Signs of Spring
Okay, it’s a little hard to focus on optimism when you’re in the midst of a raging head cold. Actually, it’s a little hard to focus, period, when your sinuses feel like they are stuffed with soggy rags, but optimism appears to be a particularly perverse topic at such a moment. And this is the season of dirty crusted snow piles when winter loses much of its charm and begins to feel interminable. Temporary thaws may come and go, but it is too early to be hoping for a glimpse of the first brave crocuses and snowdrops; the trees are still deeply dormant, and even the squirrels and the jays have a scruffy, fed-up, tired of being cold all the time look about them. You have to be a hardened asetic to go to the natural world for inspiration in these slippery, slushy, stuck-frozen February days. That must be why there’s a holiday about chocolate; we all need the endorphins. It’s true we’re on the downhill side of winter now; it won’t be very long before the sap rises and the nesting sites start to be refurbished, till the gritty snow loses its grip and gets washed away, and green things begin to poke through. But in the meantime, we still have to get through the next few weeks of road salt and post nasal drip, and so I am moved to wonder what it is that enables us to make it through such seasons, in the weather, or in our own individual or collective cultural lives.
Perhaps it is first of all a question of scale. In the longest, universal terms, I suppose I qualify as something of a pessimist. Human mortality is real, and there is nothing more left of us as individuals after we die than there was before we were born. Eventually our sun, like other stars, is going to go supernova, incinerating planet earth in the process, but chances are that homo sapiens won’t be worried about it, because the species will have been extinct long before that happens. Ultimately, the universe itself will arrive at heat death, and nothing more will happen at all, ever. It’s not just the congestion and fever, I promise you; this is what I believe even when I’m feeling fine. And it doesn’t bother me. The entire proposition of human existence is temporary, contingent, finite, and genuine optimism, in order to be of any use, has to come to terms with that thought. The hope that is based on denial of the facts, or the promise of permanent triumph, is an illusion, and whenever that illusion is threatened, the hope that is founded on it totters. Of course, no one knows for sure what either death or the end of the world will bring, but to me that’s not where optimism lives.
I am also not much of an optimist in the very short term, either. I don’t buy lottery tickets, and I’m not surprised that Brett Farve is going to be watching the game this evening from the comfort of his home rather than from the playing field in Miami. A deal that sounds too good to be true probably is, and the human heart is both fickle and brittle enough to get broken on a regular basis. The world we live in has an otherness outside our minds that does not bend to our wishes, no matter how earnest and pure our wishing may be. People rise to their level of incompetence, the toast falls buttered side to the floor, and casinos are profitable because the house usually wins. Call it cynicism or empiricism or whatever you will, I have no trust in exceptionalism; not for America, not for people of good will, not for you or me or anybody; the laws of nature, of chance, and of the human condition apply consistently to us all, and in large measure we reap what we sow. True optimism is something more than a confidence in the luck of the moment.
Real optimism, as I understand it – intelligent optimism – operates in the middle distance. It is as Uttam Sanjel says:
An optimist is somebody who considers his problems temporary, controllable, and linked to specific situations that can be changed. For an optimist, it makes no sense to lose hope. We can always do better, limit the damage, find an alternative solution, rebuild what has been destroyed, take the current situation as a starting point, direct our effort in the best apparent direction, and enjoy inner peace instead of wasting time brooding over the past and worrying about the future.
Genuine optimism is a form of energy, that does not begin with denial or wishful thinking, but accepts the reality of what is, even when that is not what any of us might prefer. The optimist chooses to act rather than despair, in the confidence that what we do may not control the world, but can still make a difference. So let me tell you a handful of other stories, besides Uttam and his bamboo schools, about the optimism of the middle distance, that does not await an ultimate rapture to end all our problems, nor wish them away on a stroke of instant luck.
