Vinoth Ramachandra

Imagine that you live on the lovely island of Lilliput. Like its namesake in Gulliver’s Travels, Lilliput is inhabited by a small people: mostly small in stature and mental outlook, small and insignificant in the world of nations. Your island, too, as in Gulliver’s Lilliput, is ruled by a self-styled emperor. But, since your Lilliput is also a constitutional democracy, this emperor is compelled to hold national elections to secure another term as head of state. This he does successfully, retaining power with a handsome majority. He invited a few international monitors to observe the polling process, wined and dined them sumptuously, and they all had a wonderful holiday on Lilliput at local taxpayers’ expense. They returned to their homes and wrote glowing reports of how peaceful everything had been and how democracy was flourishing on Lilliput.

But you who live there know this is all eyewash. The emperor had already shredded the Constitution of Lilliput in his first term as head of state. There are no more independent commissions in Lilliput. The Chief Justice and the Elections Commissioner are the emperor’s appointees.  Every law under the Lilliputian Election Act was violated by the emperor’s supporters in the run-up to the election: public funds were utilised for his advertising campaign, the state-controlled media were dominated by the emperor and rival candidates excluded, government officials and the police were employed as the emperor’s private employees, mobile phone service providers were compelled to transmit his campaign messages, and journalists who criticized  these abuses of power were intimidated and physically assaulted by goon squads.

On the day of the election itself, the emperor declares on TV that his main rival is legally disqualified from the race:  a lie that the Elections Commissioner is compelled to correct later. In parts of Lilliput known to be hostile to the emperor, public transport is withdrawn on election day and a series of explosions early in the morning deter some from trekking to polling stations. Two days after the emperor’s victory, the campaign office of his main rival are raided by army commandos, without any search warrant, computers and files are taken away and campaign workers arrested. The emperor alleges that they were plotting a coup, although computers and filing cabinets are poor substitutes for guns and rocket launchers. An opposition spokesman claims that the motive was to forestall the collection of evidence to prove that the election count was rigged. Another vicious crackdown on journalists and critics has begun….

Gulliver fell out of favour with his emperor, after having helped him win a war against his neighbour. He had to flee Lilliput for fear of execution. In your Lilliput, ironically, the same fate awaits the failed opponent of the emperor.

How do you feel? And what can you do? What would you like your friends and other governments to do? Whether or not the election was rigged is unclear, and may prove impossible to demonstrate. But the multiple violation of Constitutional safeguards and election laws are blatant. They are surely enough for this election to have been declared null and void. If it is not, the message that has gone out all over Lilliput is this: he who breaks the law, wins.

The failure of democracy in Lilliput is thus much more than that: it is the loss of respect for the rule of law, which is more fundamental than democracy. Indeed, democracy can only flourish in societies where at least two things are in place. Firstly, citizens must have access to information. Where the media are tightly controlled by the state, and other voices suppressed, citizens (especially the majority poor) are deprived of the right to be properly informed of what is happening in the nation and the choices before them. Illiteracy, ignorance, and willful misinformation undermine democracy.

But, secondly, and most importantly, democracy assumes that the majority of citizens cherish freedom: freedom of thought, of worship and of expression. Indeed, that the majority of citizens have a moral outlook, willing to resist tyranny even when it costs them. All dictators can only succeed because they have millions of “yes men” and “yes women” to do their bidding. Some of these are bureaucrats or highly-paid professionals (such as those who design websites and marketing campaigns). Schools and religious institutions, even universities, promote passive conformity rather than conversations about freedom, justice and truth.

Isn’t it an illusion to think that we can have a democratic society based purely on laws and “procedures”, without paying any attention to the moral formation of individual citizens? The kind of people we are -and become- shapes the kind of society we have (though it is also true that the kind of society we live in shapes what we become).  Honesty and integrity are the presupposition of public life, not their product.  The parties to an agreement must already have a sense of what is right, and a willingness to abide by it,  even when it is in their own interests not to do so. A contract is no contract at all if it is kept only when it is convenient to do so. Also, if elected representatives, and officials, cannot be trusted to be concerned with our interests, faith in democracy will wither.

This is a deep challenge to Western liberal democracies too. Versions of political liberalism that hold all morality to be purely a private matter, not to be taught through public education, are vulnerable not only to the charge of incoherence, but also to challenges from an increasing population of egoists who care for nobody’s well-being but their own.

Karin’s article on “The Fourth Cup of Tea” provoked some criticism, but not as much as we had expected. But let us move on from charitable actions by individuals to the more important issue of structural injustices.

