OCTOBER 2006

ISSUE 8 - ISSN 1448- 6326

A TASK OF RECONCILIATION: RECONCILING THE IRRATIONAL

CECILY CLAYTON

Today I saw Jesus hanging on a cross. She was about six or seven years old, a child, probably an orphan, upside down, pivoting on a small stand supported by only her mouth, continually moving, bending her body in a hideously compelling and unbelieveable manner. I could not see her eyes and neither did she lift her head from the terrible task.

The child seemed to have no real consciousness of herself, of what she was doing, or of the mixed reactions of others looking upon her as hour upon hour she endlessly bent and rotated her body. Did she understand that perhaps her only value to significant others was her potential to earn money and that in this place of crucifixion her purpose there to elicit emotion from non-significant others. This manner of acting, of reversing her body against its naturally future orientated motions, turning her body inside out upside down again and again and again and again was her role, her life, and she obviously was faithful to it. A bright coloured bucket stood beside her cross, a bucket hungry for the compassion of passers by.

Its true I did not see Jesus severely whipped or spat upon, although undoubtedly over the years this had to happen in order to allow this child’s body to bend in such highly unnatural ways. However what I can know is the lasting power of this terrible crucifixion, the long past, of what probably has taken place for this child to be able to do so fluidly what she is doing now and the future, where this child will probably spend the rest of her young childhood days endlessly repeating the same movements of her body in the same cruel manner, continually enslaving herself to and being enslaved by hidden inhuman commands.

The one who brought her to this place and who was continually watching her and the bucket remained hidden to my eyes. At the moment of watching a thought crossed my mind. I wondered if I had snatched the bucket away from its place would this person controlling her have appeared? This crazy question was a fleeting one, at the time my only rational response in this situation of irrationality.

After a while of standing there other questions began to loom. At the end of the day how does this child know that her work day is finished? What signals appear before her eyes to let her know that her nine or ten hours of crucifixion is over, over until the next terrible morning?

The bald patch of hair at the top of the child’s head spoke of the immensity of stress and violence that was taking place in her and her life. I stood helplessly beside her, suffering only inside, working to stifle any cries of horror that might arise. Here was I also trapped in this place with her, a place of appointment, waiting on a street corner, simply waiting for a friend. Other people waiting with me felt the presence of this child, engaging a number of ways to deny her presence on the crowded footpath. One kept looking the other way. Another talked about everything superficial beside what was occurring right beside us.

After standing there for some time another person did acknowledge the awfulness of the situation and the child’s state saying that often the mouth bleeds from the appalling demands made on it, then finished her act of speaking with a helpless shrug. What could we do? I just stood there in a horrified state of watching, transfixed by the irrationality I was witnessing. More questions rose up. How long can such a young one endure such inhuman conditions for her body? For her life? And what of her future? What kind of life faces her? What of the effect of the continued violence upon her? What outcomes are possible from such a distorted view of the world and the violence of her relationships, violence internalized by this continual violation of her ‘self’, her life? What are her options for life?

If hers was the only instance of this shocking life and evidence of our capacity for inhumanity then this violation of a life would be horrific. Sadly it is more than horrific as this child was not the only one in whom I saw Jesus crucified today. Looking up the street I could see at least three or four other children all trapped in this horrible manner, children whose lives have been taken away from them, enslaved in the agendas of others and society, trapped by adults in their bid to make an income for themselves. And today’s scene is only in this part of this street today. There are many more different times and different streets and many more cities and many more countries in which this same model of inhumanity manifests itself.

In the aftermath of this experience of horror large questions loom in my consciousness, questions of myself and the situation, and a mixture of conflicting emotions. How could I stand beside this child and do nothing? What could I do? What can anyone do? And what about these other children in the same situation, where adults totally exploit young bodies and lives in this manner? What can be done?

These are some of the questions I have to face and form some answers to bring some meaning into the experience, to bring some rationality to the inhumanity and the inhuman I have witnessed today. Writing this article is just one way of living with and being able to meaningfully integrate this experience, to help me live with what I will often continue to see while living here. I do have the choice to forget, to bury, to purge this scene out of my consciousness. However to bring meaning into the utter meaningless of today’s scene would seem significant and urgent for all these children who must daily face this type of crucifixion. In seeing, witnessing their utter violation and then in finding meaning I can say with authenticity that their lives DO count.

I cannot help feeling that somehow my life, our lives are involved in this child’s awful turning, twisting, and rotating body. It seems to me that less obvious but equally enslaving way our lives too have become victims of social demands, inhuman thinking, caught up in terrible revolutions activated by patterns of systemized living. Maybe this quest for meaning in the presence of irrationality such as I have described here is the present choice, power, and task we given, working to reconcile this awfulness of irrationality mirrored in these very young lives.

Author

Cecily Clayton teaches at Xing Tan Xiang, No.1 Middle School, Jinyang. in Guizhou within the The People's Republic of China.

Email: cecily.clayton@gmail.com

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