Starting
Point No
culture has a monopoly on humanity at its best
By JACQUES LANGLAIS
If you ask me what being a human
means to me, two memories come to mind.
The first goes back to a journey to Asia in the spring of 1962. I
was going to visit a friend I had known in university who was living with his
family in the vicinity of Vellore in South India. On the bus from Madras I
arrived in a town along the way, after sunset, with no reservations for the
night.
Loaded with suitcases, I started looking for shelter. The streets
were already deserted. All signs were in Tamil -- no English version, no Latin
script. I might as well have been illiterate. I was about to lose heart when I
saw a light beaming from a basement. Through the window, I could see some 20
young men attending a lecture, all eyes glued on their professor. The walls
were covered with an unusual combination of pictures: Hindu gods side by side
with Jesus, the Blessed Virgin and a few Christian saints.
Feeling reassured, I ventured to the doorway. I was wearing
Western clerical dress. Upon seeing me, the teacher dismissed his students and
came to me. He spoke English. He readily understood my situation. All hotels
and inns were full. An important conference was taking place in town, he
said.
He brought me to a kind of restaurant where I was served a tasty
meal on a banana leaf. As I ate, I noticed him conversing at length with the
manager. He then came back to tell me there was a bed for me upstairs.
At dawn the next morning, I left my little room to catch the bus
and continue my journey. To my astonishment as I opened the door, I saw a man
wrapped in a blanket sleeping on the veranda floor. I was careful not to wake
him, realizing he had given up his place to the exhausted traveler that I
was.
Beyond the differences of our religious and cultural worlds, I had
been granted the privilege of a threefold hospitality, thanks to the kindness
of the teacher, the inns manager and an unknown guest in a small town of
the Indian subcontinent. I never again met these three men, nor did I learn
more about them, except that they were human in the full sense of the word.
My other recollection is more recent. It goes back to the 1990
casino crisis in Akwesasne. Akwesasne is a Mohawk reserve located on the shore
of the St. Lawrence River and straddling the borders of New York state, Ontario
and Quebec. The warriors were running seven casinos there, which attracted bus
loads of gamblers from cities as far off as Pittsburgh, Toronto, Montreal and
Ottawa.
In order to stop this invasion, which wrecked life on the reserve,
the Akwesasne population of traditional bent set up blockades at both ends of
the village. The warriors retorted by sending the spiritual chief of the
Mohawks, Sakokwenionkwas, an ultimatum. Should the blockades still be there at
8 oclock the same evening, they would be torn down by force.
Sakokwenionkwas immediately called upon friendly groups beyond the
reserve, including pacifists from Montreal, Ottawa and New York City. In
response to this appeal, the Intercultural Institute of Montreal, represented
by my colleague Robert Vachon and myself, decided to join in.
At sunset, Sakokwenionkwas performed the ritual of spreading
sweetgrass ashes on the blockades. I then found myself with a party that was
sent to the eastern end of the Akwesasne to the St. Regis River bridge.
At the appointed time, we saw two huge bulldozers coming toward us
side by side. They stopped halfway over the bridge. It was the warriors with
their AK-47s. The people present had moved forward, unarmed, led by young
couples forming a human chain, singing We Shall Overcome.
At that point a dialogue worthy of a Greek tragedy took place
between the two parties. Addressing a clan mother who was probably a relative,
a warrior said, You had better let us pass. Arent you afraid to
die?
Its easy to kill me, was the answer, but
remember, I have five children, and youll have to take care of them if I
go.
This confrontation between brute force and moral strength lasted
several long minutes, when suddenly a miracle happened. The huge machines were
put in reverse and withdrew. This population, tragically divided between the
supporters of gambling and the guardians of the Great Law of Peace of the
Iroquois Nations, had shown itself to be deeply human. The warriors responded
to a cry from the heart of a mother.
These two life experiences confirmed my conviction that being
human is not the monopoly of any one culture, different as it may be from mine.
In Western languages, the word barbarian is synonymous with
savage, with the consequence that the foreigner and the forest dweller
are equated in the mind of the city-man (civis). In ancient Rome, the
barbarian and the savage were kept beyond the borders
of the empire.
But are, in reality, the civilized free from violence,
cruelty and behaviors threatening to civilization? Who invented bacteriological
warfare, nuclear arms, the final solution and so many other crimes
against humanity? The human family will end up either accepting itself totally,
or it will end up disappearing.
In this sense -- and insofar as they remain faithful to their
original inspiration -- the great educators of humanity, the religious and
cultural traditions, are still our best guarantee of survival, provided these
traditions avoid the trap of those who want to turn them into war machines at
the service of their personal crusades.
Holy Cross Fr. Jacques Langlais is the founder of the
Intercultural Institute of Montreal, devoted to research and education in the
field of cross-cultural relations. This essay is excerpted from What Does
it Mean To Be Human?, a collection of responses from around the world. It is
available from Circumstantial Productions at 914-358-3603.
National Catholic Reporter, March 19,
1999
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