in a world slowly filling up with millions of people?
We need to change the way that we think about numbers of people about population. We need to think in terms of volume, not numbers, to see the world around us as a whole unpunctuated with that unpleasant otherness that keeps ‘them’ away from ‘us.’
The shit begins so early in life – just as we start to put up the walls that tell us what is knowable and what is easy versus what is unknowable and difficult.
Why are we so able and willing to accept things that will make it more difficult for us to achieve more in the future? We, the little human flowers, are pollenated by these same vices that we are told to avoid.
We need to kill our own assumptions and certainties about how the world works in recognition that everyone’s interpretation of the facts is pre-tailored to their own vision of the world – not the other way around. And as it is, we are all right. It is all valid. Even the insane. It is an insurmountable task to unify a world with such diametrically opposed views. But breaking apart our own views, assumptions, and certainties – is that a cure for diametric opposition itself?
She is an educated American. College graduate. She can program a computer and she works in a lab. She feels as though she has seen the world because she has been to Europe. While she was there she spent two weeks in Paris, which is where Americans who want to go to Europe go to say that they have been to Europe. She spent some time at the Louvre with the friends that he was travelling with and they took pictures of each other playing in the sculpture gardens. They partied with other travelers in their youth hostel located just beneath the cathedral of the sacred heart. They saw the Eiffel tower and celebrated bastille day.
They danced in clubs that are frequented by North American tourists and Parisians who want to pick up North American tourists. They speak no French. When people meet them on the street and ask if they might be American, they say, “No, Canadian.” Easier than a political discussion around imagined political views. Were Europeans to challenge their political views, they would simply say that it was not their fault as they had not vote for President Bush.
They see evidence of a political climate that is different from that back home in the homeless and the varied racial makeup of the denizens of this old European capital. They make jokes at night about the frogs, snails, and funny accents. They miss the food back home, and see the local cuisine as a necessary price to pay for their exciting experiences. They meet a group of local guys (charming with cute accents) and they kiss on the dance floor of the club. Their furtive attempts to explore the sweaty terrain covered by Abercrombie and Fitch halter-tops are giggly swiped away, but after closing time, in a back alley, a full expedition is encouraged by rhythmic swaying of American hips in the humid Parisian summer night.
They all have boyfriends back home who can’t understand why they would waste their short summer break from graduate school to frolic around in a country that has no relevance to or common history with America. They explain themselves and the trip, saying simply that it is all in the interest of international understanding. How can the world change, they wonder, if there are no brave souls willing to make that first tentative leap across the Atlantic to extend a hand of friendship to our European brothers who are so misled as to the true nature of the American soul.
These ambassadors of good will, who, through sloppy, drunken blowjobs, have drained their Parisian suitors dry, are now stumbling home with their arms around each others’ shoulders, singing the American anthem at the top of their lungs. They’ll go back home to America tomorrow, but they have made some fantastic friends here in Paris, and the memories, the memories will last a lifetime.
All in the name of international understanding.
Back at school, their graduate programs are bursting with foreign students. And now, they will be joined by these newly-minted, open minded, worldly Americans.