My father was headmaster of a school in a small village in
Northern Ireland high in the Sperrin mountains. You learn a lot from your parents, not so much from what they say
but more from what they do. From my
father, I learned tolerance and a search for knowledge. In that small polarised community, Catholics
on one side and Protestants on the
other, two communities existed side by side.
As one village wit sarcastically pointed out to my father, “You try and
stay on the fence between the two communities and there isn’t room on that f__king fence!” In a place, where some parents
would stone the visiting psychologist’s car, in fear of them labelling their
child as having special needs, it was tough at times. Ignorance is scary, not funny. Those who shout loudest are not necessarily
the people we should listen to. Volume
rarely equates with insight. Those who
stir up hatred and prejudice do not appeal to our intellectual side but to our
more animal instincts. The few that try
to speak to grander principles, such as the independent investigation of truth,
will never be given the populist platform bigots possess. Perhaps, it is easier to speak to the worst
side of human nature rather than engender thoughts of the nobility of mankind.
I had a colleague who ran a business in the town nearby, a
good man, married with two children.
For decades he was a pillar of society and then he lost his
footing. He had financial problems and
he used client’s money to make up the shortfall. Of course it was discovered, only the hardened criminal with
expertise or the very lucky escape such deeds.
The local paper was frank but surprisingly fair, highlighting in an
article the financial mistakes and criminal charges but also speaking to his
forty years of service to the community.
The national tabloid newspapers were not so balanced. They ran lurid headlines that assassinated
that quiet man. He was found in a fume
filled garage dead, the tabloid newspaper open beside him. When did these newspapers get the green
light to degrade, humiliate, eviscerate, hound the famous, plague the bereft
and expose only the very worst of our civilisation? We have cultivated that taste for excess and the perverse in all
of us and it sells newspapers very well but at what cost to all of us?
Is that the only way individuals can feel good about
themselves, by constantly observing and gloating at the degradation of
others? To me it is akin to a short man
digging a trench around himself so that he can appear taller. The sad news is there seems no end to the
depth of this trench. Just when you
think the press has reached an all time low they discover a whole deeper darker
level. Reporters should enquire into
situations as much as possible and ascertain the facts, then set them down in
writing. Such news is a mirror of the
world and it is a potent instrument that should be used with justice and
equity, not to torture the subject and degrade the reader. They have a mighty responsibility.
They are not meant to manipulate for material gain, malign for malicious
intent or magnify the misdemeanours of our society. Humanity seems genuinely really weary
for want of a better pattern of life to which to aspire.
It is surely in finding a better of pattern of life real hope lies. My mother taught me kindness not
with words but deeds. A neighbour’s cat
died after giving birth to five kittens near our home and I remember being awed
as my mother set herself the task of hand rearing these five small bundles of
fur. We had big thick brick storage
heaters, which were great for sitting on, and she used one of these for the
kittens, placing their bed just above the heater. She used an eyedropper to feed them regularly and had names for
them all including the best feeder Big Boy who was impossible to fill. I watched as she fought to save them all
even the runt a tiny still shape under the feet of the rest. They all survived and I watched engrossed at
how much work and dedication it took to keep these tiny fragile animals
alive. It seemed to require incredible act of
determination and will power. When they
were fully weaned she found owners for all of them. The local postman took two of them. Within weeks, he and his family suddenly decided to immigrate to
Australia. Unbelievably to me, as a
child, he had the two cats, one of whom was Big Boy, euthanized. I was devastated by how much work it takes
to keep something alive and how little it takes to end a life. It suddenly seemed when it comes to ending
life, thoughtlessness is an advantage.
Now, as an adult I look back and wonder at my Mum’s thoughtfulness and
kindness. She worked, had three
children, nursed my invalid grandfather fighting gangrene and yet found it
within her to lavish such kindness on five vulnerable kittens. I suspect that, is what good people do, they
instil in themselves the habits of kindness, every hour and every day. Steeling themselves to do good in this world. It is not easy, it is backbreaking and it is
hard finding that extra energy to see to the needs of others. But there are so many like her around us, looking
after our young, our elderly, the disabled, the ill every day and night. Pushing themselves past limits of human
endurance and we will never read about them in newspapers. It is a shame really, because these are the
people at whose feet we should be learning what it is to be a real human being. They, by their deeds, foster families
and communities whose ways give real hope to the world.