The poor don’t really need us. Unless, of course, they are utterly destitute, severely sick or disabled, or the victims of war and natural disasters. What they need is not our charity, but a recognition by us of their rights. They want us to remove the barriers that we (the rich) have erected, locally and globally, that prevent them from participating in their own sustainable development. On the global level, this would mean such things as removing the massive subsidies given by rich nations to their agribusinesses, ending the discriminatory practices of taxes (tariffs) on imports from poor nations, access to the life-saving pharmaceuticals stolen from their forests, and a stop to the destruction of their water-sources, soil, wetlands and atmosphere by the luxury greenhouse emissions of the well-to-do.

Americans are among the most generous and kindhearted people I know. But it is difficult for them to accept that their lifestyles are actually subsidized by the world’s poor. It is why books such as Mortensen’s are “inspiring” to conservatives, but a Chomsky or a Pilger instantly demonized (if they are read at all).

Despite all the rhetoric about “market efficiency” and “foreign aid”, the net financial flows in the world economy every year are not from the rich to the poor but from the poor to the rich. Debt repayments, tariffs on exports and falling prices of agricultural goods caused by rich nations’ farm subsidies mean that the low-income nations transfer to the rich nations around $50-60 billion a year more than what they receive in so-called aid. We need to add to this figure the cost to the poor of the export to rich nations of engineers, scientists, doctors and accountants, most of whom have been trained in state institutions at local taxpayers’ expense (and they are actively recruited by rich governments and corporations). But to obtain a more accurate figure, one should also include the fortunes of Southern politicians and businessmen that are exported to banks in Europe and North America, and the profits of multinational corporations which are sent back to their parent base in the North.

Moreover, corruption in poor nations would not be possible without the tacit support, and often active involvement, of rich corporations, banks and governments in the North. For every bribe taken, there is a bribe offered. These bribes are stored, not in local banks, but in the banking system owned and controlled by the rich nations (including, in recent years, Dubai and Singapore). And what about the status of offshore tax havens (most of which are the playgrounds of super-rich American and European tourists)? These are major means of tax evasion and money laundering, and are homes to vast pools of speculative capital that destabilize poor economies. Billions of dollars, enough to pay for the entire primary health and education needs of the world’s developing countries, are being siphoned off through offshore companies and tax havens.

I asked an African friend of mine who once worked with a UN agency in Sri Lanka, “Have any of your colleagues chosen to work in the UN because they care about the poor in Sri Lanka?” He looked at me as if I had come from another planet: “Of course not”, he said, “it is a good career move to spend a few years in a place like Sri Lanka.” Now I am sure that there are many who are motivated by genuine compassion to work among war victims, abused women or the economic poor. But it is easy to become cynical of the “development game” (yet another high-priced “foreign consultant” being flown in for yet another seminar on poverty held in a luxury hotel; yet another “think-tank” or “policy institute” on poverty alleviation or conflict-resolution; yet another doctoral thesis or paper on these topics because the funds are readily available, but none of the results of the research ever circulate down to help the people who were interviewed, measured, or categorized and on whose hospitality the researcher depended). Poverty, almost as much as War, has become big business. So it is easy to be cynical when those who suffer are so often exploited, when they become stepping-stones to academic honour or personal fortune.

More than 200 years ago Adam Smith and William Pitt recommended that the American colonies concentrate on agricultural goods and leave manufactures to Europe which had a “comparative advantage” in that area. Americans are very fortunate in that their first Treasury Secretary, Alexander Hamilton, persuaded Congress in 1791 not to heed the economic wisdom of the day. Perhaps we should do the same for the poor of the world- suggest that they would do well to turn their backs on the high-priced “experts/consultants” from the IMF and World Bank or UNDP and even the “development NGO workers” who flock to them in their SUVs, and instead learn to trust more in their own abilities and pragmatic knowledge.

On our recent trip to the US we were given a copy of Three Cups of Tea, an engaging account of  an American Greg Mortenson’s contribution to village education in Pakistan and Central Asia. My wife, Karin, has read the book and has written the following review which we are sending to friends involved in community development work. It is a topic that arouses her ire and enthusiasm in equal measure. [Warning: since it is written by her, it is a little longer than my normal blog posts!!]

Three Cups of Tea has been hugely popular in the USA. Not only was it a #1 New York Times Bestseller but, according to the Afterword of the book, it is ‘a freshman, honors, or campus-wide required reading selection in over eighty universities and hundreds of schools. It is also required reading for senior U.S. military commanders, Pentagon officers in counter-insurgency training, and Special Forces deploying to Afghanistan…’

The book recounts the story (with the help of journalist David Relin) of Greg Mortenson, an American male nurse with a passion for mountain climbing. Mortenson grew up in Tanzania where his missionary parents worked to improve local health and education.

The story begins with Mortenson’s failed attempt in 1993 to climb K2 in Pakistan, the second highest mountain in the world. Mortenson loses his way and almost his life. As he stumbles back toward his camp he takes another wrong turn and ends up in the poor village of Korphe where he is nursed back to health by the village chief Haji Ali. Out of gratitude to his host Mortenson promises to return to build a school for the village.

