We the People

The only real people I've met since coming back have been the rickshaw drivers and a cook at the cafeteria. I'm living here in a green zone, a bubble of artificiality -and I can hear my own voice becoming even more false than before. Of course, I don't have much time for criticizing the superficiality of the world (that is always with us, and always will be) but it must be said that it is slightly disconcerting when one doesn't recognize oneself. One also has to be on one's guard against a ridiculous romanticization of "the poor" , as one should be against a dreamy -eyed view of "tradition" or religion. In this regard the great Catholic writer, Gustauve Thibon, was right: villagers and peasants are as mean as anyone else.

Javi tells me a story of life in the rural areas. At first I think this a metaphor for all life there but he stresses that this is what he actually saw. He gave a quarter of his roti to a measly dog. The dog quickly snatched at it and turned his back on him. He then ran off to the stream and buried it close by. The dog then returned for more. I felt like saying, for fuck's sake, that dog's got more sense than most humans, but there is tremendous onus on not saying what one instinctively feels. Part of the old world sensibilities that dictates that one should know when and in what tone to speak. Such an approach to life is often quite charming but mostly I find it infuriating and tiresome. Old debate: must I say what I mean?

One of the drivers had painted his finger nail a deep red; half of his large toenail was also painted the same colour but the paint had faded somewhat (this is actually quite a common phenomenon). What I liked about him was that when I asked him about the ouster of Nawaz Shariff he said, what difference would that sister-fucker make to the poor people ('swearing' in the Punjab isn't really swearing). Now, he could have said , what difference would he make to 'us poor people' (which would be picturing himself too much as a victim) or he could have said, what difference would he make to "the poor" (as if they were some sort of abstract entity..incidentally, this is why communists could never do well here: talking about ridiculous "concepts" like 'the bourgeoisie' or the 'capitalist class'). But instead he decided to say, the poor people (and that meant him, not me). The problem with "People" for western political theory is that it has at once been "the poor" and a universal construct, "the people" (as in: every person or citizen..whether one can be a person without being a citizen is something that is also not clear: as Gitmo quite clearly indicates.

In any case, the simple phrase, "the poor people" means much more to me than theory.

On the way back another driver, a much simpler fellow, dropped me and the Dougal on the wrong side of a busy road so that we would have to make a dash for it, risking life and limb, in crossing it. Sensing this, the Dougal said, "okay, but if we die then you're responsible" Now, that would barely pass as a reasonable quip in most places, something that might bring half a smile to a taxi driver's face. But our driver was taken aback. To talk so freely about death just isn't on. He looked at us quizzically, "But why should you say such a thing" and then, becoming quite emotional, he said: "death to your enemies, they are the people who should die". Which was really quite a wonderful thing to say when you think about it (or, rather, the emotion behind the statement was)