from Associated Press
The Obama administration has faulted Malaysia for failing to do enough to stop the sexual and forced labor exploitation of women and children.
The State Department's annual "Trafficking in Persons Report" on Tuesday put the Southeast Asian country on its list of top trafficking offenders. Repeat offenders on that list include North Korea, Myanmar and Fiji.
Countries cited for failing to take adequate steps to address trafficking can be subject to limited sanctions.
The report also expresses worry about a worsening trafficking record in the Philippines, Cambodia, Bangladesh and Pakistan.
These countries have been dropped to the State Department's "watch list" of second-to-worse offenders, joining China, India and Sri Lanka.
*Najib sure duno want put face at where 1. I bet Malaysia will submit a protest note to the US State Dept. Lolx.
Showing posts with label human rights. Show all posts
Showing posts with label human rights. Show all posts
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
Was Lincoln a Racist?
The Great Emancipator was far more complicated than the mythical hero we have come to revere.
By: Henry Louis Gates Jr.
I first encountered Abraham Lincoln in Piedmont, W.Va. When I was growing up, his picture was in nearly every black home I can recall, the only white man, other than Jesus himself, to grace black family walls. Lincoln was a hero to us.
One rainy Sunday afternoon in 1960, when I was 10 years old, I picked up a copy of our latest Reader’s Digest Condensed Books, and, thumbing through, stumbled upon Jim Bishop’s The Day Lincoln Was Shot, which had been published in 1955 and immediately became a runaway bestseller. It is an hour-by-hour chronicle of the last day of Lincoln’s life. I couldn’t help crying by the end.
But my engagement with the great leader turned to confusion when I was a senior in high school. I stumbled upon an essay that Lerone Bennett Jr. published in Ebony magazine entitled “Was Abe Lincoln a White Supremacist?” A year later, as an undergraduate at Yale, I read an even more troubling essay that W.E.B. Du Bois had published in The Crisis magazine in May 1922. Du Bois wrote that Lincoln was one huge jumble of contradictions: “he was big enough to be inconsistent—cruel, merciful; peace-loving, a fighter; despising Negroes and letting them fight and vote; protecting slavery and freeing slaves. He was a man—a big, inconsistent, brave man.”
So many hurt and angry readers flooded Du Bois’ mailbox that he wrote a second essay in the next issue of the magazine, in which he defended his position this way: “I love him not because he was perfect but because he was not and yet triumphed. ….”
To prove his point, Du Bois included this quote from a speech Lincoln delivered in 1858 in Charleston, Ill.:
“I will say, then, that I am not, nor ever have been, in favor of bringing about in any way the social and political equality of the white and black races—that I am not, nor ever have been, in favor of making voters or jurors of Negroes, nor of qualifying them to hold office, nor to intermarry with white people; and I will say in addition to this, that there is a physical difference between the white and black races which I believe will forever forbid the two races living together on terms of social and political equality. And inasmuch as they cannot so live, while they do remain together there must be the position of superior and inferior, and I, as much as any other man, am in favor of having the superior position assigned to the white race.”
Say what? The Lincoln of 1858 was a very long way from becoming the Great Emancipator!
So which was the real Lincoln, the benevolent countenance hanging on the walls of black people’s homes, the Man Who Freed the Slaves, or this man whom Du Bois was quoting, who seemed to hate black people?
In the collective popular imagination, Abraham Lincoln—Father Abraham, the Great Emancipator—is often represented as an island of pure reason in a sea of mid-19th-century racist madness, a beacon of tolerance blessed with a cosmopolitan sensibility above or beyond race, a man whose attitudes about race and slavery transcended his time and place. These contemporary views of Lincoln, however, are largely naive and have almost always been ahistorical.
When Peter Kunhardt—my co-executive producer in the making of the PBS series “African American Lives”—asked me two years ago to co-produce, write and host a new PBS series on Lincoln, timed to air on the bicentennial of his birth, I realized that making this film would give me, at long last, the chance to ask, “Will the real Abraham Lincoln please stand up?” I also extensively researched and analyzed Lincoln’s writings and speeches for my book, Lincoln on Race and Slavery.
