I have always been something of a reluctant Facebook user. I enjoyed it at first, tolerated it later. I have put it to most of its known uses – to amuse myself, to stay in touch, to stalk my friends, to boast my best photographs and to announce everything from the mundane to the momentous. More recently, I have struggled to find my way to it at all. When I do, I am usually on my phone scrolling quickly through the newsfeed which doesn’t make a lot of sense because I have missed too much in between – a silent spectator to many lives, not intervening, not encouraging, not participating.
This is just a symptom of something far more pervasive in my life. In recent years I have become a guarded, self-preserving version of myself, careful to only watch from a safe distance and never get involved unless absolutely necessary. In some of my lowest moments, I switch channels to get away from stories of the poor, the hungry and the war-torn. It’s been too long since I really went out of my way to stand up for a stranger or even a neighbour in a tight spot. And since I am talking about acts of pure goodwill (as pure as it humanly can get!), I exclude any socially conscious efforts I made that also went into my CV.
It used to be different. As a young intern in a large multinational technology company I got my first whiff of sexual politics in the workplace. I watched ‘outraged!’ as our female manager, clearly enamoured with one of the interns, favoured him unfairly while the rest of us worked hard to cover for our muppet teammate’s lack of grey matter which, to his credit, he compensated for in other ways. We tried to suffer quietly but it all got too much. I took it upon myself to bring justice and peace to the intern community. In my next confidential monthly reflection submitted to the said Manager’s superior, I thought it would be appropriate to express how I felt about what was going on. But, life being as it is, I had to be taught my place as an intern. Skipping right ahead to the precipice of my humiliation, I had to withdraw what I had said, apologise to my Manager and face the walk of shame to the intern corner of the office where the muppet was waiting for me, grinning widely. Oh, what a beating my ego took that day!
A lot of what enraged me over a decade ago only amuses me now. I ostensibly carry the torch for civic mindedness and justice, but I am guilty of letting it gather dust in the corner for long periods these days. I make embarrassingly feeble attempts to participate in causes. I tried to talk to a parish council representative about the benefits of green energy and why he should stop opposing every wind energy project that is proposed for the area. He just told me that nobody else thinks so, and that we need to trim our front hedge more often. Fair point. My most recent contribution was to sign a petition against developing a field near us into an amusement park. I wasn’t outraged by it but one of my neighbours was, and I felt that in the absence of the inclination or energy to change the world myself, I should at least help others. The appeal was successful. Way to go, Tim!
Sadly, there are far more instances where I have chosen not to ‘act’, and only to ‘watch’ as the show goes on around me. It seems with age I have become less of an agent for change. Perhaps Shakespeare had it right in the ‘Seven ages of man’ when he described the soldier – jealous in honour, quick in quarrel – mellowing with wisdom. It could be cowardice or maturity, wisdom or selfish indifference. Perhaps it is the ‘too busy to care’ adage of our age. I sometimes think I am scared off from volunteering because I worry that I won’t be able to give enough time to do a good job of it – my obsessive nature wouldn’t cope with that well. At other times I think that keeping my opinions to myself offers me a better chance of living in peace with my neighbours.
The excuses are numerous. I know many like me who have preferred to ‘keep themselves to themselves’. But I am fortunate to also know family, friends and neighbours who have chosen the harder path, who volunteer for community causes and intervene when they witness an injustice, even when it takes away their time, energy and peace of mind. Why don’t I do the same, I ask myself? Is it possible that I have been lulled into a false sense of security derived from feeling able to ‘procure’ most forms of help for a fee? I am ashamed that this might be the closest answer I can find. I may not be acutely aware of it, but perhaps deep down I don’t feel the need for community. I feel ashamed that I have allowed giving to be predicated on what I can get in return – a great formula for a blinkered soulless life.
It would be terrible if I only get colder with age, less able to empathise with the problems of my community, and more able to turn away from my fellow human beings, lest they disturb the delicate web of my life. That is not the lesson I want to teach my children. I want them to care about people, the environment and the community they live in. I want them to ask questions, and robustly debate policy issues. I want them to care for the weakest among them. I want them to vote and be charitable. How will they learn to do all that if I close myself to my community?
The need for change takes a greater urgency within me as I try to think of ways I can contribute to my community. If I am honest, I am not satisfied being a mere spectator. I can’t promise much where I stand today, staring at a hedge yet again overgrown, seemingly impossible to tame. We each have to pick our battles in our busy lives. But I hope for my own sake and that of my children that should my community need me, I will stand up and find my voice.
How are you involved in your community? Please share your comments below.
The article Ask not what your community can do for you appeared first on Untold Magazine.
