Though the story is a fiction piece, it explores the all too real experiences of the many refugees searching the world- as I type- for a safe place. This particular story is of a young girl, her village burned, her family murdered, who escapes only to be chased through the countryside by those who stole her home. She runs away with her sister, but is caught days later. She is forced to listen as her sister is brutally raped by several men and tortured, each bone individually broken, as her sister pleads for death to take her. This is the nice version.
The thing that has struck me most about this story is Little Bee's discussion of horror. She talks about how people go to see horror movies to enjoy the sense of security that encompasses them when they leave the theater. For some people, however, the horror never ends. In this girl's case, she is able to "get away" and hide aboard a ship sailing for England, where the horror follows her across the ocean via her constant fear of "the men".
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I step out of my car, having just heard this story, into the light of my reality, into the parking lot of BJ's. I smile at the gentleman working at the door and head in to grab my few necessities, you know, Coke and toilet paper. The essentials. I guess I smiled a little too big because on my way out of the store, the gentleman stops me.
"You didn't get much today, huh?"
"Oh, I'm not much of a shopper so I just pick up a little here, a little there."
"There are some people who come in here- I'm not talking about people like you who pay for their food- but those people who come in here on food stamps, buying $700 dollars worth of groceries, with 3 kids and wearing expensive shoes. Meanwhile, I'm a single guy, 37, no kids, and I can't afford any of it."
As I notice other customers backing up behind us, I start to step away toward the door. Apparently this does not tip him off, because he keeps going. And going. Finally when I think I'm in the clear, he catches me with this clencher: "And then, they can't speak English." (Bitch should know better than to come at a girl whose father came to this country and had to teach himself the language so he could put himself through medical school to save your white ass.)*
If only this man could hear the story of Little Bee, of the millions of refugees, I would like to see his face then. Americans and similar countries amaze me with their blatant conceit. We think hard times include being stuck in traffic, our iPhone malfunctioning, getting a huge bill in the mail, getting yelled at by our boss. We haven't the slightest clue of horror. 9/11 was the worst example of horror we've ever experienced, of man against man. And that was nothing compared to what these people go through, not one day in one year, but every day for decades, even centuries. Unspeakable torture and fear that makes one wish for death. That, to me, is the definition of horror: when death becomes favorable. Yet, people can smugly talk of money and language. Fuck that. As a privileged country, we should not be asking ourselves how to keep more money for ourselves but how we can use what we have to help more people. Shame on anyone who asserts their language and their pain as better than someone else's.
I look at money as a means to an end. It has no inherent value. It is nothing more than the paper I wipe my ass with. It comes. It goes. But look how it changes people. If giving my money for the greater good means aiding a few freeloaders in the process, then that's just the way it is. But I am not taking that for a reason to become subhuman. Money is there for necessity, not for happiness. Happiness is something we can only get from each other. Before Little Bee's sister is murdered, they encounter an English couple on a beach and implore them for help. The murderers come upon them and demand that the English man cut off his own finger to save the girls. The man refuses. His wife instead grabs the knife from her husband and immediately slashes her finger to save the girls. Five years later, the man kills himself. He had plenty of money. But what he lacked was the knowledge that he had helped someone in spite of his own discomfort.
*No, I'm not a racist, I am white too. But I happen to be thankful for the contributions that those from other countries provide us, whether they are in English or any other language.
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4 comments:
I like this, and sure can relate to your comments...good blog.
Amen! Seriously - being married to an immigrant (so many struggles to get adjusted) - excellent post. Great contrast. Amazing perspective!
I think that experiencing true horror would make a person crazy. The mind can only take so much before you snap. That is why so many soldiers who participate in various wars are never the same again. They have seen too much violence and death. Participated in too much violence and death. I think that for some inner city people they know horror. Children forced into gangs. It is that or death. Of course, gangs have fighting with guns and such all of the time. And the recruitment age of kids into gangs is getting younger all of the time b/c they want them selling drugs at the elementary schools. Those kids are scared to death. I do know that it isn't the same as what happened to your Little Bee, but public school isn't as safe as when I went to school. I have talked to people who live in my hometown and they say that my high school is now a dangerous place. I never worried about being knifed or shot when I went there. Apparently, kids that go there now cannot say the same.
I didn't say any of that to make your post less. It just caused me to do some inward looking. I think your post was excellent. Unfortunately, the world, in general, is getting less safe all of the time. 9/11 was horrific. Right now we are losing more youths to gang-related death than terrorist activity. If you want to see fear, walk through the "bad" side of town where the gangs have assumed control and you will see fear.
Thanks everyone for your thoughts. I was so nervous to post this one. I'm not used to being so completely forthright with my feelings. And, I'm not used to calling people bitches in writing! But it was good to hear that my attempt at humor did not smear my message, and that you all were able to hear it and take from it your own thoughts- that's huge. And, that's exactly what i would love this blog to become- a place where people can share their outlooks without argument. So, thanks for taking the time to comment!
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