I am because we are

In October 1961, shortly after the erection of the Berlin wall, Edmond Khayat, the Lebanese pacifist, staged a protest against the inhumanity and cruelty represented by the wall. In a picture taken at the time, he can be seen heading down the empty road toward the distant Brandenburg Gate, attempting to cross the border while dragging an eighty five pound wooden cross inscribed with the word “HUMANITY”.

Edmond Khayat’s metaphor of a crucified humanity has been with me for the last couple of weeks, especially as I am trying to make sense of the dreadful events that have shaken our world lately. How do we explain what seem like the meaningless killing spree of a mad man? Can we justify the scandalous practices of some in our media? What do we make of the violent scenes that recently took place on the streets of our cities? What do all these events have to say about our humanity?

This image of a lonely man carrying a heavy cross is not without reminding us of that of another man made to carry a heavy cross on which he was eventually crucified. Despite the contrast between the scene of Jesus carrying his cross in the bustling streets of Jerusalem and that of Edmond Khayat’s lonely procession in an empty street in Berlin, it seems to me that both scenes could be read as an attempt to answer the question of what it means to be human.

They tell us that being human often implies the carrying of a heavy burden. They remind us that being human comes with a high price tag. More importantly, they show us that being human is about endurance, it is about not giving up however unfavourable the odds may be.

What does it mean to be human? The African philosophy of life, Ubuntu, speaks particularly about the fact that we cannot exist as human in isolation. It speaks about our interconnectedness and defies any claim to self-righteousness and finger-pointing. In Ubuntu, there is no moral high ground. Any anti-social behaviour is, ultimately, the responsibility of the entire community.

In Ubuntu, our thirst for retribution cannot be satisfied unless the whole community is prepared to pay the price for those at fault. There is no room for polarised language, no them and us. It means that a community is only as rich as its poorest member, as educated as its least educated constituent, as happy as its unhappiest part. More radically, Ubuntu tells us that when we talk of chavs, hoodies, underclass, brutes, scum, animal and any other colourful description, we are not talking of them alone, but, essentially, we are saying something sinister about ourselves.

However, Ubuntu is not a philosophy of laissé-faire and it is not soft on anti-social behaviour. It encourages people to applaud rather than resent those who succeed. It disapproves of anti-social, disgraceful, inhuman and criminal behaviour, and encourages social justice for all. Ubuntu is about building cohesive communities in which each individual is valued and nurtured.

The Berlin wall has fallen, but it seems to me that a few resilient walls remain firmly erect around our hearts, our minds, and our lives. These invisible walls, we might argue, are vital in ensuring the integrity of our selves, our families and communities, but they also contribute to isolate us from those who do not fit in with us. They only conspire against what makes us fully human.

My hope, as I contemplate the dreadful events unfolding at home or abroad, is that rather than erecting fortresses against others, we will have the courage to learn to be human along-side all sorts of others, including the ones whose company we don’t greatly like and whose values we don´t fully share.

I am because we are.

Lusa

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