Opinion - The hardening of gentle hearts (2)
The hardening of gentle hearts (2)
In Part (1), I tried to paint for you the impact of childhood experiences on the feeling mind.
Particularly, from the long term point of view, seen in quiet retrospect, as to how a young fellow starts to see his little world.
The roots of what people call 'radicalization' (what I prefer to call 'hardening of the gentle heart'), not surprisingly, reach back into childhood. So, of course, does later life trauma, the cynic might (truthfully) (and dryly) comment.
Children take in much, much more than adults ever even want to acknowledge. Their upbringing is already fraught, (more so even these days), without the added pressure of parents being trapped in what comes across to the youngster? As a non-loving, stressed, relationship.
Children know. They sense. It's another long story, I might tell one day, but it's not relevant to the immediate discussion of 'radicalization' or the likely rebirth of Fascism. Suffice it to say that, from an early age, I was extremely aware of politics, nationality, taking sides, and Injustices.
Regarding the latter, Injustices, (if I believed my mother), it seemed 'Government', and especially the British Government?
Bore a grave responsibility.
The events of recent years, in Europe and America, come across to this pilgrim, as a surprising (maybe, un-surprising) 'deja-vue' on so many levels. I've heard this song before. I've seen the show, and I have thrown the peanuts, from the cheap gallery. Later, when I got really fed up? Not without reason? A lot more than peanuts.
Several memories flash through my mind, but before I list them? I must mention that my Father? (Who, by the way, held a Ph.D. in Chemistry, and was far from being a dummy), was about as staunch a Britisher, as they make 'em. With a terrific devotion to war heroes, especially Winston Churchill. When that treacherous monster died, and was buried, my father and I watched the funeral on our black-and-white television. My father, deeply emotional, with tears in his eyes. You'd think Jesus himself had been nailed to the Cross again. The relevance of this, if you like, is that I got wildly diverging pictures of the world we lived in, from both sides. And I, a teenager now? On full input.
What, you may ask, is the previously-mentioned 'deja-vue' element that disconcerts me so today? Alarms me? Klaxons blaring? I keep thinking that not only have I heard this song before. I, dare I say it? I feel I know where this is going. (And maybe so, dear reader, do you)
At the time we had some loud, incredibly divisive politicians, strutting and preening their pompous hour upon the cardboard stage.
Just like today.
Seemingly without any regard for the consequences of their words. You got the impression that these were mediocre (at best) spirits, promoted by wile and chance, cronies and bribery, way above their level of intelligence, empathy, and spirituality. They seemed to positively delight, even exult, in deliberately stoking fires. When the skyline, ominously, was already full of smoke.
Just, exactly, like today.
I cannot hope to mention them all, but I will single out the 'Reverend' Ian Paisley. I have read his speeches, in the papers. Heard them on television. Heard him, sadly, from among the anonymous crowd. (All cheering, by the way). Ian Paisley encapsulated the hard, hard Protestant. They are not all like that. But when he said words to the effect of:
"Northern Ireland is a Protestant country, for a Protestant people"?
He poured so much feeling into every syllable? Well, you knew only too well how that was going to go down in Republican areas.
Like a Molotov Cocktail, from the top floor. He was not just advocating. He was promising, in effect?
Ethnic cleansing.
Just like today, here, in the USA. Make no mistake.
The people who rise in politics? Are not the best.
Bernadette Devlin, on the Republican side, also hardened her language, noticeably, as time went on. The Gulf? Between the two communities. Widened precipitously. Polarized. Egged on by the haters. Who were wildly applauded. The extremists, spoiling for a fight. Loving the attention.
The people who rise in politics? Are not the best.
Children, from both communities, who once peacefully walked to school together? Now, emulating the wars of their parents? Marched in gangs, throwing rocks, and hate, at one another. And I would think of one of the stories of my mother, all those decades before. Her walking to school. The little Catholic girl. On the way, she saw some awfully young children, toddlers, playing precariously on a bank above a dangerous-looking, scummy pond. Meaning ever so well, she rushed to prevent a drowning accident.It was a Protestant housing estate, and before she could get there? A woman rushed out of a nearby house, shouting, at the top of her voice:
"Get away from that pond! Do you not know it's full of wee popes!?"
A short while after? My mother's family was run out of Belfast.
I was to see many a sign of the ever widening gulf. It wasn't always so. There were brief times before, when Irishmen were Irishmen. Together. Not so divided.
Even then, I remember, being aware of the American Flag. And the amazing concept of being 'an American'.
United. Catholic or Protestant. Serb, or Croat. Turk, or Russian. English or German. Swearing allegiance to the flag, enjoying a barbecue together in some American town. I thought it was a wonderful, inspiring, touching concept. I had no idea that I would later watch, absolutely appalled? That unifying flag? Destined to be viciously trampled in the mud and dirt. Its healing, unifying, inspiring radiance? Cynically, deliberately, with malice aforethought, undermined.
What a mistake.
The people who rise in politics? Pompous, haughty, so shallow and corrupt?
Are not the best.