While this is a wonderful example of human solidarity and a joy to read, quickly the story changes from one of mutual giving and mutual respect to the story we have become all too familiar with: namely, the donor/helper “one-man show”! The front cover of Three Cups of Tea even proclaims that Mortenson’s story is all about “One man’s mission” and “one ordinary person” who can really “change the world”.

Sociology, psychology and pedagogy (if not plain common sense) have taught for decades that the poor and disadvantaged, no less than the rich, need to be shown respect if they are to develop (or maintain) self-esteem and to see how their lives can make a meaningful contribution to the world.

However, despite so much talk by development NGOs and “think tanks” about empowerment, participation and partnership, donors/helpers still determine what the poor need. The involvement of local people in their own development happens only when and to the extent foreign donors and helpers decide. The compassion the latter show, while genuine, too often masks feelings of superiority and lack of respect for those receive help. It is difficult not to conclude that this book, too, falls into that category.

Why do I say this? To begin with, it is Mortenson who decides what needs to be done (put up a school building in Korphe, Pakistan) and then goes about planning it singlehanded without any consultation with the beneficiaries (the folk in the village). If you have read the book you might remind me that Mortenson does, later on, listen to Haji Ali, the chief of Korphe.  The important point, though, is that Haji Ali is in a very different position in relation to Mortenson than anyone else: Haji Ali took in a sick and vulnerable Mortenson nursing him for an extended period when the latter had nothing to offer in return. Haji Ali’s hospitality came before Mortenson’s good works and is the inspiration and reason why the latter thought of the work in the first place. No other person could take the liberties Haji Ali takes in correcting him.

Let me mention three places in the story that I found particularly shocking:

The first is where the narrator states that Mortenson has “assembled an American board and a scruffy Pakistani staff” (p.190) Among these “scruffy staff” was one Ghulam Parvi who “had served as the director of…SWAB, Social Welfare Association, Baltistan. Under his leadership SWAB had managed to build two primary schools….before the funds promised by the Pakistani government dried up and he was forced to take odd accounting jobs.” (p.137) Why are such local people who helped make schools in Pakistan a reality through contributing land, work and expertise considered “scruffy” in comparison to a distant American Board?!

Secondly, despite knowing Parvi’s expertise in building schools, Mortenson accepted the position of Director of the Central Asia Institute (an American project to build village schools all over Central Asia). He also accepted an adequate salary for himself while “he offered Parvi a small salary to supplement his income as an accountant.” (p.146)

Thirdly, when Parvi is later made the director for Pakistan of Mortenson’s expanded institute  Mortenson allowed Parvi to address him with honorary titles such as Dr. and Dr. Sahib (even though he was not  a medical doctor), while continuing to follow his own ideas instead of encouraging the latter’s leadership. Listen to the following exchange:

“For a long time, I’ve been worrying about what to do when our students graduate,” [Mortenson] said. “Mr. Parvi, would you look into what it would cost to build a hostel in Skardu, so our best students would have some place to stay if we give them scholarships to continue their education?”

“I’d be delighted, Dr. Sahib,” Parvi said, smiling, freed finally to organize the project he’d been advocating for years.

“Oh, and one more thing,” Mortenson said.

“Yes, Dr. Greg, sir.”

“Yasmine would be a perfect candidate to receive one of CAI’s first scholarships. Can you let me know what her tuition would be if she went to private high school in the fall?”

Yasmine, 15, was Parvi’s daughter, a straight-A student who had obviously inherited her father’s fierce intelligence, and just as obviously inspired his fierce devotion. “Well?”

For a rare, elongated moment, Ghulam Parvi, the most eloquent man in Skardu, was struck silent, his mouth hanging open. “I don’t know what to say,” he said. (p.305)

This is not a relationship of equals. The Big White Chief is dispensing largesse to the natives. If such an unequal relationship is to be redressed, the donor has to relinquish decision-making in favour of the other, not put the latter in a position of perpetual, subservient gratitude.

Instead of admiring the Lone Ranger who “takes on the world” and “brings about change”, we should be making serious efforts to identify local people such as Ghulam Parvi who are  already busy making changes and, drawing alongside, simply support their efforts.

Richard Sennett is a world-famous sociologist who has taught at the London School of Economics and at New York University. In his book entitled Respect, he recalls his early childhood in the late 1940s growing up in Cabrini Green, a notorious post-war housing project in Chicago. Cabrini Green was an ambitious, well-intentioned attempt by social engineers and architects (none of whom actually lived on site) to combine an experiment in racial and social integration with low-cost housing.

