On Kindness in a Society of Snarks

Am I a good person? If we are living conscious lives, we ask ourselves this question now and again. I do. I'm not religious and I don't have faith there is a 'God' or any existence after death - I can hope, but that is entirely different- but I do have a moral and ethical code, deeply internalized. Basic tenets of my ethical code are immediately recognizable- they are not only expressed in the Ten Commandments, but also part of functioning civilized society's around the world, or at least the hope of those societies. I went through a brief serious extenstential crisis at 22, which I later realized was more of a nervous breakdown ! but still forced me to evaluate the guideposts of my life: why did I care...about anything? And what did I want to DO about caring, caring about this planet and it's inhabitants.

I set about answering three questions for myself: What does it mean to be a good person? Am I a good person? And what kind of person do I expect myself to act as day to day, week to week?

There is a book out that explores these questions: Peter Singer's new book about world poverty, “The Life You Can Save,” which in the New York Times is described as " is here to tell us that we aren’t, most of us, the people we think we are. On a planet full of so much obvious and widespread suffering, he writes, “there is something deeply askew with our widely accepted views about what it is to live a good life.” Mr. Singer, a professor of bioethics at Princeton University and perhaps America’s most famous specialist in applied ethics, has made a career out of making people feel uncomfortable."
The idea that we can suppose ourselves as good people without deeply or even consciously asking ourselves if we are, in action and actuality, good people, is fascinating to me. I have thought about this my whole life, probably sprung from my painful childhood that involved my father; he was a man who many viewed as a fantastic, definitely 'good' person. He was bright, smiling, charming ( often mistaken for any other quality than what it is ) tender in discussions about people's lives, ready to call a friend and talk for hours if they needed. My father saved a woman on the side of the road from being carjacked by breaking a man's arm on the halfway rolled up window. He gave to charity when we had no home and not enough food. ( one of a few things he passed on to me that I keep ) and, he was not a good person. You see? He abused his family. He offered friendly affection when it was something he wanted to do, something that made him feel good about himself. If these things don't make us good, what does?

The Life You Can Save explores the idea that humanity is grossly failing itself and that we as individuals are often kidding ourselves believing we are good people, not looking at the reality of our daily lives and actions. I have passionately felt this way since childhood. I have tried and often succeeded to act in this manner, to help when it has been inconvenient for me ( when my friend and her five children under ten yrs. old moved in with Mr. Curry and I ) or felt impossible ( when we have ten dollars left for the week and I give five to an immigrant worker ) or too painful ( when I pulled an abused teen from her home and 'kidnapped' her to the local abuse shelter, then closely following her life and supporting her financially and emotionally to this day, where she is now a happily married college student ) or just pointless ( offering help to my son's drugged out friend who called me a bitch ). I believe passionately that WORDS without ACTIONS are pointless. ' Faith without works is dead- ' yes, yes. My father taught me that. He was a master of words, a brilliant man who had an IQ to large for the tests and a genius with poems and novels, a philosophy major. A philosophy major who abused his daughters while glowingly describing how much he loved humankind.

So Singer's book discusses what is morally or ethically obliged of a person to BE a good person. I really adore this book because this is one of the major themes of my novel Agitate My Heart ( more than half way through, i think i can i think i can )-- the characters live in San Diego and like myself, are exposed to the severe poverty of the Mexican illegal immigrants and workers. The contrast of our lives next to theirs, in the same little towns and cities, is deeply upsetting. I once fed two men who had not eaten in TWO DAYS. They were standing outside the grocery store looking drawn, haggard, exhausted: starving. They were asking for work for money. I had no money so I took them home and fed them, then called a local church and placed them with the church. I asked myself about this for a few years: What am I obligated to do, living next to these people (sometimes children) who have no home and not enough to eat? Am I putting my children in harms way? Is fear a reasonable excuse for inaction? At what point do my wants or desires become less important than a person eating a meal that day?

What has fascinated me over the years is the absolute discomfort and awkwardness I have often been greeted with when helping or volunteering or reaching out in kindness. To me, kindness is empathy transcribed into action. I understand suffering. I understand hopelessness. I believe I have a spiritual obligation to reach out whenever possible and help whoever or whatever is in front of me. However, in reality when I do this.... For example. When I was trying to help my friend Lacey ( she won't mind her name, she's very vocal and has written about her experience in foster care, another post...) I called many organizations looking for the right one who could help her get out of her abusive home. Each organization that answered seemed nonplussed, detached, and totally confused as to why I was calling. You're not her MOTHER? No, her mother is the one ABUSING HER. You're not her relative at all? Why are you doing this? I spent a good five minutes trying to get across why a stranger would want to help an abused child. Every time. It made me cry. I felt like the world had degenerated to a point where no one could understand why a person wouldn't help a child if they DIDNT HAVE TO.

I just listed some 'good' things that I did. Now do you think I'm full of shit? An egomaniac? Blowing my horn under the pretense of discussing ethics? This is a huge problem in modern society: the IRONIC DISMISSAL. Our bullshit meters are so overwrought they don't recognize authenticity if it bites them in the ass. This is a reason I LOVE and ADORE Dave Eggers: his novels, his Valencia writing workshops for youth, his movements in the world. Although McSweeneys is his brain child and the epitemy of a smart-ass, his novels ache with sincere empathy, concern for human beings, longing for connection: in short, what I recognize as Life. We are so afraid to Care. We really are. What if we look like a dumbass? What if we get laughed at? What if no one believes us? What is our resources are small and we give them away and there are none left for us? ( what if I share my Barbie with Julie and I never get another Barbie again? )

We are a Society of Snarks, like some Dr. Suess book. You know what? I'd rather lean toward a cliche than make up a new slam. I'd rather fumble around helping than not help and gripe about the punkasses who should help themselves ( Did you Know that during the Depression those who were out of work were called hobos and bums and scum and considered at fault for their poverty ? ) or dissect a person's actual RIGHT for my help to the point where you'd have to be the Dali Lama to pass the entrance exam.

Over the summer Lola and I made chocolate chip cookies and carefully placed four in a bag, tying it with a beautiful ribbon. We went house to house 'selling' the cookies for a little 9 year old girl named Taylor who was diagnosed with a terrible cancer and needed very expensive treatments that her family could not afford. Lola wanted to help. She was very upset for Taylor. So this is what we did. And I was ashamed of my neighbors. Not because they didn't give, they did. But the way they did it. It was so sad. Lola was met with these comments

' why are you doing this if you don't even know her '
' my husband had cancer. i already have my own set of illness around here. '
' so you don't even know this girl ? what will she do with this money? '

She didn't seem to notice, she was happy to collect the money for Taylor.

I want to be a 'good' person. I want to look at what that means. I want to talk to you about it.

love, maggie may
*photo rebelblueangel on flickr