Lincoln’s myth is so capacious that each generation of Americans since his death in 1865 has been able to find its own image reflected in his mirror. Lincoln is America’s man for all seasons, and our man for all reasons. In fact, over and over again through the past century and a half, we Americans have reinvented Abraham Lincoln in order to reinvent ourselves. The most recent example, of course, is captured in the journey of our 44th president, Barack Obama, who launched his presidential campaign in Lincoln’s hometown, Springfield, Ill., cited Lincoln’s oratory repeatedly throughout his campaign, retraced his train route to Washington from Philadelphia and even used Lincoln’s Bible for his swearing-in ceremony.
On the eve of the 200th anniversary of his birth, the Lincoln fable is as vital today as ever. For my PBS series, I filmed all over the country, from a Sotheby’s auction where an obscure letter of his sold for $3 million, to the annual convention last summer of the Sons of the Confederacy, where one official told me that Lincoln is the biggest war criminal in the history of the United States, that his face should be chiseled off Mount Rushmore and that he should be tried posthumously for war crimes under the Nuremberg Conventions!
In the black community, despite strident critiques of his attitudes about blacks by historians such as Bennett, Lincoln continues to occupy a place of almost holy reverence, the patron saint of race relations.
But the truth is that until very late in his presidency, Lincoln was deeply conflicted about whether to liberate the slaves, how to liberate the slaves and what to do with them once they had been liberated. Whereas abolition was a central aspect of Lincoln’s moral compass, racial equality was not. In fact, Lincoln wrestled with three distinct but sometimes overlapping discourses related to race: slavery, equality and colonization. Isolating these three—like the three strands of a braid of hair—helps us to understand how conflicted the man was about African Americans and their place in this country.
Interspersed among these three discourses is the manner in which Lincoln seems to have wrestled with his own use of the “N-word.” Lincoln used the word far less than did Stephen Douglas, his Democratic challenger for the U.S. Senate, but he did indeed use it in prominent contexts including debates and public speeches. Even as late as April 1862, James Redpath recorded Lincoln’s saying of President Fabre Nicholas Geffard of Haiti (who had offered to send a white man as his ambassador to the United States), “You can tell the President of Hayti that I shan’t tear my shirt if he sends a nigger here!”
Lincoln despised slavery as an institution, an economic institution that discriminated against white men who couldn’t afford to own slaves and, thus, could not profit from the advantage in the marketplace that slaves provided. At the same time, however, he was deeply ambivalent about the status of black people vis-à-vis white people, having fundamental doubts about their innate intelligence and their capacity to fight nobly with guns against white men in the initial years of the Civil War.
Even as he was writing the Emancipation Proclamation during the summer of 1862, Lincoln was working feverishly to ship all those slaves he was about to free out of the United States. So taken was he with the concept of colonization that he invited five black men to the White House and offered them funding to found a black republic in Panama, for the slaves he was about to free. Earlier, he had advocated that the slaves be freed and shipped to Liberia or Haiti. And just one month before the Emancipation became the law of the land, in his Annual Message to Congress on Dec. 1, 1862, Lincoln proposed a constitutional amendment that would “appropriate money, and otherwise provide, for colonizing free colored persons with their own consent, at any place or places without the United States.”
Two things dramatically changed Lincoln’s attitudes toward black people. First, in the early years, the North was losing the Civil War, and Lincoln quickly realized that the margin of difference between a Southern victory and a Northern victory would be black men. So, despite severe reservations that he had expressed about the courage of black troops (“If we were to arm them, I fear that in a few weeks the arms would be in the hands of the rebels…”), Lincoln included in the Emancipation Proclamation a provision authorizing black men to fight for the Union.
The other factor that began to affect his attitudes about blacks was meeting Frederick Douglass. Lincoln met with Douglass at the White House three times. He was the first black person Lincoln treated as an intellectual equal, and he grew to admire him and value his opinion.
