On living in unjust times: three tales of purpose and meaning
Over the last few weeks I have — by chance rather than design —come across three different narratives of living against a backdrop of deep injustice. Taken together they map out the spectrum of human responses, although none are simple parables. I wanted to write about them to try to untangle some of these threads.
Where to look when there’s nowhere to look: Christopher Isherwood’s ‘A Berlin Diary: Winter 1932–3’
Isherwood’s diary is published in Goodbye to Berlin, the collection of writings best known for introducing the character of Sally Bowles, the inspiration for the musical Cabaret. Yet it was the final sections, the fragmented diary extracts that document his last few months in Berlin, that I found most unsettling. In a small number of vignettes Isherwood documents the drift from feisty rebellion to the averted gaze of conformity. It’s not a linear path; the citizens he describes don’t suddenly change allegiance, and — and this feels critical to me — without the benefit of hindsight it’s not obvious how things will turn out. At the same time as people become almost immune to the spectacle of brutal Nazi beatings, hundreds of people unite against a Nazi march to sing the ‘International’ from the windows lining the route and for once it’s the Nazis who keep ‘their eyes on the ground or glared glassily ahead.’ And the ridicule they cast on the ‘elderly fat little S.A. man, who had somehow got left behind’ turns an intended show of force into a pantomime.
But slowly the tide turns. Friends pack their bags, the sadness overwhelms the joy of friendship and the vestiges of hope and freedom a few brave souls — young communists, often — had clung on to. He concludes his diary with an important reflection on ambivalence; even at the worst of time sometimes the sun shines and the world is beautiful:
“I catch sight of my face in the mirror of a shop, and am horrified to see that I am smiling. You can’t help smiling, in such beautiful weather. The trams are going up and down the Kleiststrasse, just as usual. They, and the people on the pavement […] have an air of curious familiarity, of striking resemblance to something one remembers as normal and pleasant in the past — like a very good photograph.”
For me, it’s a reminder that the past was just as complex as the present, and that the very worst of times are woven through with everyday joys, little pleasures, human emotions. Those joys are the source of hope in any darkness, but the trick, perhaps, is to make sure that the power of the everyday — the curious familiarity — doesn’t allow the darkness to triumph. Because the darkness doesn’t always come up and look you straight in the face; sometimes you might only perceive it when you’re already in its shadow.
On choosing not to look — and only seeing so far: Chekhov’s ‘Gooseberries’
Chekhov’s short tale of a quest for happiness and the expense at which it comes is well described here by Chris Power. In this story the vet, Ivan Ivanych, despairs of his brother’s self-absorbed longing after material satisfaction, and tells of the angry frustration it arouses in him.
“And I thought how many satisfied, happy people really do exist in this world! And what a powerful force they are! Just take a look at this life of ours and you will see the arrogance and idleness of the strong, the ignorance and bestiality of the weak. Everywhere there’s unspeakable poverty, overcrowding, degeneracy, drunkenness, hypocrisyand stupid lies… And yet peace and quiet reign in every house and street.”
So it is in our own time. And yet Chekhov does not deliver up a simple moral tale. Ivanych’s plea to his companions to go out and do good in the world is met with indiffierence and a yawning fatigue. His host wants to go to bed, his friend wishes they’d stuck to gossip. Ivanych is a selfish narrator, and a self-centred guest. Even in service the ego is never far away.
On courage — or choosing to see and acting on it: ‘The Accidental Anarchist: Life without Government’
The last of three tales is a modern one: a recent Storyville documentary for the BBC. (It’s still available on the iplayer for a couple of weeks so catch it while you can). The film tells the story of Carne Ross, a one-time Foreign Office senior official (and ex-Fast Streamer) and his personal and political journey away from British Government to the optimism and creativity of self-organising, self-governing societies, notably in Rojava in Syria where an extraordinary experiment in collective liberation is taking place, to the willful disregard of the world’s media (lots more about all this via his Facebook page). What struck me most about his story was his total integrity; once you start questioining the authority of the State, and the processses by which wealth is distrbuted in our society then it doesn’t take long — if you don’t find yourself compromised along the way — before you have to reject free market consumer capitalism and explore its more collaborative, creative alternatives. Few of us make it quite so far down this route; we don’t like the way things are, but we’re also quite comfortable and we’re not ready to upset things too much. Edward Snowden falls into this category too, as does Anna Politkovskaya. There will be many others I’ve never heard of.
Where does this leave me? Maybe Isherwood reminds us not to avert our eyes, Chekhov reminds us to turn the gaze inwards too, but Carne Ross exemplifies the power of staring injustice in the face, and not letting it slip.