Sennett  sums up his experience of what went wrong with Cabrini Green, repeating a truth that has been amply demonstrated all over the world:

“These projects denied people control over their own lives…they were rendered spectators to their own needs…were mere consumers of care provided for them….they experienced that peculiar lack of respect which consists of not being seen, not being accounted as full human beings…” (Respect, Penguin 2004, pp.12-13, my emphasis)

Three Cups of Tea is not easy to criticize, because Greg Mortenson is such a sacrificially committed and very likable person. Also good things done by Americans for Pakistanis and Afghans are very encouraging to witness.

Mortenson is right to participate in relief and development. He is right that we who have more than enough ought to give sacrificially and participate in making a better world. But we from the West really must be determined to do this respectfully! Will we ever learn? Will we ever be willing to give up fame and that exhilarating sense of personal achievement that comes with “taking on the world” by ourselves?

The birth centenary of Lesslie Newbigin falls on tuesday, 8 Dec. Although I never met Newbigin “in the flesh” I feel that I have known him well, in the same remarkable way that figures from the past can be closer to us through their writings than some of one’s own family. The shadow of Newbigin has been a steady companion on my own theological pilgrimage. Consequently I requested him to write a preface to my first book, The Recovery of Mission (1996), not least because I devoted a whole chapter to his work. But he declined as his eyesight was failing rapidly. He died a few years later.

Newbigin and his wife went as missionaries to India in 1936, working in both cities and villages in what today is the state of Tamilnadu. He later served as a Bishop in the Church of South India. Returning to the UK in 1974, he was struck by the extent to which the church in the West had become assimilated to a culture that was profoundly pagan. While modernity had brought enormous benefits, the underlying worldview of post-Enlightenment culture were seen by Newbigin to be subversive of the Gospel. It was a culture that, for all its technological and economic advancement, conveyed cynicism and despair.

Ten years later he wrote: “I have often been asked: ‘What is the greatest difficulty you face in moving from India to England?’ I have always answered: ‘The disappearance of hope’… Even in the most squalid slums of Madras there was always the belief that things could be improved…In England, by contrast, it is hard to find any such hope… there is little sign among the citizens of this country of the sort of confidence in the future which was certainly present in the earlier years of this century.”

It is no exaggeration to say that Newbigin was a twentieth-century prophet for the universal Church. Like all true prophets his writings were addressed to specific local contexts, yet are profoundly relevant beyond those contexts. Straddling Western Europe and South Asia, and the misleadingly labeled “ecumenical” and “evangelical” wings of the Church, he built bridges of mutual listening and challenge.  One can quibble with his readings of modernity and Enlightenment  (as I did in my chapter on him) and still recognize that he was a spiritual and intellectual giant.

Newbigin confronted the abject surrender of the Gospel by the Church to a secularist mind-set which shows itself in a variety of ways: for instance, seeking a social justice uninformed by the message of the Cross, reducing mission to cross-cultural church planting techniques, separating proclamation and dialogue, or endorsing a pluralistic perspective on religious traditions that denies the servant-reign of the risen Christ over all cultures. Newbigin did more than challenge shoddy thinking and unchristian practice. He showed us an exciting alternative: mission “in Christ’s way”. This is mission that is Trinitarian in both foundation and conception, incarnational in practice- unmasking and confronting the false gods of the age with a bold humility, in sheer vulnerability and dependence on the Holy Spirit.

Newbigin’s stress on the public character of Christian witness remains a refreshing antidote to the contemporary focus on multiplying church programmes, privatizing the Gospel in “seeker-friendly” homogenous churches, and therapeutic forms of preaching. He demonstrated that evangelical passion and intellectual rigour need not be divorced, indeed that the former demands the latter. Mission is not primarily command or duty, but “the overflowing of joy”, he wrote somewhere. Joy, love, justice and truth form an interconnected moral web, and living within that web and embodying it in the world is the calling of the Church. Such an integral vision is Newbigin’s legacy.

Jesus rebuked the church leaders of his day for honouring prophets by building monuments to them but not paying attention to what they actually said. The best way to honour Newbigin is, surely, to pick up and read some of his essays and books.

I spoke at a Veritas Forum event in Columbia University, New York, a couple of nights ago. My dialogue partner, a distinguished professor of philosophy at Columbia and from an Indian Muslim background, made some scathing criticisms of the media for focusing so much on Islamist and Christian “extremists” as if they were representative of their respective faith communities. He made some equally scathing remarks about the Dawkinses and Dennets of this world whose militant atheism, in contrast to the irenic atheism of this professor, undermined the respectful tolerance of a liberal democracy.

I found myself gently defending the Dawkinses and Dennets of this world. Of course their arguments are often silly, directed at “straw men”. I have criticized them in my published writings. But the more time I spend in the US, the greater my sympathy for their strident attacks on Christians. If I grew up in the US I would probably be a hard-core atheist myself. Switch on “Christian television” and you would have to conclude that evangelical preachers were all con-men and Christians were the most gullible people on earth, easily parted from their money no less than their brains.