Three days before he was shot, Lincoln stood on the second floor of the White House and made a speech to a crowd assembled outside celebrating the recent Union victory over the Confederacy. With his troops and Frederick Douglass very much in mind, Lincoln told the cheering crowd, which had demanded that he come to the window to address them, that he had decided to recommend that his 200,000 black troops and “the very intelligent Negroes” be given the right to vote.
Standing in the crowd was John Wilkes Booth. Hearing those words, Booth turned to a man next to him and said, “That means nigger citizenship. Now, by God! I'll put him through. That is the last speech he will ever make.” Three days later, during the third act of Our American Cousin, Booth followed through with his promise.
It is important that we hear Lincoln’s words through the echo of the rhetoric of the modern civil rights movement, especially the “I Have a Dream” speech of Martin Luther King Jr. It is easy to forget that when Lincoln made a public address, he was speaking primarily—certainly until his Second Inaugural Address—to all-white or predominantly white audiences, who most certainly were ambivalent about blacks and black rights, if not slavery. When Lincoln talked about wrestling with the better angels of our nature, he knew whereof he spoke: about his audience and, just as important, about himself.
It should not surprise us that Lincoln was no exception to his times; what is exceptional about Abraham Lincoln is that, perhaps because of temperament or because of the shape-shifting contingencies of command during an agonizingly costly war, he wrestled with his often contradictory feelings and ambivalences and vacillations about slavery, race and colonization, and did so quite publicly and often quite eloquently.
So, was Lincoln a racist? He certainly embraced anti-black attitudes and phobias in his early years and throughout his debates with Douglas in the 1858 Senate race (the seat that would become Barack Obama’s), which he lost. By the end of the Civil War, Lincoln was on an upward arc, perhaps heading toward becoming the man he has since been mythologized as being: the Great Emancipator, the man who freed—and loved—the slaves. But his journey was certainly not complete on the day that he died. Abraham Lincoln wrestled with race until the end. And, as Du Bois pointed out, his struggle ultimately made him a more interesting and noble man than the mythical hero we have come to revere.
Henry Louis Gates Jr. is editor in chief of The Root. He is co-host of the PBS series Looking for Lincoln, which premieres Feb. 11 (check local listings for time). His book, Lincoln on Race and Slavery, is available now.
By: Henry Louis Gates Jr.
I first encountered Abraham Lincoln in Piedmont, W.Va. When I was growing up, his picture was in nearly every black home I can recall, the only white man, other than Jesus himself, to grace black family walls. Lincoln was a hero to us.
One rainy Sunday afternoon in 1960, when I was 10 years old, I picked up a copy of our latest Reader’s Digest Condensed Books, and, thumbing through, stumbled upon Jim Bishop’s The Day Lincoln Was Shot, which had been published in 1955 and immediately became a runaway bestseller. It is an hour-by-hour chronicle of the last day of Lincoln’s life. I couldn’t help crying by the end.
But my engagement with the great leader turned to confusion when I was a senior in high school. I stumbled upon an essay that Lerone Bennett Jr. published in Ebony magazine entitled “Was Abe Lincoln a White Supremacist?” A year later, as an undergraduate at Yale, I read an even more troubling essay that W.E.B. Du Bois had published in The Crisis magazine in May 1922. Du Bois wrote that Lincoln was one huge jumble of contradictions: “he was big enough to be inconsistent—cruel, merciful; peace-loving, a fighter; despising Negroes and letting them fight and vote; protecting slavery and freeing slaves. He was a man—a big, inconsistent, brave man.”
So many hurt and angry readers flooded Du Bois’ mailbox that he wrote a second essay in the next issue of the magazine, in which he defended his position this way: “I love him not because he was perfect but because he was not and yet triumphed. ….”
