Ben makes some really good points about the reaction to the Asian Tsunami over at SWSL today, and links over here, contrasting my post earlier with Nick’s, at Auspicious Fish. Nick writes:
“Yet more Diana-isation, yet more commodification of anguish, yet another dick-measuring contest to see who is more upset, yet more public shows of pain instead of practical help. Get over yourselves. There’s nothing wrong with a bit of British stiff-upper-lip, and it’s infinitely preferable to this selfishly adolescent melancholy show-off contest.”
But picking out that quote in particular belies the more serious points he makes, which add up to the fact that a minutes silence, let alone three, does absolutely nothing except make its participants feel better about themselves. “Three minutes? Fuck off. Give three more pounds.”
Ben says…
“Nearly one million people were slaughtered [in Rwanda] in the space of less than a year, and the lives of so many more were irreversibly changed. Yet the international response was practically non-existent. Why? Did those million lives not matter as much? And was that because Rwanda is a small country in central Africa and not an idyllic playground for Westerners?”
How would we be reacting if western holidayers were not implicated in this disaster? Before I wrote my blog post about my reaction to the three minute silence I noted that Blake Morrison had – again – written on the value of silence in in article titled ‘A time to Mourn’ in the Guardian. I say ‘again’ because I remember that he has written before about the value of imposing silence (at football games, if I remember rightly), and when he did I never found myself especially moved by either side of the argument.
I can see Nick’s point, and half agree, that this prescribed version of ‘grief’ is unsatisying and often hypocritical (do nothing, say nothing) and anathema to real, spontaneous grief. But I find these moments oddly moving anyway – not because I imagine them to be actions of real significance, but because they resemble significance, and so often life does not. I rejoice when my life is briefly cinematic. So I don’t begrudge the silences, nor think them that important. I tried not to talk about the worthwhile-ness of it all.
Ben’s point is more apposite. Three minutes here for South East Asia. Three for Bali. None for Rwanda. None for the earthquake in Bam in 2003. None for the 30,000 in Bhuj a few months before Sept 11. Two minutes for that latter date (the queen balked at three, apparently). How do we judge the scale of these events? How much should we mourn? Who makes these decisions? How would it be if the chaos of the Asian earthquake had not destroyed lands where English men and women holidayed? Had Bhuj been teeming with Brits, would we have cared more than we did? A positive spin might be that this is amongst the first international events outside the West which the British have recognised as truly significant and worthy of aid.
Like everyone else, I’ve watched so much news in the last few weeks that I’m finding it difficult to keep watching. But I had to give up on regional news a day or two in, it’s instance on parochial angles, ‘human interest’ stories near-nauseating. Part of me realises that if there are 200 brits in danger that makes 400 horrified parents, countless children, friends and colleagues who need to know more, and I appreciate that that will always be the case. But it is sickening to see that headline, whenever it appears – ‘massive earthquake in India, 4 British feared dead’.
When I wrote ‘Can’t we impose this silence more?’, I didn’t mean the imposition of silent tributes, although it may have sounded like that. I read the Blake Morrison article afterwards (several details from it have been appropriated here), and several other points of view which question the tribute. The person who seems to have got it worked out best is Nick, actually – not because I think his anger is necessarily the most valid response, but because he can say
“I went for a walk at midday yesterday, meaning that I was silent for a few minutes, but I’m silent for many, many more minutes every day, and feel no need to be pious and demonstrative about it.”
And this tells me he’s a step ahead of me. I’m never silent, and I never stop to think, because when I do a whole jumble of a world appears before me, countless, irrational thoughts, fears and ideas. An old friend asked me how I find so much time to blog and it occurs to me that I allow no time for thought, so blogging is easy. This is anything but an online diary; it is a loud speaking voice which keeps me from being stuck in a silent room.
Three minutes silence is three minutes of liberating panic.