MONSTERS IN THE MIX
Sermon delivered by the Rev. Dr. Maureen Killoran
With River Road Unitarian Universalist Congregation
October 30, 2011
CLICK HERE TO ACCESS A VIDEO OF THIS SERMON*
[The reading, which is quoted through the sermon, is “St. Roach,” by Muriel Rukeyser]
I begin with an admission that will dismay some of you and probably befuddle others: Other than a bit of research this week, I know little about, nor am I prepared for the Zombie Apocalypse.
Zombies, as some of you may recall from such films as “Night of the Living Dead,” or the TV series, “The Walking Dead,” Zombies are the “undead,” mindlessly re-animated corpses with a hunger for human brains. Some say they’ve been infected by a virus, some by radiation, but – whatever – at some point, Zombies are likely to invade the planet. And oh, did I mention that getting bitten by a Zombie turns you into one?
I realize this is new information for some of you, but it’s even received attention from the CDC who, just a few months ago released an emergency preparedness list covering hurricanes, pandemics and . . . Zombies. I myself took a test called “Zombie Preparedness” and -- in the event of the Zombie Apocalypse -- I’m gone.
Ah well. I confess my ignorance. I’m not much up on giant squids, either, nor vampires, ogres, or even the bogeyman. I will, however, confess that during my childhood, I, at all times, kept my toes at least six inches from the edge of the bed, because I knew down to my soul that the monster under my bed was real.
“The mind needs monsters,” writes anthropologist David Gilmore, “embodying [as they do] all that is dangerous and horrible in the human imagination. Monsters [Gilmore argues] are fantasy creatures on which our fears can safely settle.” (Monsters: : Evil Beings, Mythical Beasts, and All Manner of Imaginary Terrors, 2009:xvii) Indeed the very word, “monster,” comes from the Latin, “monere,” that which reveals or warns.
Could it be, then, that we create monsters as warnings about those things beyond the edges, where our mind can be allowed to fear? A Zombie Apocalypse, for example, will end the world as we know it, because their virus will spread until humanity is no more. Whether it’s Zombies or the Four Horsemen from Revelation, the Apocalyptic sub-text is always the same:
· Civilization is fragile.
· Hope is useless.
· In the face of a truly unprecedented threat, the veneer of society with shatter.
· The score will be Humans zero, and Monsters 10.
Unless, as Joseph Campbell put it, “some brave champion goes forth to test his mettle in a climactic battle of good and evil.” The monster or the super-villain is so totally different, so evil, that you must wipe it from the face of the earth for humanity to survive.
Which is fine, as far as it goes. In many people’s eyes, it’s absolutely great fun . . . Some of you know I’m a Harry Potter fan, and I found dealing with Voldemort tremendously exciting. Eliminating him was just fine – if indeed that has been done.
Please do not misunderstand me. I believe there are evil people in the world, and there are definitely ordinary people who do evil things. But when we start seeing monsters in every bush and tree, then the Apocalyptic trope starts to play. We go into survival mode . . . There is no middle ground. There is no dialogue. There are only them . . . or us . . . and when it comes down to the wire, there will be only him or me.
I suggest that this is at least part of where we are today. Our world is shaping – has shaped -- an us-or-them polarity, where taking a position almost demands demonizing who-ever or what-ever is “other.”
And in the midst of polarities, all sorts of unfortunate behaviors become okay.
Take for example this fall’s pre-season game between the Philadelphia Flyers and the Detroit Red Wings. Philadelphia right winger Wayne Simmonds is one of the few Black players in the NHL – is it coincidence that a ”fan” threw a banana peel in his path as he was trying to take a shot? To be clear: This happened in London, Ontario, in what we like to regard as a kindler, gentler nation. But remember, my friends, Canada -- my home country-- is the land that stigmatizes an entire province, so that to this day, admitting one was born in Newfoundland is often taken as a joke.
We’ve all heard it, the regional scapegoats, the racial, the racial, the ethnic, all the categories of slurs that are okay. When I lived in Oregon it was Californians. In North Carolina, it’s folks from Florida. Catholics, of course, Jews. Atheists. Evangelicals. Transgendered persons. People of any race other than our own. Muriel Rukeyser said it:
“For that I never knew you, I only learned to dread you,
For that I never touched you, they told me you are filth,
They showed me by every action to despise your kind . . .”
In her book Finding Beauty in a Broken World, Terry Tempest Williams shares the stories of dozens of survivors of the Rwandan genocide. Neighbors turning on neighbors. Friends slaughtering former friends. We ask ourselves, how could such things happen?
But, my friends, this egregiously painful human story is nothing new. Back to the Tower of Babel, our human challenge has been to live together humanely. And yet so often we slide, it seems seamlessly, from difference to disagreement; from disagreement to “DANGER.”
The Omega Institute’s Elizabeth Lesser calls this “other-ising, where those who are different becomes enemies, monsters even, because of how they look or how they love, how they think, or speak, or pray. (Broken Open, How Difficult Times Can Help Us Grow, 2005). Muriel Rukeyser again:
“For that I . . . do not know your poems
And that I do not know any of your sayings
And that I cannot speak or read your language
And that I do not sing your songs
And that I do not teach our children
To eat your food
Or know your poems
Or sing your songs . . .
But that we know you not at all . . ."