Popular Christian books, films and music reflect a narrow-minded subculture. It seems that being a ‘Bible-believing” Christian is to be politically right-wing, anti-evolutionary, anti-feminist and pro-Zionist. Further, the US is most divided and fragmented on a Sunday morning. I spoke at the University of Texas, Austin, two weeks ago, and was shocked to discover that there were over sixty different Christian groups on the campus, divided along ethnic, denominational and para-church lines. Clearly Christians cannot get on with each other; and reconciliation is not part of the good News of Jesus Christ in this corner of the world. But it is these “gospels” that are marketed globally because this is where the money is. Where would a “seeker” go to find authentic Christianity?

I have been privileged to meet and to be befriended by authentic Christians from all walks of life in the USA. I also know that there are outstanding American Christian thinkers and scholars, but that is only because I am a voracious reader. But so much excellent theology by Americans (and Europeans) is written for their fellow theologians, neither for the general reading public nor for the secular academy.

Travelling home on the subway, I got into a conversation with a Tibetan man, a professing atheist, who had been at the Columbia talk. He asked me what the phrase “dying to the old man” meant in Paul’s writings. I explained that it was not the Buddhist extinguishing of the (illusory) self, but rather re-directing one’s life away from self-centred ambition towards the love of Christ and the pursuit of his kingdom of justice and peace. Earlier that morning, my wife and I had lunched with an Indian student, a professing Christian. He is finishing his engineering studies at a prestigious local university. He told us that he wants to work with the US military because they were doing “cutting-edge” research. I asked him if he had ever thought of using his knowledge to re-direct technology towards global justice issues and the needs of the poor back in India or elsewhere. He looked at me with incomprehension. The thought had never entered his mind. Although brought up in India, and by godly parents, he never knew that more Indians had access to cable TV than to basic sanitation.

So a long and interesting day of human encounters. And I found myself wondering as I got into bed: who of these people I had met today was closest to the kingdom of God?

“We are in great haste to construct a magnetic telegraph from Maine to Texas,” wrote Henry Thoreau (1817-1862), “but it may be that Maine and Texas have nothing to communicate.”

What would Thoreau have felt about our world of “instant messaging” and constant “networking”? I am bombarded by invitations- which I routinely ignore- from friends and strangers to join Facebook and similar sites. I have also been advised that I should be blogging at least once a day, not twice or (at most) thrice a month. I am not using the full potential of the medium. My standard response to such well-intentioned invitations and advice is simple: I have a life to live.

We are increasingly enmeshed in what has come to be called the “cult of interactivity”. Instant and online interaction brings pleasure and convenience to millions, including myself. I am grateful for the advances in communications technology. But when communication becomes an end in itself, when having the biggest bandwidth is more important than what we have to say to one another, then the technology and the marketing have become our masters, not our servants. A wise use of technology may well be to refuse to use its “full potential”. When it comes to Powerpoint presentations, for example, my slides are deliberately few and unsophisticated. For if the content of my lecture is not more attractive than the slides themselves, then I should not be lecturing.

Paradoxically, with the new cellular and Internet technologies linking us to one another, we can now become self-enclosed, self-sufficient, controlling centres. There are even news-gathering services on the Internet offering to download only news that is tailor-made to our individual interests and needs. Moreover, for all the advertising hype about mobile phones “bringing the world together”, we have all endured the experience of a stranger in a crowded train or restaurant uttering sheer banalities (or even obscenities) at the top of his voice into his mobile phone, blissfully insensitive to the feelings of those around him.

Therefore, we need to ask not only what we do with our technologies, but what we are becoming through our technologies. Technology alters our perceptions of ourselves, of others and of the world. There is a dialectical relationship between the tools we use, our conception of the world and our self-consciousness. As Neil Postman puts it pungently, “To the man with a hammer, everything is a nail.”

Technological change is thus ecological change. It changes the culture, altering the structure of our interests, the character of our symbols, and the things we think about and think with. It fosters certain habits of mind and discourages others.

Ponder the mobile-phone concept of communication. This has pushed aside the old-fashioned idea of “conversation” which was slow, messy and sometimes painful. The new communication is identified with “exchanging information”, and this exchange is crisp, clear and instant. You say as little as possible to make sure you get what you want as fast as you can.  To be “in 24-hour communication” has come to mean sending and receiving a tidal wave of “messages” every day. And, in the new language of the mobile world, it is the device, not the human user, that does the “communicating” via global networks.

