Man Killng Man

I picked up an Eastern European man off the street this morning. Everyone was passing him by and just looking down at him. He was drunk, and soon after I'd picked him up and found out how he was (he apparently wanted a cigarette and thought the only way to get one was to lie down on the pavement and pick a half-smoked butt off it) his friend (another Eastern European man) came over and started talking to me in a language I didn't understand. I asked the second man if he was friends with the first man and he said he was, by nodding. They both looked like hardened gangsters so I felt it necessary at that point to make a swift exit and go about my own business (my own prejudgements coming in).

It did get me wondering where the common universal connection I've believed we all share had gone at that point. Fear had stopped others picking the man up but when I stooped down to grab his hand, everyone around looked down at me as if I were doing something wrong. I must admit that if I thought I were doing something wrong I would have gladly left him there. But what's wrong with getting another person back on their feet, both literally and metaphorically?

I'm very discouraged now, especially with the state of the universe. If things are, indeed, in perfect balance and if the universe does indeed know what it's doing then why is the world not climbing on board and succumbing to their base instincts to help one another, whether known to them or not? When we're children we're told never to talk to strangers, and rightly so, but I fear that this concept is being (and has been) drummed into us too harshly for it has now created boundaries between us; divisions which we find hard to cross. We now feel the need to know someone on some level before we can help them. Surely, I could have stooped down this morning and asked the man where he was from, how many children he had and whether he liked sports before I picked him up. I could have lunged into a light conversation about his life, and shared my life with him, but that would have taken too long and wouldn't have changed the fact that he needed my help (if only just to pick him up off the floor).

Even worse, I think, is the fact that that if my Eastern European friend was soaked in blood on the street people would have been even more reluctant to help him for fear of contamination. They would have stood aside and called the authorities, probably thinking it his own fault to be in such a state, while other might have looked at him in disgust and whispered amongst themselves about the possible causes of his misfortune. Why, then, do we expect others to help us when we are down? Perhaps I'm being overly pessimistic about the current state of human nature but my incident this morning only acted to highlight my position. We are often taught to stand on our own two feet; that no-one will do anything for us and that we have to create our own opportunities in life, but when it comes down to it and the proverbial shit hits the fan it is still a human instinct to cry out for help; when we are in the most dire of circumstances perched in a pool of our own blood and sweat at 3 AM on a Saturday morning.

Next time you're walking down the street; notice how many people don't look you directly in the eye for fear that they may have a connection with you; that they may, in fact, allow themselves to be sucked into the unknown. I hope it changes. I envision a world with no division, where people realise that we're all part of a universal system and that we're all connected whether we like it or not. I envision a world where we pick Eastern European men off the street and anyone else for that matter, and where we lend a helping hand to anyone who needs it. In revolutionary spirit, I reject circles, squares, triangles and cliques. I reject personal space, and I reject the constant and unnecessary compulsion to run away from human connections unless we're intoxicated.

By the same token I think that if necessary (which they're not), wars should be fought while under the influence of non-violent substances. If this were the case there would be no more man killing man; a war would be just one big piss up, with all manner of substances, where soldiers, civilians, and their supposed enemies would lay down their arms and hug one another saying "I love you, man" in their stupors, and where they would arm-wrestle to settle whatever disputes they have. It was one Christmas day during the first world war when British and German troops came together in no man's land to play a game of football. All grudges were set aside for that day, and arms were laid down in one big event during which all those involved implicitly said, "my fight is not with you, my brother. I'm just following the orders of an old twat three hundred miles away with a big chip on his shoulder." It was a glorious display of man helping man.

I think anything is possible, a trait which has made me the target of some criticism recently. But is it so hard to believe in this type of world, and pass it off as mindless idealism? I think not.

Peace, love, revolutions