I am heartsick. I want no part of what has been occurring in “my house” as of late.
When Abhi approached me about starting a group blog to highlight “brown†aspects of the 2004 presidential race, I immediately agreed to take part. Why wouldn’t I? This project would seek out and illuminate that which the mainstream media couldn’t be bothered with— discrimination against a journalist with a South Asian name, the disrespect shown to our culture by a state branch of a major political party, essentially, the desi angle to everything around us. We would light the political and social night. We could be a beacon to every other South Asian American who felt exactly what we felt, lived through what we had, questioned what we did.
As an Orthodox Christian, the concept of “light†is sacred to me; I stood with almost a thousand people last Saturday night, waiting for our priest to throw open the doors to the altar, holy fire held high. The altar boys would take bits of that flame for their own candles, then fan out and pass the light on to the first row of parishioners, who would turn and continue the cycle, one pew lighting the candles behind it until everyone was bathed in the glow that only comes from flame and wax. The ritual which had taken place for over a millennia demonstrated how consummate darkness would always be destroyed by light. Light, a symbol of hope, a symbol of truth. Light, a visual reminder of the triumph of good over evil.
Evil does live in the dark. It lurks in shadows where it ensnares victims of rape, gagging them with shame while concomitantly extinguishing their inner flames.
One of the reasons why rape survivors do not come forward is because they are terrified that they will be doubted. They will be humiliated again, this time by those who should know better, who work for justice. Bruised and broken, they are forced to relive their ordeal while relating it to cynics and skeptics. The burden is on the survivor and that isn’t right. Yes, sometimes people lie and manipulate sympathy but that never justifies being unkind.
Once, in my Freshman-year theology class, Sister Veronica was asked about whether one should always provide alms for beggars. “Sister…isn’t it true that these people are bums? That they are going to just spend the money on drugs or booze? That’s what my Dad said and that’s why I don’t give them money anymore.†Sister Veronica’s face became serene.
“Child, you have been taught since kindergarten to see the face of Christ in everyone you meet, no matter who they are. Yes, even those whom you refer to as ‘bums’ have a divine inner light because just like you, they are children of God. They deserve to be treated that way.â€
“But sister-“
“No buts. Even if they are going to use the pennies you give them for something else, even if they are lying about how they need money for food, even if they plan to buy drugs, you must believe that they are truly in need. Only God is allowed to judge others. And that unfortunate soul really might be in need—how would you know if they weren’t? And wouldn’t it be awful if you let your preconceived notions, your assumptions prevent you from doing what is right? From helping someone who truly needs it? You never know someone else’s story, so don’t act as if you do. Act as if you don’t. And act as if the best, not the worst is what is true.†Continue reading
Chachaji’s beautifully kind 