The growth of these technologies demonstrates the human ability to manufacture powerful methods of collecting, storing and disseminating vast quantities of information. But the technologies themselves do not provide the necessary frameworks and contexts of interpretation to sift, evaluate and assess the informational deluge that inundates us.  Gossip, rumour, and half-truths are immediately transmitted as the latest facts. It is increasingly difficult in cyberspace to know who is speaking, what he or she really means by what they say, and whose self-interests are shaping the online rhetoric.

We could spend our whole lives texting, but there will always be part of us that we do not- and should not- want to share with anyone other than our family and closest friends. And we do not need to comment on every news article, answer every online questionnaire, or subscribe to every networking site. Privacy needs protecting in an age of cyber vandalism. And imposing a regular “Sabbath” rest from our feverish networking and texting is good for our spiritual health. Contemplation and solitude are the soil in which deep and authentic relationships flourish.

Present-day discussions by Western philosophers about morality in general, and human rights in particular, are haunted by the challenge that Friedrich Nietzsche (1844-1900) threw down more than a century ago. Once we abandon all reference to God, can we continue to talk about the “dignity” , “equality”, and “rights” of individual human beings – simply because they are human beings?

A right is a claim that somebody has to be treated in a certain way by others and not to be treated in certain other ways by others. To every claim-right there is a correlative duty. If X has a right against Y to Y’s doing or refraining from doing action A, then Y has a duty toward X to do or refrain from doing A.

Many of the rights we enjoy are socially generated, either by legislation or social practices. For example, if my employer promises to pay me a specific amount of money every month for the work that I do, then I have a right (a legitimate claim) against my employer if he were to break his promise. However, underlying that contractual right is also a natural right, one that is not socially conferred: for our right not to have our trust betrayed is a natural right, not a right we have on account of a human decision.

I said in my last posting (2 October) that we have come to recognize, and enshrine in various international declarations, a certain class of natural rights that are human rights. That is, rights that we possess simply by virtue of belonging to the species Homo Sapiens. These rights are inherent to the status of being human.

However, very rarely do we address the question Nietzsche posed. If human beings possess a worth that grounds the language of equality and rights, whence this worth? Worth cannot just float free; always there has to be something that gives the entity such worth as it has, some property, achievement, or relationship on which its worth supervenes.

There is a long line of Western philosophers, from Immanuel Kant to John Rawls, who have assumed- while not explicitly arguing for it- that the capacity for rational agency is what gives worth to human beings. But, as Nicholas Wolterstorff argues in his fine book Justice: Rights and Wrongs, those who can exercise this capacity for rational action better than others are then of greater worth than others. Indeed, a good many human beings, such as Alzheimer’s patients and those with severe mental impairment, will never be able to exercise this capacity. Wolterstorff asks: “Must we then expect that those human beings who lack the capacities mentioned, who cannot function as persons, will be endangered? Must we expect that our treatment of them will sooner or later be determined entirely by what best serves the life-goods of the rest of us, not by their right against us to our treating them in certain ways? I think we must.” (p.390)

Nietzsche despised the weak, the poor, and the maimed. He proposed a counter-Christian “moral code for physicians”- the physician, Nietzsche urged, should encourage in himself active contempt for the invalid, regarding him as a parasite on society when he comes to a certain stage of degeneration. But most secular thinkers, while honouring Nietzsche’s brilliance, have not bitten the bullet the way that Nietzsche did.

Wolterstorff argues that being loved by God, despite our flaws and irrespective of who we are, is what ultimately gives a human being great worth. And he quotes (on p.324) the Australian philosopher, Raimond Gaita, himself a secularist, who says with unusual candour:

“The secular philosophical tradition speaks of inalienable rights, inalienable dignity and of persons as ends in themselves. These are, I believe, ways of whistling in the dark, ways of trying to make secure to reason what reason cannot finally underwrite…. We may say that all human beings are inestimably precious, that they are ends in themselves, that they are owed unconditional respect, that they possess inalienable rights, and, of course, that they possess inalienable dignity. In my judgment these are ways of trying to say that we feel a need to say when we are estranged from the conceptual resources we need to say it. Be that as it may: each of them is problematic and contentious. Not one of them has the simple power of the religious ways of speaking.”

Gaita adds:  “Where does that power come from? Not, I am quite sure, from esoteric theological or philosophical elaboration of what it means for something to be sacred. It derives from the unashamedly anthropomorphic character of the claim that we are sacred because God loves us, his children.”

China “celebrated” 60 years of communist rule yesterday. Since I have never visited that great country, I dare not comment on its economic achievements or its political failures. But this is what a young Chinese friend penned on the anniversary:

“Unsustainable, Undemocratic, Immoral, Corrupt, Ruthless, Polluted, Paranoid, Value-free.”

What adjectives come to mind when we think about our own nations?…..