There is Sahra Luyt, who transformed the fishing industry on the Western Cape of South Africa. In the year 2000, Luyt gathered several hundred of the poorest women in her district, including some who were begging in the streets, and formed the South African Fisherwomen’s Association. Together they studied all aspects of small commercial fishing, including marketing, boat leasing, safety, government regulations, and supplementary businesses to support themselves during the off season. When 191 of them applied for commercial fishing licenses, and were refused, Luyt headed up the legal challenge, as a result of which the Cape High Court ultimately ruled in their favor, and their fishing cooperative was in business. With the money from their sales, the women were able to begin providing for their own families, and then opened a soup kitchen to reach others in need in the community. The Association has brought in speakers to educate the women and their neighbors about health issues, like HIV/AIDS and cancer, and personal money management. They are now exploring the possibility of creating local community gardens, to further increase their self-sufficiency. Luyt’s organization represents not only the opportunity for these women to command a sustainable living wage, but perhaps more importantly, the experience of self-determination, dignity, and success. These are values that will be passed on to their children, both the boys and the girls, no matter what careers they may eventually pursue. Sahra didn’t take on the entire gender injustice of her culture, but with quiet determination and optimistic energy, she has effectively dismantled a corner of it. She is a sign of spring.
There is Dr. Denis Mukwege, an obstetrician/gynecologist in the Democratic Republic of Congo. A largely unpublicized war there for control of profitable mineral rights has already left close to six million dead, and continues to this day. In this brutal conflict, hundreds of thousands of women and girls have been raped and sexually tortured. When the hospital where he had created an ob/gyn program in the town of Lemera was destroyed during an attack in 1989, Dr.Mukwege could easily have left this troubled region altogether, and resettled in a first world country. Instead, he moved to the city of Bukavu, where he founded Panzi Hospital, a clinic specializing in surgical repair of the vaginas, anal canals and bladders of women injured in gang rape and sexual violence. Not only has Dr. Mukwege perfected numerous life-saving surgical procedures, he has also fostered a healing community among the women survivors he treats. Many of them have been left without family or tribal connections, so that the doctor who repairs their bodies and the women they meet in the process become their new father and sisters. Together with UNICEF and the V-Day project founded by author Eve Ensler, Denis Mukwege is building what he has named the City of Joy, a community where women survivors of sexual violence will be able to heal together, and turn their pain into shared power. That we need a place like the City of Joy is an indictment of this world and the human condition; that Dr. Mukwege and his supporters are making it a reality is a sign of spring.
Then there is Samuel Garang Akau, a native of Sudan, and ten year veteran of the civil war refugee camps, who made it to the United States, and graduated from Stanford in 2006. Since then his job has been working with prisoners recently released from the American penal system, most of whom have significant mental health and addiction issues. With this income, and the help of an American college friend, Akau has started the New Scholars fund, which makes grants so that boys and girls living in the Kakuma refugee camp in northwest Kenya can attend a private high school outside the camp. For a few hundred dollars a year per student, these young peoples’ lives are changed, radically and permanently. In a more perfect world, there would be no children growing up amidst the devastation and despair of refugee camps, but that’s not the world Samuel Akau lives in, and it may not be in his power to change that reality at this moment. But he knows that his American income, though it may not be large by some standards, is enough to make a difference for others, as it did for him. His survival itself, and his cheerful, matter of fact generosity, are signs of spring.
Then there is Thorkil Sonne, who was a successful telecommunications executive in Denmark when in 1999 his youngest son was diagnosed with autism. Concerned for the child’s future – statistics suggest that only about six percent of individuals with autism or Asperger’s syndrome become fully employed – Sonne also recognized that his son demonstrated some impressive abilities of memory, concentration, and coordination, many of which were applicable to the work of information technology. Yet the deficit of ordinary social skills often experienced by people in the range of autism could prevent them from holding a traditional job, even when they might actually excel at the work. In 2004, Sonne founded Specialisterne, a company whose mission was to create an environment in which individuals with autism could exercise their skills productively, and also thrive personally. By the beginning of this year, their clients included Microsoft, LEGO, Oracle, and CSC, and they plan to open a branch in Scotland during 2010. An event that some might have regarded as a personal family tragedy led Sorkil Sonne to open the door of self-sufficiency and dignity to a whole previously disregarded segment of the population. Perhaps some day a better genetic or chemical understanding of the mechanisms of autism will allow people to make choices about compensating for the deficits and special needs that these syndromes can entail. In the meantime, Thorkil Sonne has created a safe place, where their strengths can be productive, and their disabilities are irrelevant. Not only for our neighbors and fellow citizens who struggle with these challenges, and for those who care and worry about them, but for everyone who yearns for a world of human dignity and equality, this is a sign of spring.
