The dangers of a single story

A few days ago J and I were watching 'Coming to America'. Eddie Murphy's '88 movie that showcases an African prince from Zamunda traveling to America to find the woman of his dreams. If you haven't seen this original (since I am sure you'd have seen some hybrid Indian remake of this) please do. It's one of the few movies where you don't see Eddie going nuts with his performance – well, not as himself anyway. Once the movie ended, J said 'That was probably the first movie I've seen where Africa was shown to have rich people!' I agreed instantly. In all my experiences with Hollywood, most movies dealing with that continent have been of pain, despair, brutal cruelty, hunger and absolute human misery. We have seen such movies in shock and reflected upon how there is no end to the tragedies one man can inflict upon another. Be it 'Amistad', 'Blood Diamond', 'The Constant Gardener' or 'Hotel Rwanda' – despite their historic accuracy, these were stories that focused primarily on the negatives. A story we believed represented the entire African continent hence painting our imaginative minds instantly with a deep set stereotype. Why, even the more adventure based flicks like 'The Ghost and the Darkness' show hapless Tsavo residents fleeing in panic at the arrival of the two lions. How awful, we thought and moved on while placing a sympathetic eye on every African face thereafter feeling extremely sorry for them without even bothering to investigate their story – their individual story.

Incidentally, being the avid TED Talks viewer that I am, I happened to chance upon a talk given by noted Nigerian novelist Chimamanda Adichie where she talks about what she refers to as 'the dangers of a single story'. She says one of the biggest problems in the world is the telling and retelling of these 'single stories' that focus so much on one singular aspect of a community or land, that it ends up becoming what or who the people from there are. She spoke of her experience of being overwhelmed with shame on visiting Mexico and finding a completely different aspect to the country than the 'America-crazy illegal immigrant public' that they're so often portrayed as, during the journey of her writing. The best quote of the video for me was – 'The problem with stereotypes is not that they are untrue, but that they are incomplete. They make one story become the only story.'

These two incidents made me think back to my own brushes with stereotypes. In India, if there is no dearth for something, then it is this. Everyone has a set image of folks from each state – Sardars, Mallus, Gujjus, Biharis, Bongs and of course the crass generalization of every South Indian as 'Madrasi' – the list is endless. What then if we choose to read literature that attempts to break these set frames of people and who they truly are? How different would societies be if they weren't based purely on one story – that all consuming singular tale that sometimes tramples all possibilities for an alternative? How different would the cities in our minds be if we heard stories that didn't paint every wall in a house with the same color?

I must confess, now I cannot wait to read Adichie's novels and experience a totally new perspective of what is often, quite unfortunately, referred to as the 'dark continent'. I invite you to watch the video (link below) and, hopefully, find a new definition of that paradisaical light I now find myself thrilled by.

And then one day...

IT WASN’T ALWAYS LIKE this you know. Things were much more predictable and somehow there was a cocoon of self-contained comfort that he had always found himself in. It was old, but familiar. It was boring, but pleasant. It was cliché, but controllable.

As the waves of fatigue of another day had passed him by, he found himself waking up to an unknown seeming drone. He couldn’t quite place it but having become acquainted with almost every possible clink in his apartment, this was definitely something he had never heard before. He spent some time looking around in the usually suspected corners – the bathroom shower, the taps, and the toilet flush, the kitchen sink and of course, the always popular washing machine. No. There was nothing there. In fact there was so much silence that he was almost convinced he was losing his mind.

And so he showered, gulped down his toast with peanut butter, dressed himself up for another day on the battleground and stepped out into the early dew of an upcoming winter. He must have taken just two more steps into the cold when it hit him again. That hum – that unmistakably different buzz that he could swear was something he had never heard before. He looked up at the loosely grayed out sky and felt the atomic drops of moisture spray his face. For a man who had never really appreciated the rain, he found himself smiling. He found himself wanting to take a deep breathe and to pray for a good solid rain.

It was beyond his human comprehension as to what these random thoughts were that were occurring to him with such frequency. For some reason his stride was more confident and himself more prepared. But for what, he wondered. He caught a glimpse of himself in a reflection of a shop’s window for a fleeting second and was quite amazed by what he saw. Yes. There was something definitely out of place.

He carried on to his usual destinations and awaited his train with the usual patience. As the time indicator said 1 more minute left, he turned out to see a newsstand. His gaze shifted from the coffeemaker to the newspapers dangling at the bottom shelf outside. It caught his attention. As the train appeared like an obnoxious copperhead from within the belly of the dark interiors, he found himself wandering away from his routine to do something different.

He walked closer to the tabloid spill and looked intently at the headlines for a few seconds. The smile that had appeared on his face earlier that day…returned. It returned to say it was OK to be happy. It returned to mention he was now part of history. Only this time he was no longer wishing rain for himself, but for everyone on Earth. What he saw there were the first thundershowers of an emerging hurricane and all he could do was pray – pray that the fresh waters would wash away all the congestion that plague the world today. A wonderful beginning, he thought, and awaited the next train.


Wishing Mr. Barack Obama hearty congratulations on becoming the 44th President of the United States of America. You've earned it Sir and I wish you health, success and the vision of a leader who can finally begin the healing this poor planet so badly needs. I give you my seven letter word - SUPPORT - if you can help remove this four letter word from our lives - HATE.


Amen.



..ShaKri..