A house burning
The beginning of a song I started writing a couple days ago:
One week ago I got news that a man I used to work with in northern Uganda was brutally murdered. Though I was not especially close with him I did appreciate him, and the news affected me deeply. It sat me down and laid out before me, once again, all the disparity between our wealthy homeland and places like northern Uganda, the great gap between our opportunities and theirs, between our vast array of choices and their imprisonment in cycles of poverty and violence.
Sitting here in San Diego I am impotent to address this tragedy; I can not offer comfort or commiseration, peace or vengeance. I can not be there to celebrate his life or help lay him in the finality of the open earth.
One thing I can do is live my life with constant remembrance of our suffering neighbors in Uganda, in Sudan, Congo, and Somalia, in Sierra Leone and Cote d'Ivoire, in Burma and North Korea, and in hundreds of other locales throughout the globe, letting our common humanity and innate equality inform my choices.
I realized last week, though, that I haven't been doing this. Many of my decisions have the oily sheen of self-absorption, even though I know better than most how little I need my own concern, and how much others might rightly benefit from it.
Moreover, I realized again that my empathy is extremely limited (empathy in this case synonimizing with love or selflessness). Though I have seen great suffering around the world, my attention seems so easily lulled away from anything of consequence. Hence, I believe, the song lyrics that my subconscious delivered up to me: "I wonder why I'm not crying."
Perhaps these are the growing pains of a heart. More to come on these themes.
There's a house burning across the streetThese lyrics surfaced on my consciousness while driving through Balboa Park earlier this week. I wasn't trying to create at the time - they sang themselves to me.
I think I hear people dying
And I watch its glow upon my feet
And wonder why I'm not crying
One week ago I got news that a man I used to work with in northern Uganda was brutally murdered. Though I was not especially close with him I did appreciate him, and the news affected me deeply. It sat me down and laid out before me, once again, all the disparity between our wealthy homeland and places like northern Uganda, the great gap between our opportunities and theirs, between our vast array of choices and their imprisonment in cycles of poverty and violence.
Sitting here in San Diego I am impotent to address this tragedy; I can not offer comfort or commiseration, peace or vengeance. I can not be there to celebrate his life or help lay him in the finality of the open earth.
One thing I can do is live my life with constant remembrance of our suffering neighbors in Uganda, in Sudan, Congo, and Somalia, in Sierra Leone and Cote d'Ivoire, in Burma and North Korea, and in hundreds of other locales throughout the globe, letting our common humanity and innate equality inform my choices.
I realized last week, though, that I haven't been doing this. Many of my decisions have the oily sheen of self-absorption, even though I know better than most how little I need my own concern, and how much others might rightly benefit from it.
Moreover, I realized again that my empathy is extremely limited (empathy in this case synonimizing with love or selflessness). Though I have seen great suffering around the world, my attention seems so easily lulled away from anything of consequence. Hence, I believe, the song lyrics that my subconscious delivered up to me: "I wonder why I'm not crying."
Perhaps these are the growing pains of a heart. More to come on these themes.
Labels: Economic Injustice, Northern Uganda, Thoughts
posted by James at 01:57
5 comments
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