Governments kill. That is true of governments of every ideological hue from red to blue. The vast majority of the hundreds of millions of helpless, unarmed civilians who have been shot, burned alive, bombed, and tortured in the past one hundred years have been victims of either their own governments or foreign governments. The atrocities committed by anti-government insurgents, rebels, terrorists and such like, while every bit as wicked as that committed by governments, are numerically insignificant by comparison.

But that is not the impression given by local and global media who prefer to focus on the spectacular “terrorist” attacks (a focus that further fuels such “terrorist” methods) rather than the often covert, routine abductions and killings of political dissidents and critics. The fact that the media are often controlled by governments, or are owned by a handful of moguls who are hand-in-glove with the government, is another reason for the bias.

That is why political vigilance on the part of ordinary citizens like us is so important. Watch the language of politicians. “Emergency laws” and “national security” are usually cover-ups for bolstering one’s power and justifying repression. It was not too long ago that the phrase “un-American activities” was bandied about in the US without generating much debate. China still speaks of “anti-patriotic elements”, although Mao’s “capitalist lackeys” and “Western revisionists” have fallen by the wayside. “Naxalites”, “terrorists” and “terrorist supporters” are widespread in South Asia. The “Muslim threat” raises it ugly head in some European nations.

The moral history of the twentieth century is a horrific one. But it would be incomplete if we failed to include the emergence, as a response to the horrors, of a global recognition of human rights: that is rights that attach to the status of simply being human, a member of the species Homo Sapiens. The main documentary achievements in this regard were the UN Universal Declaration of Human Rights (1948), the UN International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights (1966), and the UN International Covenant on Economic, Social and Cultural Rights (1966). The Roman Catholic philosopher Mary Ann Glendon observes, at the end of her narrative about the UN Declaration of Human Rights, “By affirming that all its rights belong to everyone, everywhere, it aimed to put an end to the idea that a nation’s treatment of its own citizens or subjects was immune from outside scrutiny.”[1]

It is that “immunity from outside scrutiny” that despots demand. Governments that have signed these declarations continue to violate them with impunity. And that is as true for liberal democracies when they perceive threats to their “national security” or “economic prosperity” as it is for dictatorships. Therein lies the chief failing of these declarations: their lack of enforceability apart from economic sanctions and, in extreme cases of genocide, military intervention.

Moreover, the declarations sit uncomfortably with a founding principle of the UN Charter- the myth of “national sovereignty”- which is invoked by evil regimes around the world to deflect all international criticism. The main problem with the UN is neither corruption nor double standards (very real though these are), but the fact that it was conceived in a world of sovereign states, a world where the overriding concern of the post-World War II settlement was the guarantee of the inviolability of national borders. But today’s world is one where wars happen typically within states. Whole populations, or minorities within populations, need assistance against their own despotic governments. Thus the UN Charter’s emphasis on the inviolability of sovereign states poses a conundrum.

The preamble to the 1948 UN Declaration of Human Rights opens with the claim that “recognition of the inherent dignity and of the equal and inalienable rights of all members of the human family is the foundation of freedom, justice and peace in the world.” Article 1 goes on to affirm that “all human beings are born free and are equal in dignity and rights.” This is obviously not an empirical observation. So what is its epistemic status?

Further, what is it about each and every human being that gives him or her an inherent dignity that serves to ground human rights? That is not an easy question to answer. And every secularist attempt to answer it ends up defending only the rights of some human beings and not all human beings. More on that next time.

What should the “international community” do to help people living under repressive states?

Despite great strides in electoral democracy and human rights conventions around the world, billions of men and women continue to experience the suppression of basic human freedoms such as the freedom to travel, choose a job or school, criticize their governments, express their views openly, and practice their religious faith. The state, one of whose important functions is to provide security for innocent citizens, has become the principal source of insecurity and fear in many parts of Asia and Africa. At the same time, there are flourishing “think tanks” and a veritable PhD industry on human rights legislation and international law. What is clearly and urgently needed is less talk and more action.

Writing truthfully about my own country in a blog like this can actually get me into serious trouble. So let me, in a cowardly-or, if you prefer, prudential- way, consider the more pathetic situation of Burma/Myanmar. The farcical trial of Aung San Suu Kyi a few weeks ago was only the latest incident in the long history of violence, corruption, ineptitude and complete disregard for the lives and rights of Burma’s citizens. When Burma applied to join the regional conglomeration known as ASEAN, I begged my Singaporean and Malaysian friends to appeal to their respective governments to refuse membership until Suu Kyi was restored as the elected head of state. I was told by some Singaporeans that the “Asian way” would be bring about change through quiet diplomacy rather than open challenge. The generals could be wooed towards democracy by trade and friendship. Today, twenty years later, the repression is worse. Clearly, and predictably, the so-called “Asian way” (an euphemism for legitimizing local autocrats!) is not working.