To prove his point, Du Bois included this quote from a speech Lincoln delivered in 1858 in Charleston, Ill.:
“I will say, then, that I am not, nor ever have been, in favor of bringing about in any way the social and political equality of the white and black races—that I am not, nor ever have been, in favor of making voters or jurors of Negroes, nor of qualifying them to hold office, nor to intermarry with white people; and I will say in addition to this, that there is a physical difference between the white and black races which I believe will forever forbid the two races living together on terms of social and political equality. And inasmuch as they cannot so live, while they do remain together there must be the position of superior and inferior, and I, as much as any other man, am in favor of having the superior position assigned to the white race.”
Say what? The Lincoln of 1858 was a very long way from becoming the Great Emancipator!
So which was the real Lincoln, the benevolent countenance hanging on the walls of black people’s homes, the Man Who Freed the Slaves, or this man whom Du Bois was quoting, who seemed to hate black people?
In the collective popular imagination, Abraham Lincoln—Father Abraham, the Great Emancipator—is often represented as an island of pure reason in a sea of mid-19th-century racist madness, a beacon of tolerance blessed with a cosmopolitan sensibility above or beyond race, a man whose attitudes about race and slavery transcended his time and place. These contemporary views of Lincoln, however, are largely naive and have almost always been ahistorical.
When Peter Kunhardt—my co-executive producer in the making of the PBS series “African American Lives”—asked me two years ago to co-produce, write and host a new PBS series on Lincoln, timed to air on the bicentennial of his birth, I realized that making this film would give me, at long last, the chance to ask, “Will the real Abraham Lincoln please stand up?” I also extensively researched and analyzed Lincoln’s writings and speeches for my book, Lincoln on Race and Slavery.
Lincoln’s myth is so capacious that each generation of Americans since his death in 1865 has been able to find its own image reflected in his mirror. Lincoln is America’s man for all seasons, and our man for all reasons. In fact, over and over again through the past century and a half, we Americans have reinvented Abraham Lincoln in order to reinvent ourselves. The most recent example, of course, is captured in the journey of our 44th president, Barack Obama, who launched his presidential campaign in Lincoln’s hometown, Springfield, Ill., cited Lincoln’s oratory repeatedly throughout his campaign, retraced his train route to Washington from Philadelphia and even used Lincoln’s Bible for his swearing-in ceremony.
On the eve of the 200th anniversary of his birth, the Lincoln fable is as vital today as ever. For my PBS series, I filmed all over the country, from a Sotheby’s auction where an obscure letter of his sold for $3 million, to the annual convention last summer of the Sons of the Confederacy, where one official told me that Lincoln is the biggest war criminal in the history of the United States, that his face should be chiseled off Mount Rushmore and that he should be tried posthumously for war crimes under the Nuremberg Conventions!
In the black community, despite strident critiques of his attitudes about blacks by historians such as Bennett, Lincoln continues to occupy a place of almost holy reverence, the patron saint of race relations.
But the truth is that until very late in his presidency, Lincoln was deeply conflicted about whether to liberate the slaves, how to liberate the slaves and what to do with them once they had been liberated. Whereas abolition was a central aspect of Lincoln’s moral compass, racial equality was not. In fact, Lincoln wrestled with three distinct but sometimes overlapping discourses related to race: slavery, equality and colonization. Isolating these three—like the three strands of a braid of hair—helps us to understand how conflicted the man was about African Americans and their place in this country.
Interspersed among these three discourses is the manner in which Lincoln seems to have wrestled with his own use of the “N-word.” Lincoln used the word far less than did Stephen Douglas, his Democratic challenger for the U.S. Senate, but he did indeed use it in prominent contexts including debates and public speeches. Even as late as April 1862, James Redpath recorded Lincoln’s saying of President Fabre Nicholas Geffard of Haiti (who had offered to send a white man as his ambassador to the United States), “You can tell the President of Hayti that I shan’t tear my shirt if he sends a nigger here!”
Lincoln despised slavery as an institution, an economic institution that discriminated against white men who couldn’t afford to own slaves and, thus, could not profit from the advantage in the marketplace that slaves provided. At the same time, however, he was deeply ambivalent about the status of black people vis-à-vis white people, having fundamental doubts about their innate intelligence and their capacity to fight nobly with guns against white men in the initial years of the Civil War.
