I don't know how to put into words those thoughts that have been scattered, smothered, and covered in my hashed-up mind, but nonetheless I'll try to talk about the things that haunt me because I think that it might help scrape them off my plate. Anyways, I have the spirit to write, and--even if my way of writing complicates the message I'm trying to say--I think you'll still get the point.
The point is this: I've grown quite disgruntled with the way we treat one another, and I don't know what in the world to do about it. I have a sneaking suspicion that you might, so I think what'd be best would be to report the instances that have me doubting my faith in humanity. There, you may interpret them.
In Brussels I saw a man kick over a beggar's cup of coins. The man paused, hesitated, and kept on going, leaving the beggar to recollect his estate.
In Athens I saw a man sleeping with his dog near our hotel. Nothing changed about his place within the week we were there.
In The Hague we had the pleasure to observe a trial of accused war criminals from Kenya, one being the Deputy President. We also visited the International Criminal Tribunal for the former Yugoslavia. An accused recalled an instance of 'liquidating' a witness's sons during the war.
Writing them, they sound cliche, these memories. They sound like an attempt to garner sympathy or empathy or compassion without accounting an entire story--like Humans of New York or something. But that misses the point. It seems we are indeed capable of great evils in our lives. Certainly, we may be the victims of the evils of others. But reassessing an axiom of my personal philosophy, are people generally good or evil? How do we become good or evil? Is it genetic? Nurtural? So many memories haunt my response.
And then, one day in Gare Central, I see a woman nonchalantly drop a bag in front of a homeless man. Inside: clothing. Clothing that fits.
In Brussels I saw a man kick over a beggar's cup of coins. The man paused, hesitated, and kept on going, leaving the beggar to recollect his estate.
In Athens I saw a man sleeping with his dog near our hotel. Nothing changed about his place within the week we were there.
In The Hague we had the pleasure to observe a trial of accused war criminals from Kenya, one being the Deputy President. We also visited the International Criminal Tribunal for the former Yugoslavia. An accused recalled an instance of 'liquidating' a witness's sons during the war.
Writing them, they sound cliche, these memories. They sound like an attempt to garner sympathy or empathy or compassion without accounting an entire story--like Humans of New York or something. But that misses the point. It seems we are indeed capable of great evils in our lives. Certainly, we may be the victims of the evils of others. But reassessing an axiom of my personal philosophy, are people generally good or evil? How do we become good or evil? Is it genetic? Nurtural? So many memories haunt my response.
And then, one day in Gare Central, I see a woman nonchalantly drop a bag in front of a homeless man. Inside: clothing. Clothing that fits.
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