In a current exhibit, the National Museum for American History shows how visual images contributed to the “other-ising” of African Americans – Pickaninny salt shakers. Aunt Jemima dolls. Li’l Black Sambo. Amos and Andy. If you are white and of my generation or close to it, your heart may sicken as did mine, because you at one time took for granted such depictions, failed to make the connection between those images and living, breathing human beings. Whether deliberate or “innocent,” those images were propaganda that further marginalized the people whose humanity they denied.
More intentional and more explicitly evil are the images on view at the Holocaust Museum, their exhibit called “State of Deception: The Power of Nazi Propaganda.” Posters with ugly caricatures. Radio programs filled with outright lies. The government passed out radios so their message could not be missed, so no one could avoid their campaign to create villains, monsters, from ordinary human beings.
Then we have Rwanda in the 1990s, radio station RTLM. Tremendously popular -- fast-paced, popular music, talk shows – all larded with hate-bites like, “You Tutsis are cockroaches. We will kill you all.” As philosopher John K. Roth puts it, genocide became possible because divisions between people were exacerbated by legitimized hate speech. Fears were rationalized by ideology. Killing was unleashed by voices that proclaimed it necessary. (For Roth, see Williams, p. 307. For discussion of the role of media propaganda in the Rwandan genocide, click here.)
As an aside, did you know you can buy “Kill a Liberal” bumper stickers on the internet? Or that, following the killing of Moammar Gadhafi , the comedian Orlando Jones thought it was funny to tweet that “If American liberals want respect, they’d better stop listening to Aretha [Franklin] and kill Sarah Palin.”
I say to you that hate speech is hate, whoever says it.
That whether in 1930’s Germany . . . in genocides world-wide . . . or the racist blatherings of sadly influential commentators in America today. . . when we neglect the humanity of those with whom we disagree, we strip reality of nuance. History shows that it is only a short step to the “other” becoming a monster. And from earliest human memory -- we know it – monsters are something to be feared. To be killed. To be eradicated from the earth.
Think about it. If my opponent is a monster, then he or she -- or they -- are either ontologically evil, or have sold out to evil ways. That leaves the other half of the archetype for me – I’m Clark Kent before the phone booth. Harry Potter without the wand. I may not have any super-powers, but in my heart I know I’m Right. Right with a capital R.
C’mon, ‘fess up. Isn’t there something – something – on which you are absolutely and completely certain that your position is right, and that the other guy is absolutely and completely wrong?
Surely if you’ve been married, or partnered, or had kids, or argued with your parents – surely you’ve got at least one story you could tell.
Take that to another level . . . the person who got you all wrong, misunderstood you, caused you grief at school or work? Maybe took credit for something you know you achieved?
The powerful groups who are enacting political decisions with which you disagree?
A company, a corporation, whose choices are polluting or damaging the earth?
How about officials who make their living enforcing policies your heart knows are wrong?
Isn’t there something – something – on which you know you are Right with a capital R?
And when the other side closes the doors for debate
. . . or uses power to enforce their choices
. . . or advocates violence against those with less
. . . or breaks what some see as unjust laws in order to survive
. . . how do you deal with it?
How do you hold on to your values . . . how do you remain committed to compassion and justice . . . how do you at the same time be passionately engaged?
How do you do this without making monsters of those with whom you disagree? (PAUSE)
We began with the Zombie Apocalypse, and now, in the interests of eclecticism, I want to end with . . . dragons. “How to Tame Your Dragon,” to be precise, a recent film from Dreamworks Animation. You learn right off that the Viking society has a monstrous “pest” problem . . . Not mice, or termites, or even raccoons . . . but dragons . . . breathers of fire, burners of homes, stealers of livestock . For 800 years killing dragons has been the measure of Viking masculinity.
Until now. Until a non-battling, sensitive-souled boy called “Hiccup.” Almost by accident, Hiccup captures a wounded dragon . . . He knows what he’s supposed to do. But . . . he can’t kill it. Gradually, gently, boy and dragon become friends. And sure enough, as so often happens when we see past the surface of the one we fear, the dragon has a story to tell. Because, for all 800 years, those dragons have been held in thrall to a leviathan that demands a steady diet of Viking livestock, lest it turn on the dragons and have their hatchlings for its meal.
It’s a fairy tale. Vikings and dragons unite. They defeat the leviathan, form a community, and live happily ever after. But the Vikings are curious. “Hiccup,” they ask, “why didn’t you kill that dragon?” “Ah,” says Hiccup, “I looked into his eyes and saw his fear. I looked into his eyes and saw myself.” (PAUSE)
Truth is, my friends, there are no, or at least very few monsters.
Can we refuse constantly to gird our loins for battle?
Can we look into the eyes of our opposition and see at least something of ourselves?
Who knows? Perhaps we will live our way to the truths found from of our reading:
They showed me by every action to despise your kind . . .
[but then]
Yesterday I . . . was really looking for the first time.
You seemed troubled and witty.
Today I touched one of you for the first time.
You were started, you ran, you fled away.
Fast as a dancer, light, strange, and lovely to the touch.
I read, I touch, I begin to know you.
May it be so.
Blessed be.
* This video is best viewed on a high speed internet connection. The River Road website may require a password to allow you to view the video. Please email me and I will be happy to send you one -- this is different from the password required for some pages on this site.
© M. Killoran, Bethesda, MD, 2011