Even as he was writing the Emancipation Proclamation during the summer of 1862, Lincoln was working feverishly to ship all those slaves he was about to free out of the United States. So taken was he with the concept of colonization that he invited five black men to the White House and offered them funding to found a black republic in Panama, for the slaves he was about to free. Earlier, he had advocated that the slaves be freed and shipped to Liberia or Haiti. And just one month before the Emancipation became the law of the land, in his Annual Message to Congress on Dec. 1, 1862, Lincoln proposed a constitutional amendment that would “appropriate money, and otherwise provide, for colonizing free colored persons with their own consent, at any place or places without the United States.”
Two things dramatically changed Lincoln’s attitudes toward black people. First, in the early years, the North was losing the Civil War, and Lincoln quickly realized that the margin of difference between a Southern victory and a Northern victory would be black men. So, despite severe reservations that he had expressed about the courage of black troops (“If we were to arm them, I fear that in a few weeks the arms would be in the hands of the rebels…”), Lincoln included in the Emancipation Proclamation a provision authorizing black men to fight for the Union.
The other factor that began to affect his attitudes about blacks was meeting Frederick Douglass. Lincoln met with Douglass at the White House three times. He was the first black person Lincoln treated as an intellectual equal, and he grew to admire him and value his opinion.
Three days before he was shot, Lincoln stood on the second floor of the White House and made a speech to a crowd assembled outside celebrating the recent Union victory over the Confederacy. With his troops and Frederick Douglass very much in mind, Lincoln told the cheering crowd, which had demanded that he come to the window to address them, that he had decided to recommend that his 200,000 black troops and “the very intelligent Negroes” be given the right to vote.
Standing in the crowd was John Wilkes Booth. Hearing those words, Booth turned to a man next to him and said, “That means nigger citizenship. Now, by God! I'll put him through. That is the last speech he will ever make.” Three days later, during the third act of Our American Cousin, Booth followed through with his promise.
It is important that we hear Lincoln’s words through the echo of the rhetoric of the modern civil rights movement, especially the “I Have a Dream” speech of Martin Luther King Jr. It is easy to forget that when Lincoln made a public address, he was speaking primarily—certainly until his Second Inaugural Address—to all-white or predominantly white audiences, who most certainly were ambivalent about blacks and black rights, if not slavery. When Lincoln talked about wrestling with the better angels of our nature, he knew whereof he spoke: about his audience and, just as important, about himself.
It should not surprise us that Lincoln was no exception to his times; what is exceptional about Abraham Lincoln is that, perhaps because of temperament or because of the shape-shifting contingencies of command during an agonizingly costly war, he wrestled with his often contradictory feelings and ambivalences and vacillations about slavery, race and colonization, and did so quite publicly and often quite eloquently.
So, was Lincoln a racist? He certainly embraced anti-black attitudes and phobias in his early years and throughout his debates with Douglas in the 1858 Senate race (the seat that would become Barack Obama’s), which he lost. By the end of the Civil War, Lincoln was on an upward arc, perhaps heading toward becoming the man he has since been mythologized as being: the Great Emancipator, the man who freed—and loved—the slaves. But his journey was certainly not complete on the day that he died. Abraham Lincoln wrestled with race until the end. And, as Du Bois pointed out, his struggle ultimately made him a more interesting and noble man than the mythical hero we have come to revere.
Henry Louis Gates Jr. is editor in chief of The Root. He is co-host of the PBS series Looking for Lincoln, which premieres Feb. 11 (check local listings for time). His book, Lincoln on Race and Slavery, is available now.
Sunday, January 11, 2009
Palestine - Israel
Hei people, want to have a discussion about the ongoing conflict between Palestine and Israel? Can cover inter-religious discussion as well. How's that?
Tuesday, October 7, 2008
Raya open house protest
What do you guys think about HINDRAF's action during the PM's Raya open house? Was it okay for them to protest and did they did it properly?
