Prejudice Revisited

       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.

Victims of 3-8-11 attacks in Mokattam

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.

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.

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.

Thoughts on a Sunday

      Okay, so this blog post in going to be very heavy - after this one, I promise they will be entitled "Thoughts on Painful Saturday Morning."  But in light of recent events in Egypt, I've been stressing a lot, and worrying a lot and praying even more - and with these three elements, I've accumulated a lot of thoughts that I'd like to share with anyone who cares to read.
       As I was walking to Church this morning, I couldn't help but think how lucky I am.  I was not followed or harassed by the police on my way; I did not have to pay off anyone to let me worship my God; throughout Mass, I did not worry that my small place of prayer may be a target of a suicide bomber; and I live in a country where Sunday exists within the weekend, an observed day of rest.
       My roommate asked me a few weeks ago, why I go to church every Sunday.  I didn't have a ready answer.  I mumbled something about a moral obligation, and how it helps me mentality to make it through the week. But my answer should have been, that I go because I can.  It may sound like a tremendously impersonal explanation, but after all, isn't gratefulness the very essence of religion? Today I am grateful for a great number of people who helped shape the life that I am able to live.
       In 1649, Maryland became the first British Colony in America to allow for the freedom of religious practice with its Maryland Act of Toleration, or an Act Concerning Religion.  As most of you know, on July 4, 1776 the founding fathers of our great nation sent their grievances to England and declared our independence.  There was no partying in every street, no updating of facebook statuses, no "Happy birthday, U.S.A.", no celebratory newspaper articles. We hadn't won anything yet.  That day, the birthday of our nation, was not a day of celebration, it was only the first step of a long and difficult journey. Those who had the audacity to sign the Declaration of Independence had committed treason, those who supported them, were guilty by association. During the War of Independence, from 1776 until 1783, a span of seven years, men stood up and fought and died for what they believed was their God-given right of freedom, of having the ability to hold their lives in their own hands. When our founding fathers drafted our Constitution, the First Amendment granted citizens freedom of religion, based on precedence of the Maryland Act. Since then, all Americans, voters, educators, lobbyists, representatives, and leaders have held the responsibility of upholding that freedom.
       In 1914, my great-grandfather, Alfred Gemayel, sought refuge in Egypt after he and his brother, Pierre, were sentenced to death in Lebanon for opposing the oppressive Ottoman Empire.  In Egypt he was able to raise a family and they lived in relative affluence and peace. When the Muslim Brotherhood became prominent in Egypt and threatened the Christians during the Arab-Israeli War, my grandparents, Elie and Jacqueline removed their family from danger by seeking refuge in New York, where my great-aunt Mary took them in.  They left everything behind them so that their children and grandchildren could continue the practice of their faith without fear.
         I don't know if I would have had the courage to petition a king for my colony's religious freedom as Lord Baltimore did. I do not know if I would have had the courage to sign the Declaration of Independence as our founding fathers have done. I do not know whether I would have been courageous enough to fight against an unbeatable army, nor have had the perseverance or energy to not lose hope for seven years as the American patriots did. I don't know if I could have left my country of birth, my home, my family, my friends, my job, my language, to secure freedom for my posterity as Grandpa and Grandma did. I don't know if I could have sacrificed space within my home, attention from my children, and money from my salary to ensure that others could enjoy my freedoms as Aunt Mary did.  But the least I can do to show my gratitude, is drag my hung-over butt out of bed every Sunday morning and thank God for the blessings I have and do not deserve. So that's why I go to church - because so many people have sacrificed everything they had so that I can.
       The freedoms we as Americans enjoy, were (and I know this sounds cliché) not free. They come at a great cost, great sacrifice, and continuous hard work. For that reason, I am skeptical of the present "revolution" in Egypt.  I can easily imagine Americans staging protests of tens of thousands of people - just look at the annual March for Life, or some of the events from this past summer, such as Glenn Beck's Restoring Honor Rally, or Jon Stewart's Restoring Sanity Rally.  It doesn't take much to get people to come out and protest for causes in which they believe.  Don't get me wrong, I believe it to be extremely noble for people to give up their time and maybe even their reputation or safety to protest, but I view the ouster of Mubarak as nothing more than the signing of the Declaration of Independence; a monumental moment from a historians perspective, but a mere symbol for those living through the times.  I just hope that the people of Egypt realize that this is only the beginning, that there will be a struggle, and a dangerous power vacuum.  I guess I'm afraid of freedom that comes too easily. Easy freedom doesn't last - just look at the Russian, Chinese, and French revolutions. The mob ruled the minds of the people and they ended up with worse rulers than they had ousted.  I pray that the people of Egypt realize that democracy means that their fate is in their own hands, and that if they do not take their responsibility seriously, their unalienable rights will be trampled upon.  They have accomplished a great feat of freedom from an autocratic ruler, but I believe it is a time for action and not celebration as their freedom to's have not yet fully been realized.