There's only so much evening news I can watch, and then I need to turn it off. Covid, wildfires, earthquakes, tsunami warnings, floods, mudslides, building collapses, missing children, civil unrest, residential school graves, shootings, crop failures, wars, refugees. There's a bright spot amongst it all on social media -- a Sikh man impossibly landed in the Yukon, who dances bhangra to share hope, joy, and positivity around the globe. Gurdeep Pandher, in sweat pants, beside his humble cabin against breathtaking scenery, can't fix all the problems in the world, but he's doing what he can, what he does best, in his small sphere, to remind us that there's still light in a dark world. He does it with his whole heart, drawing others in, providing an astonishing touch of healing and comfort.
For a while, I watch him and feel my breath slow and calm, my face and shoulders relax. I needed that brief moment of respite.
But then this week...Afghanistan.
I've never been there. I've only ever known one person from there. But I'm female, and because of where I live I'm free to choose how to live my life, and that alone is enough to scar my heart when I see what's happening. That heart-wrench isn't just for the women and girls, though; it's also for the young men and boys who are being drawn into the pattern of thinking.
Religious belief is something that's important to me too. My faith shapes what I do, how I dress, who I married, what I eat and drink. But most importantly, it shapes how I think of and treat others. At least, that's its key function that I try to keep at front of mind in my daily walk. But faith cannot turn into unkindness or intolerance or inequity or force, or it loses its whole point. No loving god would approve of religious devotion being used as a weapon, especially against the most vulnerable of his children. You can believe what you want, but there's a boundary to your personal faith that ends where another's health, safety, happiness, and agency begins. And even if you really believe your way is what's best for them, necessary for their own good, you cannot coerce. Even God forces no one to heaven.
I sit on my couch watching the news and feel completely useless. Yes, I can give money. Yes, I can feel bad about it or fling prayers at it. But what I really want to do is get in a private plane, go pick up a woman and her family who are feeling trapped, whisk them to my home, and care for them. I know it isn't possible or practical, and it's like that adage about rescuing starfish on the beach -- you can't save them all. But I want to. I want to drain the entire country of Afghanistan of its women and bring them here. Give them a soft place to land. Let them know there are people who see and care. And then maybe the men whose women have fled will object and stand up and stop the Taliban.
Yes, I know, but a writer of fiction can't help but fantasize.
It's easy sometimes to get weighed down by all the darkness in the world. To become paralyzed. Some days it's difficult seeing the way ahead. To not wish the world would just end already.
Meanwhile, Gurdeep is still dancing.
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