I checked my phone this afternoon and found out that Rina had called me three times. Yes, that's right, Rina from Bangladesh, my cook and best friend, the one who tattooed a heart to my palm and told people on the street I was not a foreigner: Rina.
Whenever Rina calls me I have a rush of divergent feelings. On one hand I am overjoyed that we are still able to communicate and my mind is still boggled by the fact that a poor woman on the other side of the world can pick up a phone and instantaneously talk to me. On the other hand I feel panicked and sick, knowing that something is probably wrong; knowing that I can't help; knowing that everyday I am less able to even speak her language.
Rina is the symbol of both all the powerlessness and failure that I learned in Bangladesh, and of all that mattered. You see, I love Rina, and perhaps more to the point: I know Rina, and Rina knows me.
And what is it that is so important about that little fact? Why do I feel so burdened by my inability to take care of her? Why does knowing an individual make such a difference? Does it really matter if I stay connected to this one "insignificant" person? I mean, if we are thinking utilitarian, obviously not. In utilitarian rationale I could say it would be better for me to give up my relationship with Rina, and all the paralyzing anxiety and pain that goes with it, and instead join some humanitarian aid organization that is helping people in third world countries, and thereby effect many more lives for the better. I honestly think about this often when my anxiety rises; when the feeling of the inevitability of losing touch with Rina overwhelms me and it seems certain she will die miserable and alone.
Once, pretty early in my time in Bangladesh, I told Rina she was my sister. It was an accident. In Bangla there is more than one word for "sister" and one is the word you use for any friend or acquaintance, and the other is for your actual family member. I did not know this at the time so I accidentally told Rina she was really my sister. It was just a silly mistake that language learners make all the time, but it was a mistake that mattered, a mistake that changed how Rina and I viewed one another.
I'm not sure what ethical framework I am a proponent of, but I know that for some reason it feels extraordinarily more important for me to care for this one person, than to care for many others that I do not know. I saw countless sufferers in Bangladesh and they effected me, but it is Rina who sticks with me; Rina who refuses to let me forget what I learned; Rina who keeps me from falling back into my old complacency and letting the difficult parts of Bangladesh fade like a bad dream; Rina who doesn’t allow me to stay the same.
See, Rina is not a poster of a destitute woman in a third world country, she is my sister. I cannot forget my sister.
Though I am not against joining organizations that do good in a corporate kind of way, I think knowing individuals is somehow intangibly more significant. When you know someone, you are forced to find solutions where there seem to be none. We have all probably experienced the pang of guilt when realizing that when our own family members are hurt, our reaction is much different than when we hear about someone unconnected to us being hurt. We feel almost incapable of stopping ourselves from saving our loved ones, even at great cost to ourselves, whereas others who may be in much more dire situations that we do not know are easily dismissed.
Perhaps this is what Jesus meant about making people neighbors. Perhaps this is part of the reason why Jesus didn't come in, snap his fingers and heal everyone on Earth. Perhaps real healing, for the destitute and the overly-privileged alike, comes only with relationship; with two people looking into one another’s eyes and knowing each other.
So I think I am still a advocate of joining aid organizations (probably the organization was formed by a person who was touched by knowing an individual) and doing group projects to help the "less fortunate," but I think if we don't do this in the context of knowing some of the individuals whom we are wanting to help, we are missing something essential in how real change actually occurs.
The practical conclusion to all of this musing is that still I have no idea how I am going to hold on to and help Rina. I only know that in a few more hours, when I am preparing for bed and Rina is finishing breakfast, I am going to call her. Even as I type my heart is clenched in the anxiety of it… I still don’t know what to do, and yet, I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Whenever Rina calls me I have a rush of divergent feelings. On one hand I am overjoyed that we are still able to communicate and my mind is still boggled by the fact that a poor woman on the other side of the world can pick up a phone and instantaneously talk to me. On the other hand I feel panicked and sick, knowing that something is probably wrong; knowing that I can't help; knowing that everyday I am less able to even speak her language.
Rina is the symbol of both all the powerlessness and failure that I learned in Bangladesh, and of all that mattered. You see, I love Rina, and perhaps more to the point: I know Rina, and Rina knows me.
And what is it that is so important about that little fact? Why do I feel so burdened by my inability to take care of her? Why does knowing an individual make such a difference? Does it really matter if I stay connected to this one "insignificant" person? I mean, if we are thinking utilitarian, obviously not. In utilitarian rationale I could say it would be better for me to give up my relationship with Rina, and all the paralyzing anxiety and pain that goes with it, and instead join some humanitarian aid organization that is helping people in third world countries, and thereby effect many more lives for the better. I honestly think about this often when my anxiety rises; when the feeling of the inevitability of losing touch with Rina overwhelms me and it seems certain she will die miserable and alone.
Once, pretty early in my time in Bangladesh, I told Rina she was my sister. It was an accident. In Bangla there is more than one word for "sister" and one is the word you use for any friend or acquaintance, and the other is for your actual family member. I did not know this at the time so I accidentally told Rina she was really my sister. It was just a silly mistake that language learners make all the time, but it was a mistake that mattered, a mistake that changed how Rina and I viewed one another.
I'm not sure what ethical framework I am a proponent of, but I know that for some reason it feels extraordinarily more important for me to care for this one person, than to care for many others that I do not know. I saw countless sufferers in Bangladesh and they effected me, but it is Rina who sticks with me; Rina who refuses to let me forget what I learned; Rina who keeps me from falling back into my old complacency and letting the difficult parts of Bangladesh fade like a bad dream; Rina who doesn’t allow me to stay the same.
See, Rina is not a poster of a destitute woman in a third world country, she is my sister. I cannot forget my sister.
Though I am not against joining organizations that do good in a corporate kind of way, I think knowing individuals is somehow intangibly more significant. When you know someone, you are forced to find solutions where there seem to be none. We have all probably experienced the pang of guilt when realizing that when our own family members are hurt, our reaction is much different than when we hear about someone unconnected to us being hurt. We feel almost incapable of stopping ourselves from saving our loved ones, even at great cost to ourselves, whereas others who may be in much more dire situations that we do not know are easily dismissed.
Perhaps this is what Jesus meant about making people neighbors. Perhaps this is part of the reason why Jesus didn't come in, snap his fingers and heal everyone on Earth. Perhaps real healing, for the destitute and the overly-privileged alike, comes only with relationship; with two people looking into one another’s eyes and knowing each other.
So I think I am still a advocate of joining aid organizations (probably the organization was formed by a person who was touched by knowing an individual) and doing group projects to help the "less fortunate," but I think if we don't do this in the context of knowing some of the individuals whom we are wanting to help, we are missing something essential in how real change actually occurs.
The practical conclusion to all of this musing is that still I have no idea how I am going to hold on to and help Rina. I only know that in a few more hours, when I am preparing for bed and Rina is finishing breakfast, I am going to call her. Even as I type my heart is clenched in the anxiety of it… I still don’t know what to do, and yet, I wouldn’t have it any other way.
