Protection

The notion of protection is intriguing to me. Consider this image of a woman in a remote village in Morocco: She is covered by a garment that protects her bare skin from exposure to sun or wind or a male gaze, but also hides what is beneath. Is it humility or is it oppression? Is it beauty or a woman controlled? We in the West bring our ideas to this image and must guard against losing curiosity and allowing judgement to block our view. We can walk roughshod with righteousness instead of moving with compassion.

I suggest we look at this woman who loves her family as I love mine; as you love yours. She works within her community—in a country now devastated by the recent, massive earthquake. Thousands have perished, their clay brick homes capsizing, their lifestyles forever changed. Though this particular woman lives geographically distant from the quake’s epicenter and from the worst destruction, she is in no way separate in her heart from the people of her country.

What then, does solidarity mean in a world where we can witness the pain and loss firsthand through the internet, but still must pick the kids up from school, stir the soup, toss the salad, feed and walk the dog, complete the budget plan spreadsheet for work, and so on? We have an idea a day will follow a certain path and yet, earthquakes and floods wake us up to the reality, to unpredictability. Solidarity in this context means to remain awake, to have compassion, maybe to send a small donation or participate in relief efforts. Solidarity means opening your heart and allowing it to bleed a bit…and then act.