A Mixed Bag of Justice
A few days ago, a man hired a taxi to our building and then ran without paying the fare. He jumped the fence and took off down the street; as cries of "thief" amplified and reverberated, seemingly every young male in the vicinity joined in pursuit. The startled building residents and several women and old men nearby gathered, watching down the street even though the thief and his followers had disappeared. Apparently, a few people recognized him and said he was known to have done this type of thing before. Lots of "tssk tssk"-ing, head-shaking, and looking into the void...and then, triumphantly, a gang of 15 or so young men appeared around the corner in the distance, marching the perpetrator back up the street to the scene of the crime. Kofi, our building owner, was called out to give the man a stern talking-to, and then he was taken to the police. In the United States, some generous do-gooders might have tried to help in a similar situation, but their actions would have been considered extraordinary; elsewhere in Africa and Asia, people would have eagerly pursued the thief...and then have beaten or even killed him.
...
As guests at a huge high-society traditional Yoruba wedding on Sunday, we watched as immense quantities of food were served down the power chain. The (male) community leaders were fed first (along with us, their guests), followed by elders, other high-powered males. Then the wives of community leaders, female elders, women of influential families, etc. Then onto the subsequent tiers. At each phase, uneaten food was taken back to be recycled and served out to a lower group. What started out as a distinct pairing of rice-plus-sauce for the elite became saucy-rice for the ranks. After a few hours, the already enormous wedding became an open free-for-all, with community members flooding through the gates of the courtyard...some dancing and celebrating, but most looking around for leftover food and drink, or party favors that might later be hawked. Meantime, even after countless courses had been dished to all tables, we were given additional "takeaway" plates. These met with approval at our table, everyone nodding in support of the benevolent extravagance of the hosts.
...
Knowing we would never eat them, we wrapped our takeaway plates in a plastic bag. A particularly industrious boy had been flitting around behind us gathering used cups and bottles and washing them. He clearly had a plan to reuse or resell the cups and to return the bottles for the deposit at the distributor. He wore nothing but tattered shorts, and had a very distended stomach. I quietly called him over. "Yes, you...come here," I urged when he looked at me shyly, unclear as to why I was interrupting his work. When he understood, he slipped over and I handed him the bag, but as he smiled and turned away, a large teenage boy ripped it from his hands. Again, the cries went out, and everyone nearby--young and old--jumped to the cause, ensuring that the little boy got his bag and the big kid got "tssk tssk"-ed. Even when everyone is hungry, theft is inexcusable around here. But what happens when the story doesn't end at the police station? Did giving the boy that bag of food put him at greater immediate risk after the party than his hunger?
...
And then, the stories this morning: suicide bombing in Eilat extraordinary rendition, carnage in Baghdad, and Bashir may be the next head of the African Union. It's hard to say what type of injustice causes the most heartache.
...
As guests at a huge high-society traditional Yoruba wedding on Sunday, we watched as immense quantities of food were served down the power chain. The (male) community leaders were fed first (along with us, their guests), followed by elders, other high-powered males. Then the wives of community leaders, female elders, women of influential families, etc. Then onto the subsequent tiers. At each phase, uneaten food was taken back to be recycled and served out to a lower group. What started out as a distinct pairing of rice-plus-sauce for the elite became saucy-rice for the ranks. After a few hours, the already enormous wedding became an open free-for-all, with community members flooding through the gates of the courtyard...some dancing and celebrating, but most looking around for leftover food and drink, or party favors that might later be hawked. Meantime, even after countless courses had been dished to all tables, we were given additional "takeaway" plates. These met with approval at our table, everyone nodding in support of the benevolent extravagance of the hosts.
...
Knowing we would never eat them, we wrapped our takeaway plates in a plastic bag. A particularly industrious boy had been flitting around behind us gathering used cups and bottles and washing them. He clearly had a plan to reuse or resell the cups and to return the bottles for the deposit at the distributor. He wore nothing but tattered shorts, and had a very distended stomach. I quietly called him over. "Yes, you...come here," I urged when he looked at me shyly, unclear as to why I was interrupting his work. When he understood, he slipped over and I handed him the bag, but as he smiled and turned away, a large teenage boy ripped it from his hands. Again, the cries went out, and everyone nearby--young and old--jumped to the cause, ensuring that the little boy got his bag and the big kid got "tssk tssk"-ed. Even when everyone is hungry, theft is inexcusable around here. But what happens when the story doesn't end at the police station? Did giving the boy that bag of food put him at greater immediate risk after the party than his hunger?
...
And then, the stories this morning: suicide bombing in Eilat extraordinary rendition, carnage in Baghdad, and Bashir may be the next head of the African Union. It's hard to say what type of injustice causes the most heartache.
posted by Unknown at 5:32 AM
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