Personally, I think it is their right to protest BUT to do it the way they did it i have to disagree. It was distasteful of them to crash someone's open house like that. Raya open house is for everyone to get together and celebrate. Why do all this kind of things? I know they want publicity and all but not this way..pls don't make matters worse.
So what say you?
Personally, I think it is their right to protest BUT to do it the way they did it i have to disagree. It was distasteful of them to crash someone's open house like that. Raya open house is for everyone to get together and celebrate. Why do all this kind of things? I know they want publicity and all but not this way..pls don't make matters worse.
So what say you?
Thursday, April 10, 2008
Faith and fundamentalism
by Petra Gimbad
I FELL in love with the concept of constitutional law a few years ago; the rights it enshrines are based on principles every man and woman must uphold in order to ensure human dignity, yet, in such a way that we are able to live together harmoniously.
It makes sense that if we wish others to respect our way of life, we must also be willing to do the same for others.
Therefore, it follows that if we expect others to uphold and fight for our right to live in the way we choose, we must also be willing to uphold these same rights for them.
My flatmates recently recommended that I read the book The God Delusion, by Richard Dawkins. I plowed through it at a snail’s pace for the last few weeks, which is painful for someone who can breeze through 10 books in a day.
I just completed Chapter Three. Kiasuness decrees that I finish Chapter Four, even though I had a headache the last time I read the book. I cannot say for sure what it is about (I have not read even half of the book) although it is clear that the writer does not think much of religion.
My flatmate tells me that it is a convincing treatise on how the world will be a better place without religion. It was difficult to explain to him how my cultural upbringing as a Catholic woman has made me a more compassionate person. This does not mean that an atheist cannot be just as loving as a person who professes a faith. I just think that after a while, labels are useless in labelling a person as just or unjust.
The problem, as I see it, is this insistence we have on claiming an identity. How can an identity represent entirely who a person is? Therefore, how does being a Christian tell you who I am, or a Chinese for that matter? Or in the author’s case, an atheist British man?
Being Chinese does not make one filial, neither does being a Christian make one charitable. My atheist flatmate seems to love his parents and has worked in an area which was ranked one of the poorest places in Britain. Something which most of the people I used to attend church with would never contemplate doing, for all their posturing on how Jesus of the Bible transforms you.
Primarily, what disturbs about religion is not so much the concept of spirituality. My personal definition of spirituality is this: that there is a force out there called Love, which is the God I believe in. How we learn to embody this force is a personal journey. We experience Love along individual paths.
Instead, what disturbs is fundamentalism and the institutionalisation of religion.
Fundamentalism takes the view that "it is my way or the highway". It means imposing your perspective and will on others. Faith, to me, can only be carried by one who realises that he or she knows nothing. True humility decrees that what we know goes as far as our best knowledge, which can only be experienced.
Words fail to describe experience.
Words, anyway, are a mere invention to describe what we perceive. What we perceive is only one perspective that may be inaccurate. Language can further distort this perspective. More truthful is, therefore, the truth that is felt with the heart.
Institutionalisation of religion is another form of the "my way or the highway" approach. A friend once pointed out that only a secular country can truly enable a religion to flourish.
With a political system that institutionalises religion, there can be only one interpretation of the Quran, the Bible, the Buddhist scriptures or the Mahabharata and Ramayana.
History has shown, time and again, that this approach had led, for example, to the murder of children during the Christian Crusades and the mistreatment and violence that both men and women suffer on a large scale.
One fails to see the God in this.
One must therefore ask, will we ever learn? Do we have the courage to acknowledge these historical occurrences?
Theology has shown how, with time, interpretation changes with society. Our interpretations of whatever scripture we subscribe to therefore hold no guarantee of perfection.
To the best of our knowledge, even with the most loving intentions, there is never any guarantee that we know exactly what we are doing in the moment. The consequences of our actions carry across miles and through the cosmos, far beyond the boundaries of what we can foresee.
This is what I believe the Constitution protects: the freedom to pursue our paths of choice, but without impinging on the freedom of others or in a way that leads to the detriment of one’s neighbour. How well this freedom and system of mutual respect is protected is up to us.
