In the global cataclysm of war and terrorism, the small
actions of individuals may seem insignificant. But in fact, they
are what matter most.
My last column
critiqued feminist male bashing and called for
good will toward men. It stated, "the father who worked every
day to make you safe and comfortable is not the enemy." An angry
reader wrote to accuse me of being raised in a "white,
middle-class, nuclear family." She dismissed me as coming from a
privileged background that was out of touch with harsh reality.
Her underlying assumption: anyone who argues for good will
between the sexes does so out of ignorance, not from experience.
Exactly the opposite is true. Speaking from a background of
abuse, I have seen individual acts of kindness and compassion
accomplish more than political analysis or government programs
could imagine.
When I was sixteen, I ran away from home because the streets
were safer than the house in which I'd been raised. The death of
my father several years earlier had so destroyed the family that
my mother was given to fits of uncontrollable violence. After a
particularly brutal incident, I grabbed my coat, ran through the
front door and did not return.
It was winter, shortly after Christmas, and there was nowhere
to sleep without risking the possibility of freezing to death.
Then I found a church with unlocked doors. That night, and for
several nights thereafter, I slept on a bench far in the back
corner, waking up constantly because I was afraid of being
discovered and turned out.
One morning, I woke to find myself covered with a blanket.
Someone had discovered me. Instead of throwing me into the snow,
he or she made sure I was warm. I have never had the chance to
tell the person how much that single act of kindness has meant
to my life. Whenever I am overwhelmed by cynicism, I remember
the blanket and I discover a bit more good will somewhere within
myself.
I have seen similar acts of compassion change the lives of
other people.
My husband and I are ham radio operators. Each year the local
hams band together to make sure that children who cannot visit
malls can still talk to Santa. In co-ordination with parents,
the hams set up portable radios at hospitals, domestic violence
shelters, etc... Each child, in turn, sits in front of a
microphone beside a ham operator who broadcasts a call to the
North Pole. An "elf" at a remote location answers, and soon
Santa is speaking directly to the child, asking about pets and
homework assignments...details that the parents have provided in
advance. We call it "SantaClausNet" and one story has been
repeated many times among our group and beyond. A few years ago
three local hams were "on duty" at our community center when a
father carried in his seven-year-old son, Jim, to talk with
Santa. They sat to one side, waiting and watching as other
children took their turns.
The hams took a special interest in Jim: from the
pre-interview with his father, they knew Jim had not only been
ill for some months but also that his mother had died almost a
year ago. This would be his first Christmas without her. The
report said Jim was "very shy."
When his time came, Jim sat in his father's lap and stared at
the microphone. The ham called the North Pole. An elf named
Murray responded and addressed Jim by name, but the boy said
nothing. Santa asked Jim about his pet dog; his eyes widened but
he said nothing. Jim held onto his father and kept staring
mutely into the microphone. Nothing the hams did could coax the
boy to speak. When SantaNet was over and the hams packed up the
gear, they all felt a bit depressed about the boy they couldn't
help.
The next day, one of the hams spread happy news. Jim's father
had phoned him in tears. When he and his son had been safely
alone in the parking lot, Jim had pulled on his father's hand
and said, "Daddy, Santa Claus talked to me." It was the second
time Jim had spoken since his mother's death.
My commitment to good will and compassion is not the result
of ignorance. It comes from a weathered appreciation of how a
small kindness can profoundly affect a person's life.
Too many people today believe that "the personal is
political," that every human interaction should be subjected to
political analysis and processing. First and foremost, life
should be personal. We all fall into some category or
other—male, middle class, black, Protestant—but first and
foremost we are human beings with a shared humanity.
One of my favorite quotes is from the anthropologist Margaret
Mead, who said: "Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful,
committed people can actually change the world. Indeed it is the
only thing that ever has." Never doubt that small acts of
kindness can change the world. Even the ones you forget, like
drawing a blanket over a stranger. Even the ones you think are
wasted, like failing to coax a child to speak.
Merry Christmas and Happy New Year.