Finally, consider the work of Esra’a Al Shafei, a 23 year old student in Bahrain, who has created some 40 websites to advocate for freedom of expression and the rights of minorities in the repressive cultures of the Middle East. She began with MideastYouth.com, where Egyptian atheists, Iranian Jews, American soldiers, and Saudi peace activists exchange their thoughts about issues like religious extremism, the war in Iraq, and AIDS. The site features subversive cartoons and videos, and is in the process of developing a mobile phone application that will issue up to the minute human rights newsfeeds throughout the region. “Although it may seem mundane to those in the West, accustomed to such freedom,” she says, “this is revolutionary in our closed society.” In addition to this original interfaith and multinational forum, Al Shafei also hosts KurdishRights.org, devoted to defending the ethnic Kurds in Turkey and Iraq, as well as other sites featuring issues related to Afghanis, Hindus, migrant workers, and Bahais. She says, “As part of a majority, I need to stand up for things that my religion doesn’t stand up for. Bahais get persecuted in Muslim majority countries, making it my responsibility as a Muslim to fight the oppression against them.” Government control of media makes what Al Shafei does dangerous, and she risks going to prison for publishing both her own views, and others that she does not even agree with. Egyptian blogger Abdul Kareem Nabeel Suleiman has been jailed for his postings critical of Islam; Al Shafei says that his opinions were irrational, inaccurate, and at times offensive. But she adds, “That’s no reason to put him behind bars.” And not surprisingly, she now hosts FreeKareem.org, the on-line campaign to get Suleiman released. She also helped to create a mock Egyptian tourism video in which images of camels and pyramids were overlaid with lilting Arabic music and text explaining how religious minorities were forbidden from registering for the national health ID cards that they need in order to travel, get health care, or go to school. The video went viral on the internet, and the Egyptian government eventually repealed the discriminatory policy. Al Shafei’s web world is global, without national boundaries, and she seeks to promote understanding and peace across all barriers of faith, geography, history, and politics. “Hateful stereotypes are used by our leaders to paint other sects, tribes, and nations,” she says. “When access to knowledge is lacking, people are vulnerable to manipulation.” The geopolitical issues in the middle east are many, and complex, and deeply rooted, and they will not be erased overnight by idealistic 23 year old bloggers. And yet, if I had to lay odds between the minions of government censorship and repression, and the creative energy of young adults with technology at their fingertips and a vision of a different world, my money would be on Esra’a and her virtual community of activist peers. There are signs, my friend; signs of spring.
In the end, I think that practical optimism boils down to one thing: the belief that our problems are solvable. If you have to come up with some way to save the entire world, completely and for all time, you’re bound to give up, and retreat into tragedy, cynicism, or despair. Fortunately, that’s not necessary. All you are really called to do is to take some little corner of some challenge that looks to you like it could be fixed, and bring your intelligence and creativity and insight and sheer stubborn determination to bear on it. Whether it is making bamboo schools, or offering self-sufficiency and respect to impoverished women on the South African sea coast or to the invisible autism sufferers in our midst, it is the work that we do, and have done, and can do, that is the source of meaningful optimism. It is the conviction that
We can always do better, limit the damage, find an alternative solution, rebuild what has been destroyed, take the current situation as a starting point, direct our effort in the best apparent direction, and enjoy inner peace instead of wasting time brooding over the past and worrying about the future.
It’s actually less effort, and certainly less stressful, to do something in particular, than to worry about the future of things in general. It’s only in the human scale that it really matters; the lives of the people on the planet with us, their children and grandchildren, and ours. Never mind the next life, or a million years from now; seven generations is as much as we can take on, and there’s plenty of scope for our best work and hopes within that scale. I grew up singing from the children’s hymnal assembled by the Unitarians and the Ethical Culture societies in the 1950s, and I remember these lines from Vincent Silliman, adapted out of a poem by Emerson:
We sing the heart courageous, the youthful, eager mind;
We sing of hopes undaunted, of faithful friends and kind.
We sing the roses waiting beneath the deep-piled snow;
We sing when night is darkest the day’s returning glow.
The snow is still piled deep, that’s for sure, but the days are lengthening, and any time now, we will see once again the signs of spring. The roses are there, waiting; I’m certain of it.
