We had a guided tour of Brendonk,Belgium (a concentration camp for political prisoners during WW II). The tour was conducted by the head of American University in Brussels. He had studied the camp and experiences of its prisoners extensively, aided by the input of a survivor. Therefore, the story was quite telling – and compelling.
The students were subdued and several of them, guys included, were struggling with the horror of this place, which was really one of the "better" ones because they only murdered a hundred people or so (no gas chamber; death was by shooting, hanging or torture).
The camp commander, his wife and dog are central to the camp experience. He was an uneducated, lower class person with few prospects until he had the opportunity to rise in prestige through the German army. He and his wife personally participated in torture of prisoners. They trained their dog to eat prisoners alive.
I think, perhaps, that this is the real horror of war: Its capacity to permit ordinary citizens to develop their most base instincts. Hearing the story, all I could wonder was, who would this couple have been under peaceful circumstances?
Thursday, July 19, 2007
Fiction Explains the Human Experience Better than Religion Alone
An unloving response to certain religious people who disdain fiction writing (but have no problem at all renting movies from Blockbuster...trust me, it's more common than you'd think):
People who think that non-fiction is for the unenlightened are first degree relatives of the self-described "enlightened" morons who want to separate emotions from the human experience; knowledge from surrounding values; mind from body; and sexuality from soul.
The human experience is unique because of how the rational (as we can perceive it) is inextricably combined with the irrational (subjective, unmeasurable).
Fiction writing captures that mix and uses it to explain the human experience in a way that makes sense even to those who claim aforementioned separation.
People who think that non-fiction is for the unenlightened are first degree relatives of the self-described "enlightened" morons who want to separate emotions from the human experience; knowledge from surrounding values; mind from body; and sexuality from soul.
The human experience is unique because of how the rational (as we can perceive it) is inextricably combined with the irrational (subjective, unmeasurable).
Fiction writing captures that mix and uses it to explain the human experience in a way that makes sense even to those who claim aforementioned separation.
Thursday, July 12, 2007
Siena, Italy
I play any sport that involves a ball, including basketball. I play them with all my heart, I play to my utmost ability, and I cheer good plays no matter who makes them. I don’t “get” sports, however. I don’t “get” strategy, which, in my mind, simply means playing to the best of your ability, setting up team members to play to their strengths, and scoring as many points as possible. In my world, calling a time-out in order to run down the clock undermines the spirit of the game and is akin to cheating. Therefore, it is understandable that the single most unlikely place for me to be found on the night the local team brings home a big trophy is in the plaza celebrating.
And there I was, on the campo of Siena drinking straight from a bottle of wine (I’d lost the cup), enjoying the buzz of the crowd, drinking in the excitement of being in Italy, in awe of the cobblestones of the plaza, trying to comprehend what it meant to be standing in a location built 700 years ago–full of touristy thoughts, in other words–when a wave of excitement revived the crowd. The mood had been starting to die down when the news rippled through the campo. Was it true? Was it rumor? What could we expect next? Would there be a riot? It was certainly worth sticking around to find out. Besides that, I had no idea how to get back to the hotel.
Several tiny police cars parked themselves inconspicuously at the streets leading to the campo and turned off their lights. Nothing happened for 15 or 20 minutes, and then out of nowhere, people started streaming into the plaza carrying the green and white Siena flag. We gathered where the crowd was gathering, and then, out of nowhere, the outside ring of the campo–the place where the horses run during the Il Palio–was filled with people riding miniature motorcycles. Engines revving, people screaming, firecrackers, excitement, noise, flags waving, around the campo they went. They headed in the same direction as the horse race, which is the opposite direction I had pictured.
The team bus arrived. The crowd morphed to surround it. Then, as if the crowd were a giant amoeba, a great pod shifted to the middle of the plaza and created a gauntlet of celebration. The team players walked the pod-path waving to the cheering crowd. The players were short!
What an incredible beginning for our tour, to be on the campo witnessing the same kind of communal participation that the campo was originally built to accommodate. It wasn’t the Il Palio, but it certainly helped provide a taste of what it might be like and that in itself was worth the price of the trip.
And there I was, on the campo of Siena drinking straight from a bottle of wine (I’d lost the cup), enjoying the buzz of the crowd, drinking in the excitement of being in Italy, in awe of the cobblestones of the plaza, trying to comprehend what it meant to be standing in a location built 700 years ago–full of touristy thoughts, in other words–when a wave of excitement revived the crowd. The mood had been starting to die down when the news rippled through the campo. Was it true? Was it rumor? What could we expect next? Would there be a riot? It was certainly worth sticking around to find out. Besides that, I had no idea how to get back to the hotel.
Several tiny police cars parked themselves inconspicuously at the streets leading to the campo and turned off their lights. Nothing happened for 15 or 20 minutes, and then out of nowhere, people started streaming into the plaza carrying the green and white Siena flag. We gathered where the crowd was gathering, and then, out of nowhere, the outside ring of the campo–the place where the horses run during the Il Palio–was filled with people riding miniature motorcycles. Engines revving, people screaming, firecrackers, excitement, noise, flags waving, around the campo they went. They headed in the same direction as the horse race, which is the opposite direction I had pictured.
The team bus arrived. The crowd morphed to surround it. Then, as if the crowd were a giant amoeba, a great pod shifted to the middle of the plaza and created a gauntlet of celebration. The team players walked the pod-path waving to the cheering crowd. The players were short!
What an incredible beginning for our tour, to be on the campo witnessing the same kind of communal participation that the campo was originally built to accommodate. It wasn’t the Il Palio, but it certainly helped provide a taste of what it might be like and that in itself was worth the price of the trip.
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
Return of the Traveler
I have returned and am consumed with papers due, internship to find, research to complete. The trip was awesome, unbelievable.
I may post excerpts of reaction papers over the next few weeks. Maybe even include a few photos.
One observation, however: We toured at least a dozen cathedrals. I was amazed at not only the power which the buildings themselves reflected of their human creators, but also at the spiritual power these same buildings seemed to exude. As though God found a place to reside in spite of human intervention, despite the perversion of the concept of the church building from glorifying God to glorifying human power.
I may post excerpts of reaction papers over the next few weeks. Maybe even include a few photos.
One observation, however: We toured at least a dozen cathedrals. I was amazed at not only the power which the buildings themselves reflected of their human creators, but also at the spiritual power these same buildings seemed to exude. As though God found a place to reside in spite of human intervention, despite the perversion of the concept of the church building from glorifying God to glorifying human power.
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