Why? Because we don’t follow the money. Generally, I am not in favour of general economic sanctions, as they hurt the common people much more than those responsible. The latter can “salt away” their fortunes in foreign banks and find ways to keep on consuming luxuries even as the country languishes economically. But, in the case of Burma, Aung San Suu Kyi herself called repeatedly for international sanctions. If the sanctions are carefully targeted- for instance, a complete stop to arms shipments and a total “freeze” of all foreign assets held by members of the regime- it would make life harder for those whose power now seems unassailable. If the people of Burma, who suffer daily under the junta, are asking us to help them, why are we not listening? The US and EU have belatedly imposed strict sanctions, but some oil companies continue to operate hand-in-glove with the military.

But Western nations do not rank among Burma’s top trading partners. India and China seem to be the worst culprits, openly selling arms in exchange for access to Burma’s rich oil and natural gas reserves. ASEAN nations and their leaders have not exerted much pressure on the Burmese regime. On the contrary, Singaporean banks are home to the junta’s ill-gotten wealth and the wives of the generals go on regular shopping sprees to  Singapore and Bangkok. Thailand alone purchases 44% of Burma’s exports each year. Sanctions by ASEAN member states would deprive the generals of a large portion of the more than $11 billion they earn from foreign trade annually. The junta spends less than 1.5% of GDP on health and education. The public education system has deteriorated so much that many parents rely on free, monastic schools for their children’s education. Infectious diseases, including AIDS, malaria and tuberculosis are rampant. How much longer is ASEAN willing to be dictated to by Burma’s human rights violators?

The ancient creeds of the Church tell us that Christ descended into hell. He is therefore close to those who are cast into it, transforming their despair into hope. This is not to belittle the suffering and anguish of our Burmese brethren, but to enclose their narrative within a wider narative of hope borne through sufferng- the narrative of the crucified, risen and returning Judge of history. If you are an Indian, a Chinese or a citizen of an ASEAN nation, what are you willing to do for the people of Burma that would also serve as a sign of that hope?

My father died last week. Death was a merciful release, as he had been afflicted with severe dementia for four years. He died at home quickly and painlessly with my mother , one of my sisters and myself at his bedside. Although we had been experiencing a prolonged bereavement over the past few years, his final passing away was still a sad moment for all of us.

We laid out my father’s body in an open casket at my parents home, as is the local custom, and  we received a steady stream of people from all faiths and all walks of life coming to pay their respects. My father had touched many lives, both as a government surgeon and a teacher (at the North Colombo Medical College). I had the privilege of giving the eulogy at a thanksgiving service just before taking the body to the cemetery for burial. I give below an extract from what I shared at that service.

I shall remember my father not for his achievements but for his character. Especially his simplicity and his integrity. He shunned all luxury and ostentation, pomp and humbug. He refused to kowtow to politicians. As a government surgeon he would travel on public buses and trains from the various stations where he worked. Indeed his refusal to do private practice but to remain in government service, despite all its frustrations was due, I believe, to his sense of responsibility towards the so-called “common people” as opposed to the rich elites of our land. This simplicity was part of his integrity. He did not wear masks, but was in public what he was in private, speaking his mind in a way that sometimes won him enemies. He was utterly incorruptible. Whatever he was assigned to do, he did so meticulously and responsibly. Such integrity is rare in the medical profession today as well as in our wider society.

However, whenever I gazed at my father’s gradually shrinking and wizened frame, and grieved the loss of his fine mind, I would also think, “One day, he is going to be a  glorious and radiant creature!” For as Christians, we don’t simply look back nostalgically to what people once were. We also look towards what they will  become one day.

The great philosopher of medieval Europe, Thomas Aquinas, once defined human beings as “animals with an orientation towards friendship with God and friendship with one another”. Yes, we are animals, part of a wider animal kingdom, and the perishable animal remains that lie in my father’s casket remind us of that fact. We didn’t, as human beings, drop from heaven. But we are also more than animals. We are that mysterious entity we call persons. We live our animal lives in a personal way.

My personhood is what demands that I be recognized as a someone and not something. And that every single human being is to be treated as a someone and not as a something. Our personal identities are formed through relationships- with God and with one another in the human family. And though our frail bodies perish at death, our personal identity- everything that has made me uniquely me and not you- continues in God. And God has pledged, and given us a foretaste of that in the resurrection of Jesus Christ, that our personal identities will be re-embodied, “re-expressed” if you like, in new bodies in which will all that was true and good and just and beautiful in our lives will be re-focused and contribute to the life of a renewed world.

So we should not wait till the end of our days to realise that what is truly worth pursuing in life are our friendships with God and with others. The reality and depth of these relationships are what define us, not our cars, houses or bank balances. And they are infinitely more precious, because more outlasting, than status or money or power.