Resisting Racist Oppression: Measures Symbolic & Minute ….. Yet Meaningful

A close friend recently sent me the link to Louis Theroux’s documentary ‘The Settlers’. He was moved by it, he said. I was too, not only by the documentary, but also by the fact that my friend was moved. He is hard to move. He is very cynical about all the protests I go to. How many bombs have you stopped? He asks jokingly. He hates what Israel is doing in Gaza but he cannot see how ordinary people like him or me can change anything.

I tell him yes, it is frustrating. But it is important that we don’t stop, because what we do, no matter how little, is not meaningless. I tell him about the old woman who sat in a railway station in Nazi occupied France. She pretended to be blind and now and then, tripped German soldiers with her stick. The Germans thought she was a mad, blind woman but onlookers knew what was going on. They saw an old, feeble woman doing her bit to resist the occupier and they were emboldened. It did not stop Nazi soldiers getting on the train, it did not stop them from taking part in military operations but it made those who watched and the woman who did it, feel stronger. It lifted their morale and gave them dignity. It may not have dented the Nazi war effort but it sure did help some people remain human and strong under a dehumanising occupation.

I tell him about the priest in Steinbeck’s ‘The Moon is Down’. The Germans demand that he allows them to use his church as a shelter for their wounded. The priest concurs. He cannot say no to armed Nazis and he cannot say no to offering shelter to the wounded. But as long as the Nazis are there he does not ring the church bell. That was how he chose to resist. That was how he chose to maintain his dignity.

I tell him about my uncle who lived in St. Albans in England. He lived more than half of his life there. His friends were from diverse backgrounds – his best friend was Irish but there were Welshmen, West Indians, and of course Englishmen. These days we would call it a multicultural group but they all called themselves British (except the Irishman – the Irish are like that you know, and God bless them). I remember my uncle telling me how they campaigned against Apartheid in their town. We went to the shops that were selling South African goods, he said, and persuaded them to stop doing it. We told them we will boycott those shops and tell others to do so too. Some refused but eventually they all complied. His eyes lit up with pride when he said that. These were small people, ordinary people. My uncle was a nurse and his other friends were nurses, casual workers, engine drivers. They knew they couldn’t move the world but they wanted to do what they could to keep evil away from their little corner of the world.

I tell him about myself. When I was in my teens there was an uprising against the government in the south of Sri Lanka as well. The insurgents launched a campaign of terror and intimidation aimed at supporters of the government as well as the opposition. Their main target was anyone who supported devolution of power to the Tamils in the North and the East of the island. They killed them, often in the most grotesque manner. Before the government hit back with a terror campaign that dwarfed the insurgents terror and butchered their cadres, they had killed hundreds of left-wing supporters and activists who stood up for the Tamils. My first ever vote I gave to the party that was under the greatest pressure the United Socialist Alliance. But I wanted to do more. I was just a lone individual, I had no contacts with any group or party, so I decided to act alone. Transport was disrupted at the time due to constant strikes but I managed to get on a bus that took me several miles out of Colombo. I carried a small piece of chalk with me. I got off a few miles from Colombo and walked all the way back home, stopping at every bus stop with a shelter. It was election time and so on the inside panel of the shelter I quickly drew the symbol of the party I voted for – a clay lamp – and then drew a cross next to it. It took a long time to reach home but I felt good. I hoped that those who supported that party, or even those who simply did not like the butchery that was going on, would have their spirits lifted by seeing those signs. I know that is how I felt when I saw similar signs drawn by others.

We are now facing an evil that is many times worse than Nazi Germany or Apartheid South Africa. This is an evil that is spread across the world and it is only now that its full extent is coming in to view, like a hideous monster slowly rising out of a swamp. It has to be stopped before it swallows all of us. Sitting on our haunches and mocking people who do something and asking how many bombs they have stopped is a cop out, a weak, selfish person’s response. We must act not simply because we can change others but because we need to remain human in the face of monsters. You don’t fight Nazis because you are going to win, said Satre. You fight them because that is what you do. And if we all do what we can, we might even win. In the immortal words of John Donne, ‘do not send to ask for whom the bell tolls, it tolls for thee.’

And I tell my friend, remember, you too have already done something. You sent me the clip and I sent it to others and they sent it to others. Like you, they too have been moved. You are one of us now.

(The image is from the British TV series ‘Secret Army,’ Series One, Episode 9. The V was painted, drawn and carved by French citizens as an act of resistance, to show the Nazis that they were not welcome)