Who we are as human beings must inevitably evolve. We are constantly moving towards increasing complexity. As opposed to a more complex bigoted and violent reality, hopefully, towards a direction of increasing compassion – for love, truth and peace.
I FELL in love with the concept of constitutional law a few years ago; the rights it enshrines are based on principles every man and woman must uphold in order to ensure human dignity, yet, in such a way that we are able to live together harmoniously.
It makes sense that if we wish others to respect our way of life, we must also be willing to do the same for others.
Therefore, it follows that if we expect others to uphold and fight for our right to live in the way we choose, we must also be willing to uphold these same rights for them.
My flatmates recently recommended that I read the book The God Delusion, by Richard Dawkins. I plowed through it at a snail’s pace for the last few weeks, which is painful for someone who can breeze through 10 books in a day.
I just completed Chapter Three. Kiasuness decrees that I finish Chapter Four, even though I had a headache the last time I read the book. I cannot say for sure what it is about (I have not read even half of the book) although it is clear that the writer does not think much of religion.
My flatmate tells me that it is a convincing treatise on how the world will be a better place without religion. It was difficult to explain to him how my cultural upbringing as a Catholic woman has made me a more compassionate person. This does not mean that an atheist cannot be just as loving as a person who professes a faith. I just think that after a while, labels are useless in labelling a person as just or unjust.
The problem, as I see it, is this insistence we have on claiming an identity. How can an identity represent entirely who a person is? Therefore, how does being a Christian tell you who I am, or a Chinese for that matter? Or in the author’s case, an atheist British man?
Being Chinese does not make one filial, neither does being a Christian make one charitable. My atheist flatmate seems to love his parents and has worked in an area which was ranked one of the poorest places in Britain. Something which most of the people I used to attend church with would never contemplate doing, for all their posturing on how Jesus of the Bible transforms you.
Primarily, what disturbs about religion is not so much the concept of spirituality. My personal definition of spirituality is this: that there is a force out there called Love, which is the God I believe in. How we learn to embody this force is a personal journey. We experience Love along individual paths.
Instead, what disturbs is fundamentalism and the institutionalisation of religion.
Fundamentalism takes the view that "it is my way or the highway". It means imposing your perspective and will on others. Faith, to me, can only be carried by one who realises that he or she knows nothing. True humility decrees that what we know goes as far as our best knowledge, which can only be experienced.
Words fail to describe experience.
Words, anyway, are a mere invention to describe what we perceive. What we perceive is only one perspective that may be inaccurate. Language can further distort this perspective. More truthful is, therefore, the truth that is felt with the heart.
Institutionalisation of religion is another form of the "my way or the highway" approach. A friend once pointed out that only a secular country can truly enable a religion to flourish.
With a political system that institutionalises religion, there can be only one interpretation of the Quran, the Bible, the Buddhist scriptures or the Mahabharata and Ramayana.
History has shown, time and again, that this approach had led, for example, to the murder of children during the Christian Crusades and the mistreatment and violence that both men and women suffer on a large scale.
One fails to see the God in this.
One must therefore ask, will we ever learn? Do we have the courage to acknowledge these historical occurrences?
Theology has shown how, with time, interpretation changes with society. Our interpretations of whatever scripture we subscribe to therefore hold no guarantee of perfection.
To the best of our knowledge, even with the most loving intentions, there is never any guarantee that we know exactly what we are doing in the moment. The consequences of our actions carry across miles and through the cosmos, far beyond the boundaries of what we can foresee.
This is what I believe the Constitution protects: the freedom to pursue our paths of choice, but without impinging on the freedom of others or in a way that leads to the detriment of one’s neighbour. How well this freedom and system of mutual respect is protected is up to us.
Who we are as human beings must inevitably evolve. We are constantly moving towards increasing complexity. As opposed to a more complex bigoted and violent reality, hopefully, towards a direction of increasing compassion – for love, truth and peace.
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