Her name was Maria. Her sullen eyes and darkened face peered longingly at the passersby on the scorching July afternoon. She was noticeably thin, and the dryness of her skin left an impression of undernourishment and dehydration. She rested on a concrete wall, the ground was her cushion.
She was passed by many shoppers, including myself, on their way into a large Athenian supermarket. While I was in the store, her face was stuck in my mind. But there are so many impoverished people in America, even in Jacksonville-why did this woman's image pester me so?
I think that when I left America 2 weeks ago I expected the world to be different. In my ignorance I didn't grasp the fact the sword of poverty strikes all corners of the earth. Even so, it was not the novelty of this woman that struck me, nor the disparity of her condition: it was her humanity. When you are taken out of your comfort as I have been recently you begin to look at people differently. The people in America are a lot like me: they speak the same language, have the same government, and enjoy the same benefits of living in one of the wealthiest nations on earth. The fact that I perceive them as so similar allows me to take them for granted. So when I am in a place that is so different, with a people and language so unique from my own-I am forced to grasp for the most basic strand of similarity: our common humanity.
Well, of course, people are human. What makes that so important? Only the fact that when a person becomes human they are imputed with value and significance. With humanity comes fair and ethical treatment, and an empathy that shines out from our common bond. The first step to treating people well is not to ignore their differences, it is to acknowledge their one paramount similarity.
Yesterday was the 4th of July, the celebration of American Independence. It's easy to forget the true meaning behind the day after the fireworks, the decorations, and the ever-so-patriotic barbecue. People fought and died in the war of independence for the idea that humanity matters. The idea that humans have irrevocable, God given rights of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. I have never been so close to that reality as in the eyes of that woman on the street. When you step out of the shade of American prosperity, you realize the unquestionable luxury of our condition. You realize the importance of our rights in the faces of those who do not have them.
I stopped to see the woman on the street for a few brief moments. I crouched down to look her in the eye, and I saw a longing. Not a longing for food or water or money, which were doubly present, but a simple longing to be treated as a human. As I gave her some money I used the only phase in Greek I could to let her know that, to me, she was a person and worthy of love. "Pos se lene?" In Greek, it means: "What is your name?"
There is something special about people's names, because knowing them shows that you understand who a person is and that you know something about them. Most importantly, it shows that you acknowledge their humanity. It shows that, at their core, they are not so different from you. Her name was Maria.
She was passed by many shoppers, including myself, on their way into a large Athenian supermarket. While I was in the store, her face was stuck in my mind. But there are so many impoverished people in America, even in Jacksonville-why did this woman's image pester me so?
I think that when I left America 2 weeks ago I expected the world to be different. In my ignorance I didn't grasp the fact the sword of poverty strikes all corners of the earth. Even so, it was not the novelty of this woman that struck me, nor the disparity of her condition: it was her humanity. When you are taken out of your comfort as I have been recently you begin to look at people differently. The people in America are a lot like me: they speak the same language, have the same government, and enjoy the same benefits of living in one of the wealthiest nations on earth. The fact that I perceive them as so similar allows me to take them for granted. So when I am in a place that is so different, with a people and language so unique from my own-I am forced to grasp for the most basic strand of similarity: our common humanity.
Well, of course, people are human. What makes that so important? Only the fact that when a person becomes human they are imputed with value and significance. With humanity comes fair and ethical treatment, and an empathy that shines out from our common bond. The first step to treating people well is not to ignore their differences, it is to acknowledge their one paramount similarity.
Yesterday was the 4th of July, the celebration of American Independence. It's easy to forget the true meaning behind the day after the fireworks, the decorations, and the ever-so-patriotic barbecue. People fought and died in the war of independence for the idea that humanity matters. The idea that humans have irrevocable, God given rights of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. I have never been so close to that reality as in the eyes of that woman on the street. When you step out of the shade of American prosperity, you realize the unquestionable luxury of our condition. You realize the importance of our rights in the faces of those who do not have them.
I stopped to see the woman on the street for a few brief moments. I crouched down to look her in the eye, and I saw a longing. Not a longing for food or water or money, which were doubly present, but a simple longing to be treated as a human. As I gave her some money I used the only phase in Greek I could to let her know that, to me, she was a person and worthy of love. "Pos se lene?" In Greek, it means: "What is your name?"
There is something special about people's names, because knowing them shows that you understand who a person is and that you know something about them. Most importantly, it shows that you acknowledge their humanity. It shows that, at their core, they are not so different from you. Her name was Maria.
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