Thich Nhat Hanh, Julius Malema and dreams of vetkoek
Photo credit: Wikimedia Commons curtesy of Duc (pixiduc) from Paris, France
Is it just me or are all the good people dying?
On Sunday morning the Vietnamese Buddhist monk, Thich Nhat Hanh, died at the age of 95.
I once was invited to an appearance of his in Ireland. It was an extraordinary evening. The hall was packed to the rafters which, given the fact that around 80% of Irish people regard themselves as Catholic, surprised me.
Thich Nhat Hanh was surrounded by other monks and nuns from his order and together they led a deep meditation. I have been to many religious meetings in my life, but I had never experienced anything like this. The silence of hundreds of people meditating was deafening.
The energy that Thich Nhat Hanh generated through gentle speech, chanting, and the beating of a prayer drum was electrifying. As people left they walked silently and slowly. I was blown away.
Thich Nhat Hanh is known for bringing the practice of mindfulness to the West. He is also known for his peace efforts – something he paid dearly for. While he was teaching in the USA in the sixties, he became vocal about the Vietnam war and criticized both sides.
This did not go down well with the Vietnamese authorities and he was banned from returning to the country of his birth. He stayed in exile for 39 years and was only allowed to return in 2005.
On Sunday, after reading about his death, I turned the TV on in the hopes to see more. However, the main reports on the international news stations were about the escalating tensions and seemingly imminent war in the Ukraine.
The next report was of a Saudi airstrike on a prison in Yemen. At least 70 people were killed and over a hundred seriously injured. Three of the victims were small children who were playing soccer close to the facility.
So much violence, so much suffering – all because of the egos of leaders and of the greed to own and control more.
I switched to a South African station where they were discussing Julius Malema’s visit to the Mall of Africa to inspect how many foreigners restaurants employ.
I listened with growing worry.
Not much scares me in terms of our future in South Africa, but the rapidly increasing intolerance between people of different races/ nationalities and towards those who are here from other countries keeps me awake at night.
Politicians often stoke the fire in a populist attempt to win votes, without thinking or caring about the long-term consequences and suffering they could (and oftern do) cause.
Although Malema was careful to say that the EFF is not saying that restaurants shouldn’t employ “Zimbabweans and other African brothers and sister”, Malema’s “oversight” visit last week will undoubtedly cause huge anxiety and fear among foreign workers. I’m also pretty sure that many restaurants will think twice in the future before employing them – no one wants a fight with the EFF.
Clearly, the entire visit was intended to play into the xenophobic tendencies of many in our country. The same can be said of some of Herman Mashaba’s utterances and those of some ANC ministers.
Of course, I’m well aware of the challenges of “leaky” borders, but we can’t allow ourselves to again become a country of “us” and “thems” – whether the dichotomy is between different races or different nationalities.
That is the language of Apartheid that we MUST resist, even when the rest of the world is putting up walls, mobilizing tanks, and dropping bombs from the sky.
Thich Nhat Hanh insisted that the antidote to violence and hatred is compassion – that we must put ourselves in the shoes of others. Even though this can become overwhelming at times, we have to feel in our bodies what it feels like to not have eaten for days, to not have anything to give to our children or to have been raped or beaten.
If we could do that – even for a brief second, the world would change. Of course, it’s uncomfortable to feel suffering and so we turn our faces away in the same manner that politicians do when their actions kill innocent children.
As Thich Nhat Hahn said: “Finding truth is not the same as finding happiness. Once you have seen the truth you cannot avoid suffering. Otherwise you have seen nothing at all.”
A while ago I was driving when out of the corner of my eye, I saw a woman sitting on the side of the road. She looked like a domestic worker and in the second after I drove past her I realised that she was crying. I was late for a meeting, but something made me stop and reverse. I opened the window and asked her if she was ok.
She wept so badly that she could barely speak. I beckoned her closer and asked if I could help. She told me that she had four children at home and no money to feed them. They had run out of money and food two days earlier. She was hoping to get money from her sister, who was working as a domestic worker, but when she arrived she realised that her sister had left with her employers on holiday.
I told the woman to get in the car and that I would get her some money. Still sobbing, she told me how she wanted to make vetkoek to generate an income. I listened as she unloaded all her fears and dreams between the tears.
At the ATM I drew enough money for her to feed the children and buy ingredients for vetkoek. It wasn’t much, but she was overjoyed.
At the taxi rank, she got out of the car, thanked me and started to walk away. Then she turned around and walked back. “I want to tell you something,” she said. “I was planning to kill myself today. I was going to jump in front of the train. I just could not face the hungry children any more. That was why I was crying on the road. But now I won’t. I’m going to make vetkoek.”
I’m not telling this story to make myself look good. I nearly drove past in my rush to get to my meeting. When she walked closer to my car, I looked around to see if she had any companions that might harm me. Initially I wondered if it she had used the story before.
But when I drove away from her that day, I cried. I cried because of the pain so many people suffer from, and about the horror that might have played out if I hadn’t stopped.
We have to see the individual faces and feel the suffering of the “others”. Instead of seeing them as a burden or threat, we need to stop and stretch out a hand. If we truly can’t help, we can at least listen.
Because as the saying goes: “There, but for the grace of God, goes I”.
RIP Thich Nhat Hanh.