Humanity...

It seems to me (now, in this moment at least) that one of the most difficult things in this world to learn is two fold: what it actually means to be human...and then realizing you fit into that category as well. To many of our Western minds (sorry to any of those who are reading who maybe don't fit that category, I'd love to know if you agree), things that are exceedingly human are a little too much for us. For example, I have a theory regarding Greek philosophy/mythology and Country Music. Yes, that is correct. Greek and Country. OBVIOUSLY. Ha! For me, those two phenomenas are the definition of humanity (just bear with me). Or at least they were. I mean, just think about it. Greek mythology is full of beautiful stories of love, hope, searching for our other half, etc, etc. In the same way, Country music is about families, riding in the back of pickup trucks, open fields, and simplicity. But both are sprinkled with certain parts of humanity we'd rather not acknowledge...it makes us cringe a bit. Love affairs gone bad, wars and treason, revenge, hate, patriarchy and chauvinism gone wild. They both just lay it all out! There's a part of us that reacts quickly to it...or maybe embraces it. But either way, it's because it is all there in us, somewhere.

I've begun to notice that since being here. I've begun to notice humanity, what it truly is about. This past weekend was a full weekend of the arts here in Cape Town. Good art always shoves humanity right up in your face doesn't it? It's like you can hear, smell it, taste it, feel it. To me, at least, that is good art. It gives a face and/or words to ideas and beliefs that beforehand had simply been wondering through people's minds or growing in their hearts.

Anyway, on Friday night I went to three artistic venues around town, all a bit on the spur of the moment. The first was a poetry reading at the Slave Lodge with poetry written by a former slave who had been lodged there, Ansella van de Caab. At first there was a moment of deep disappointment when I found out that the reading was going to be done in Afrikaans. "Booo!" I thought. But afterwards, there was time for readings and performances by local poets, most of them young (my age or below). And they were outstanding! There were pleads to "Mother Africa," asking her why she has stayed so quiet in the face of such injustices against her. You couldn't help but to think of a strong, life-giving and sustaining woman who had been brutalized, abused, even raped. All the while, her children cry out for her to take her rightful place again as a source of strength, nurturing, nourishment, wisdom, and humble power. And then to realize my own part, my country's part in that brutalization and injustice. Ouch. There was a woman who stood up and recited a poem about her and her connection to her past. So much of it unknown, except for the fact that she is descended from slaves...from the very people who were in that very room centuries ago. Humanity.

The second venue I went to with my friend, Annika, when we thought we were going to meet my friends Jan and Frithjof at an experimental jazz concert. Ends up we go to a theatre production that was out of this world. Seriously, folks, it is almost impossible to describe here. I still don't know what happened. All is know is that the story revolved around a young South African black student who is visited by his ancestors in a dream. Not only do they take him away, but they also took the whole audience away. The acting was unbelievable. We were lead by one of his ancestors out into a courtyard area with fires and dancing and dreams. But first we were lead through 4 different areas, each with an ancestor who was sobbing. A woman washing clothes, a young girl shaking, crying and throwing herself at members of the audience violently, and more. By the time I made it to the courtyard I was totally confused, and the fact that there was no English and only Xhosa did not help. Even once we got into the courtyard and the stories/poems were displayed in English as the actors spoke, danced, and fought...I was still so confused! It ended with a ring of fire, peopling washing themselves and one another with water (actors and audience), and everyone dancing around the flames. We heard perhaps it was an ancient cleansing ritual? Seriously, you now know as much as I do. But how I wish I understood! An understanding that would allow full participation, full knowledge. Humanity.

Lastly, we finally met up with Jan and some other friends I had met last weekend at the "experimental jazz" concert. And it was most definitely experimental. No beat. But what was lacking in beat, was made up with passion. As I watched the 60 year old man beat away on the drums there was something beautiful about it, even though it was something completely strange. And the saxophonist! He literally played that thing so hard I thought he was going to collapse on stage, multiple times. One time he just was blowing air through the sax because he had nothing more to give...he was totally and completely spent, with sweat pouring over his bald head and face. And I thought to myself, "Hell's bells...I wish I put that much passion and energy into what I loved and did!" Can you imagine!? Humanity.

Maybe its the fact that I am away, that I'm surrounded by the unfamiliar. Perhaps that is where my new eyes are coming from. But does that mean it isn't truth? That it isn't real just because I wouldn't have seen it in Saint Louis, Boston, New York, or even Europe? I think things there are just too pretty. The people are too pretty. And we, those people, want the pretty. Why would we want the ugly? Why would we want the numbers of dead soldiers? The pictures of terrorist attacks? The stories of hunger, malnutrition, corporate greed? Our own history, our sins against one another? Who wants to encounter it...to see it? Not many. I think we, and I, would much rather prefer to take the world and humanity to the gift wrapping station at our local mall and watch the nice elderly woman from the Humane Society with her cat Sugar cut the wrapping paper perfectly and then tie a wonderful little bow around top. Ah! How nice!

Plus, it is one thing to talk about the injustice of the world, but it is an entirely different thing to address the world's differences, our seemingly incompatible ways of living, learning, and/or loving. Ancestors? Dancing? Fire? Mother Africa? Jazz with no beat? A sweaty saxophone with no sound? Poetry in a foreign language? Our responses could range from "weird" to "freaky" to "back that shit up." Ha! Excuse my French, but you know what I'm saying?! And let me tell you, it's a lot easier to take out your list of labels and start sticking them to everything you see. Weird. Bizarre. Wrong. Patriarchal. Racist. Demonic. Unsophisticated. Out-dated. Stupid. Liberal. Conservative. Heathen. Religious. Close-minded. Dangerous. It doesn't take all the uneasiness away, but it doesn't leave you with many lingering feelings or questions. It others it instantly. That's not me, it's them/that/it. But what if we are forced to open up? What if we choose to lower those walls? Put the quick-fix labels away? What if we begin to see it as human? To begin to see ourselves through another's eyes? What would they think if they were with you, looking into your life, your culture, your beliefs, your religion? What if?

Humanity. How uncomfortable. How deep and intricately woven. How bruised, battered, and painful. How beautiful, loving, and good. How dichotomous. How needy. But we should not be fooled into thinking it is only experienced in art. It is in the taxi rides here, smashed together with 21 other people a van hurdling down a two lane city street. It is on the streets with the beggars. It is in the encounters with my clients and friends at the Scalabrini Centre. It is sharing the burdens of friends and loved ones. But it is hard to see, let alone encounter, from a 10-lane highway. It is difficult to feel in our foolishly pretty societies. Pretty for whom? For me? For my neighbor? It is there, we may even see it, even in our pretty lives and neighborhoods, but there is a safe distance. A wall. A label. A perceived sin that enforces separation. A mistrust. An othering.

I want to leave you with a quote by Mother Theresa, perhaps one of the few people of our time who truly knew humanity and chose to encounter it. "If we have no peace, it is because we have forgotten that we belong to each other. "