A matter of perspective
This week we had the privilege of spending an afternoon in Cuba’s famous Museo de la Revolucion. This is the museum in Havana where the Cuban government’s narrative on how things went down back in 1959 is on full display. It is a fascinating place, but beyond the mere history conveyed, it is incredibly thought provoking.
For an American — raised on the smooth, stylish propaganda of slick mass marketing and the subtle, implicit biases typical of our culture — overt, blatant, transparent propaganda like that proffered by the Cuban government can come as a bit of a shock. This shock can be particularly jarring in areas where Americans get cast as the bad guys.
There are myriad examples of this theme playing out in the museum and around Cuba, but I find the case of Operacion Pedro Pan particularly compelling. The opposing sides of Operacion Pedro Pan (or Operation Peter Pan) paint a compelling, disturbing picture of the power of narrative in shaping events (and, in turn, the societies formed by those events). I won’t try to describe the operation here. However, if you aren’t familiar, take a look at this Wikipedia article before reading further.
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As you might imagine, the Cuban government has a very different take than that of the US government regarding this particular event. These divergent perspectives are now on display, passed systematically to us to consume. Over time, these narratives shape our identities in alignment with the interests of our respective nation states.
For example, the plaque in the section of the Museo dedicated to Operacion Pedro Pan reads: “Between 1960 and 1962 the CIA spent millions persuading [Cuban] parents to send their children to the states where they were placed in reformatories and forced to live with strangers.”
Conversely, in the summary of the CIA’s de-classified file on this event (ie. the USG’s official perspective on the matter), we hear a somewhat different slant. “The USA opened its doors to Cuban children in crisis, offering the hope of freedom, education, and adoption by an American family.”
Whereas the implications are enormously different, the facts don’t change and the true difference in what happened here — can be boiled down to a matter of perspective. The perspective each of us holds on such events (and life in general) is largely determined for us by place of birth and the narrative fed to us by virtue of that birthright. To me, ‘Pedro Pan’ is a gripping example showing narrative’s influence to shape a story, a nation, a soul. Narratives such as these and the powerful feelings and associations they create account for so much of the ‘truth’ people claim to believe. It forms our ideologies, our very identities.
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So, what does that mean for us? What can Christians do with this knowledge that everything we ‘know’ is shaped by narrative, that our casual perspectives and most deeply held convictions may be biased and flawed by the prejudices of our government, society, and/or personal interests?
For me, this troubling fact of life reinforces the importance of empathy. To see, to see and truly understand and really empathize with the other side of a story is to begin to understand the complex nature of truth and reality in the midst of a world of lies. And, because we are so deeply formed by the narratives defining our lives, so unable to perceive truth beyond the grasp of a story, it is through this medium that God often speaks to us.
As such, our goal on this planet must be to find the authentic narrative, that greater story which is consistent with our existence in relation to God and each other and then to embrace this ray of authenticity with all we are. By making such a decision in community, others might also be drawn in the direction of His light.
In the Christian context, we have a word for such a community, set apart from the rest of the world by a unique, authentic story: church.
