One noontime some months ago, I heard a psychiatrist speaking on the radio. He was telling of his findings from a study he completed of convicted murderers on death row. The people he interviewed were men and women of all ages, races, and strata of society. Yet he found that all of these diverse individuals shared a common experience. In the life of each convicted murderer there had been deep experiences of humiliation--the painful feelings that accompany loss of self-respect and dignity, a kind of inner death. The speaker wasn't excusing any of these prisoners' acts, but he wanted to suggest that the violence of murder is bred and nurtured and comes to final vengeful completion within our daily experience and relationships.
Likewise, in the life of nations humiliation fuels unspeakable violence. In Bosnia, Rwanda, Burundi, and Israel-Palestine, thousands die in revengeful killing, with each hateful and humiliating massacre fueling the next terrible response. Some historians have written that after World War I the Allies' economic crushing of Germany sowed the seeds of national humiliation that made Hitler's message so appealing to the next generation of Germans.
The bombing in Oklahoma City and recent gunshots in the streets of Winona are reminders that hateful violence has drawn very near. At a recent Catholic Worker roundtable about racism in Winona, we heard accounts of how minorities have been humiliated in our community--housing discrimination, condescending language and behavior, and suspicious and hostile attitudes.
One injury or wrong, real or perceived, becomes the first humiliation. Then thoughts of reprisal begin and an enemy is created. The desire to humiliate or harm or even kill in response becomes a poison in the heart, and oftentimes violence follows. Humiliation and revenge form a circle of violence, seemingly with no way out. When we see this pattern played out in our community or in the larger world, it is easy to become paralyzed with fear, to lay blame on others, or to deny any personal responsibility by keeping it at a safe distance.
I propose that we practice personal acts of dignity to replace acts of humiliation. What are acts of dignity? Acts of dignity build up people and increase their self-esteem because these acts recognize the worth and innate goodness in others. Acts of dignity are directly opposite to acts of humiliation.
For Christians, the teaching and example of Jesus in the Gospels point the way. The Gospels are filled with examples of how Jesus dignified people who were accustomed to a steady stream of humiliation.
His disciples were amazed that Jesus would speak to a Samaritan woman at a well; as a woman and a foreigner she had two strikes against her. When some wanted little children ignored, he insisted that they be brought to him. Jesus feasted with rich and poor alike. Everyone feared and shunned lepers, but he healed them. He spoke of forgiveness with a thief as both of them were dying a criminal's death. He preached and dined with distrusted foreigners and disreputable tax collectors. On many occasions he brought healing to the sick and disabled. Everywhere in the Gospels Jesus is acknowledging, reaching out, and bringing life to people who were used to being humiliated.
The second act of dignity I propose is called the "Shylock exercise." In William Shakespeare's play The Merchant of Venice, the Jewish moneylender Shylock speaks of learning revenge from Christians and pleads that his humanity be recognized:
Hath not a Jew eyes? Hath not a Jew hands, organs, dimensions, senses, affections, passions; fed with the same food, hurt with the same weapons, subject to the same diseases, heal'd by the same means, warm'd and cool'd by the same winter and summer, as a Christian is? If you prick us, do we not bleed? If you tickle us, do we not laugh?
The Shylock exercise consists in acknowledging every person's humanity, and is an act of dignity. Substutute African-American, Hmong, Latino, Middle Eastern, Asian, or any minority group for Jew or Christian in the above list and read it again. Acknowledging our common humanity is an essential act of dignity.
The third act of dignity I propose involves the tongue, that organ that the Epistle of James calls "a restless evil, full of deadly poison" (3:8). James compares the tongue to a tiny spark that can set huge forests ablaze.
We can bestow dignity by refraining from gossip in all forms and from conversation that allows stereotypes and bitter hatred to spread. We need to watch our own language as well as the language used when we are with family, friends, and acquaintances. Dorothy Day reminds us that one of the spiritual works of mercy is to admonish the sinner. Dorothy struggled with this, aware that as a member of a pluralistic and democratic society she might not feel comfortable admonishing her fellow citizens. She learned to do it, however, and recommended that we first pray for the words necessary to both admonish and love at the same time. With God's grace, we can learn to speak up and disapprove of speech that is humiliating or malicious or prejudiced.
Are these daily small acts of dignity worth anything? Can you and I reverse the cycle of humiliation, violence, and revenge? Can we respond to the violence in our society with hope, not despair? Dorothy Day loved Saint Therese of Lisieux and her spirituality of the Little Way. For Dorothy and Therese, the Little Way meant that daily, small acts of love ripple through space and time with a power we do not fathom. Little by little and day by day we can reverse the effects of acts of humiliation by practicing acts of dignity.
by Jim Allaire, jallaire@luminet.net