For those of you who know me well, you know I have a morbidly strange taste for horribly depressing films. It is not that I desire the emotion of sadness, in fact, I rather hate feeling sad; but it seems to me that those movies most worth watching, those with the profound messages, usually play on sadness as a plot device. Today, I "indulged" myself by watching The Boy in the Striped Pajamas. If you have never seen this movie before, please accept this as your spoiler alert.
The main character is an eight-year-old German boy, Bruno, whose father was given command of a Nazi concentration camp. Bruno ended up sneaking out of his yard to visit the "farm" he could see from his window. When he arrived at what he believed to be a farm, he met Shmuel, an eight-year-old Jewish prisoner, who resided on the other side of the electric fence.
Although neither were able to cross through this fence, they were able to strike up an unlikely friendship. Eventually, Shmuel's father went missing and Bruno offered to dig a hole beneath the fence so that he could help Shmuel find his dad. While searching for Shmuel's father, both boys were forced on a march with the other men in the camp to the gas chambers, where both boys were killed.
I think this story presents, in a very tangible way, the reality of the long term effects of religious bigotry. Ultimately, partaking in such beliefs, (beliefs that somehow those who believe in God differently than you do, are less worthy of life), leads to the death of your children. You may think I sound like a radical, and that this story is just an extreme case attempting to reveal the evil of prejudice, but "stories" like this happen all the time.
Hatred is perpetuated from generation to generation. In case you have not heard about the recent sectarian killings in Egypt, murder arising from religious bigotry is still happening in our present-day world.
Allow me try to illustrate this is the least politically correct way I possibly can by broadly generalizing: At some point in history, every single Middle-Eastern family (whether Muslim, Jew, or Christian) has had at least one family member or friend "martyred" by a religious extremist of some other faith. Forgiveness is, perhaps, the most difficult, or nearly impossible virtue to attain - without the grace of God. It is also the most difficult one to teach others and to pass down to future generations. It is, one may say, unnatural to forgive.
Try to imagine the hatred you would feel towards the individual who killed your father in the name of his religion. Then imagine the hatred you would feel towards the group of people who mocked your father's funeral procession by spitting at his coffin and rejoicing in one less adherer to your religion in the world. You can imagine wanting revenge. You set fire to the home of your father's murderer, finding justification for the potential deaths of an entire family based on the shaky foundation that this man's children would have grown up to hate your children just their father hated your father. All survive the fire except the youngest child, an infant, who died of smoke inhalation. A member of this man's religious community becomes enraged and kills a member of your religious community and the hatred continues. Where does it end?
I do not intend to play the blame game. I am not saying that others harbor religious bigotry and that I am a saint who would never judge a person based on their creed. I realize that I, also, must take a deep and scary look inside myself in order to fight an inclination to discriminate. I understand that anger runs deep. My grandfather's cousin and his young daughter were victims of religious persecution, and although they were killed before I was born, I still experience the sensation of anger when I think about their unnecessary deaths.
It is at this moment, that the viewer fully realizes these two boys are exactly the same. They are human beings, and regardless of how they pray they are both children of God. Sometimes we have to take a step back from our personal experiences and our preconceived notions about members of different faiths and look at the bigger picture. We are all human. We all experience sadness, grief, anger. But instead of aggravating that anger, and producing an emotion known as hate, I believe we are all called to comfort those who may have been injured or offended by our words or actions; assure them that there is goodness in the world, that we do not need to perpetuate the prejudices that have been established in us by our parents or grandparents or society.
I fear that we are undergoing a time in history where we are so frightened to be politically incorrect, and yet, religious bigotry is running rampant. We live in a time of contradictions. I do not think it is necessary to accept the beliefs of all faiths, if that were the case, religion would cease to exist. I do not think we need to pretend religion does not exist. It is, after all, the most powerful force in the world, and therefore should be acknowledged. But I think people of all faiths have the ability to remove the blindfold of religious bigotry and open our eyes to injustice, regardless of the religious identity of the victim.
The main character is an eight-year-old German boy, Bruno, whose father was given command of a Nazi concentration camp. Bruno ended up sneaking out of his yard to visit the "farm" he could see from his window. When he arrived at what he believed to be a farm, he met Shmuel, an eight-year-old Jewish prisoner, who resided on the other side of the electric fence.
I think this story presents, in a very tangible way, the reality of the long term effects of religious bigotry. Ultimately, partaking in such beliefs, (beliefs that somehow those who believe in God differently than you do, are less worthy of life), leads to the death of your children. You may think I sound like a radical, and that this story is just an extreme case attempting to reveal the evil of prejudice, but "stories" like this happen all the time.
Hatred is perpetuated from generation to generation. In case you have not heard about the recent sectarian killings in Egypt, murder arising from religious bigotry is still happening in our present-day world.
 |
| Victims of 3-8-11 attacks in Mokattam |
Try to imagine the hatred you would feel towards the individual who killed your father in the name of his religion. Then imagine the hatred you would feel towards the group of people who mocked your father's funeral procession by spitting at his coffin and rejoicing in one less adherer to your religion in the world. You can imagine wanting revenge. You set fire to the home of your father's murderer, finding justification for the potential deaths of an entire family based on the shaky foundation that this man's children would have grown up to hate your children just their father hated your father. All survive the fire except the youngest child, an infant, who died of smoke inhalation. A member of this man's religious community becomes enraged and kills a member of your religious community and the hatred continues. Where does it end?
I do not intend to play the blame game. I am not saying that others harbor religious bigotry and that I am a saint who would never judge a person based on their creed. I realize that I, also, must take a deep and scary look inside myself in order to fight an inclination to discriminate. I understand that anger runs deep. My grandfather's cousin and his young daughter were victims of religious persecution, and although they were killed before I was born, I still experience the sensation of anger when I think about their unnecessary deaths.
 |
| Bashir & Maya |
But, in the end, what does this anger leave me with? It surely is not productive. It is, in fact, contrary to my own moral belief in forgiveness. Forgiveness is easy to say, but much harder to feel. It is a daily struggle and I am fully aware of how difficult it is to fight.
You can see how easily anger can turn to hate and hate to prejudice and prejudice to mistrust that you will pass down to your children. At the end of The Boy in the Striped Pajamas, the Jewish men (and Bruno) are forced to strip down before entering the gas chamber. They are reduced to nothing - nothing but their own flesh and their terrified souls. Bruno and Shmuel clasp their hands together as the gas is poured through small slots in the ceiling.
You can see how easily anger can turn to hate and hate to prejudice and prejudice to mistrust that you will pass down to your children. At the end of The Boy in the Striped Pajamas, the Jewish men (and Bruno) are forced to strip down before entering the gas chamber. They are reduced to nothing - nothing but their own flesh and their terrified souls. Bruno and Shmuel clasp their hands together as the gas is poured through small slots in the ceiling.
I fear that we are undergoing a time in history where we are so frightened to be politically incorrect, and yet, religious bigotry is running rampant. We live in a time of contradictions. I do not think it is necessary to accept the beliefs of all faiths, if that were the case, religion would cease to exist. I do not think we need to pretend religion does not exist. It is, after all, the most powerful force in the world, and therefore should be acknowledged. But I think people of all faiths have the ability to remove the blindfold of religious bigotry and open our eyes to injustice, regardless of the religious identity of the victim.
