by David
Reagan
Staff writer
This summer, I ventured off to South Africa by myself on a photo assignment for the organization These Numbers Have Faces and learned a new word that had been on the tip of my tongue for a while, an idea I had been trying to express for a long time.
Ubuntu, a noun of South African origin, means humanity or fellow feeling and kindness. It is an African concept originally from Bantu languages, a humanist philosophy focusing on people’s interrelations.
Archbishop Desmond Tutu, a South African apartheid revolutionist, once said, “Ubuntu … essence of being human … the fact that my humanity is caught up and is inextricably bound up in yours.”
Keep in mind, I had not heard of the ubuntu philosophy when I originally wrote the following note months ago, before leaving for Africa. Finding the similarity in the two concepts afterwards makes sharing this even more special. It is as follows, with the original journal notes in quotations.
“My freedom is bound up in yours. Justice is proven to be real and possible, not by the resolution of any single man, but through a much larger group of people.
It happens by the majority finally recognizing the minority’s ongoing plight and recognizing its annoyingly continuous cry for liberation.”
Well, that wording sounds a bit too lofty and generic.
Basically, “These groups are humanity, whether large or small in number, popular or marginalized. We are a never-ending family connected by this common goal of preserving self and freedom.”
We can all agree on that. Heck, that’s how America was born.
The Declaration of Independence says, “We hold these truths to be self-evident that all men are created equal; that they are endowed by their creator with certain inalienable rights; that among these are life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.”
The founding fathers of America understood that there are certain human rights a person has from birth and that no government laws can dictate otherwise.
The instinctual concepts of freedom soak the very depths of our core as Americans.
We had to work together to get here, yet we are extremely individualistic as a culture now.
It is so easy to forget that no single man created the liberty we enjoy.
Walking through the ghostly halls of the Jewish and South African museums got me thinking also. Whenever this philosophy ceases being true, the consequences are serious.
“How could this have happened?” is a question which haunts upon seeing such gut-wrenching atrocities like the Holocaust. It’s a surreal feeling when we see such dehumanizing acts.
Thus, “I would summarize Ubuntu philosophy simply as this: You are human. I am human. We are the same. Therefore I care.”
This is about more than responsibility toward helping our fellow man. It’s not about charity. It’s not about pity.
It’s about how we view each other.
Otherwise, we have discrimination or genocide on our hands.
“The unseen attitude that ‘I’ can be ‘better than’ another person or race always prefaces the external actions.
Your actions will always mimic your heart’s desires.”
No need for a history book. The explanation is simple.
You see, in South Africa, subtle and encroaching discrimination took place long before apartheid ever did. People were treated horribly, like you wouldn’t believe. It was inevitable with these tensions within the hearts of men waiting to burst free into the open.
It was not only hatred but the loss of vision. The picture of our family as one, equal family grew cracked and faded.
Sadly, it takes a mass injustice for the world to take notice and to write it down as a tragedy.
So you ask, “Why should we care about others’ freedoms if we have our own already?” Well I guess what I’m getting at is this: In the words of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., “Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere.”
Yes, we are comfortable and safe in America. And I’m with you. I love and relish greatly the freedoms that I was born into by simply being a U.S. citizen. I’m so lucky.
But the more I travel, the more I see that our neighbors are not quite so lucky. And this concerns me—not in a political way or a military intervention way but in a way that concerns the underlying issues of violating basic human rights.
At These Numbers Have Faces, we believe that where you were born shouldn’t determine the rest of your life.
I’m sure I don’t have to explain that the world is experiencing a time of mass rioting for freedom. The news is littered with endless stories of government upheaval or attempts at such around the world, from Syria to Palestine.
The concept is catching on that the revolution is never finished or accepted as most-feasibly accomplished until every last soul sees the light, escaping from under the hand of oppression.
Gaining momentum, this is not just about a kind of singular freedom for people in an isolated incident. No, this is much more.
A beacon of light and hope must shine to all the foreign peoples, refugees and citizens who never could leave. This sign of hope is the kind that signals evil cannot triumph anywhere and that we will never find peace or reconciliation until we uplift truth as our rebel banner and admit love as superior.
Sometimes this convincing simply takes larger numbers and supporters before its voice will be heard.
Here’s what I believe the underlying theme is: Injustice cannot be tolerated. Love conquers hate, and it happens not just in the literal protest and its audible voice but at the very moment of signing up for the cause.
It’s instantaneous. Hope becomes real on the horizon.
Before long, the intangible force and friction begins to gain momentum. I mean, look at the Invisible Children campaign.
I believe this is the power of truth. When done in love, it spreads and reciprocates.
The hard part is being one of the first to step out and volunteer.
This may mean sacrificing well-being (physical or mental) when confirmation is not yet present. It is not always popular at first. We are swayed by popular opinion and cultural norms and hushed by those with intimidation or power.
Do not be overwhelmed by the daunting task. It is not your responsibility alone.
Here’s what comforts my colleagues and those who take a stand for freedom: knowing your situation is felt and understood by another person.
My freedom is bound up in yours.