On Perspective

Earlier this afternoon, my roommate and I were watching an MLS game--the LA Galaxy versus the New England Revolution, for those interested--when a rather poignant commercial came on. The commercial was one of several PSAs released by the MLS, in partnership with the Youth for Human Rights International, meant to inform viewers of basic human rights that everyone is entitled to. This particular PSA dealt with the subject of education.

In the ad, a mother, who is white, is driving two little girls to school--one is her daughter, the other has a darker complexion and is "new to the country." Once the children arrive at school, the white girl talks--or more accurately, complains--to her darker-complected companion about school: She whines that school is such a burden, that it is criminal that they are required to attend. All the while, the other girl is oblivious to the complaints, as she stands in awe of the schoolhouse, the other children, and the wonderful opportunity before her. After the white girl concludes her tirade about how much school sucks, she asks the foreign girl how many schools she has in her village, to which she responds, "None." It's pretty powerful.

Here's the ad:



Now, the ad deals with the universal right to education, which--not surprisingly--I support. But what struck me about the ad dealt not with education but rather with the complete lack of perspective demonstrated by the little white girl. Her offensive lack of perspective reminded me of a sentiment I encounter all-too-frequently from others.

How much of our lives is spent complaining? How many things that we complain about are things that, in reality, we should be grateful for? All-too-many of us have an overwhelming sense of entitlement, an overwhelming lack of perspective. We fail to realize just how lucky we are to have the luxury to complain in the first place: We complain about difficulties at work, when many around the world can't find food, let alone a job; we complain about traffic on the way home, when many around the world have no car, let alone a home to drive to; and as this commercial demonstrates, we complain about school, when many are denied the opportunity to learn, let alone the luxury to complain about it.

When I was younger, I spent a few weeks in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil, a tourist destination for many, but a learning experience for me. When I arrived, I was appalled by the vast disparity between rich and poor: Villas on the hills, cardboard shacks in the valleys. On one particularly memorable morning, as I exited my hotel, I witnessed a homeless woman on the sidewalk squat over a sheet of newspaper, to defecate. The image haunts me to this day--not because I witnessed a woman shamelessly defecating, but rather because she was forced to do so in the first place. The experience was jarring, and it made me that much more grateful for things I had, up to that point, taken for granted.

My trip challenged me: How much of our lives is simply fortune? I could just as easily have been born into poverty in Rio de Janeiro. I could have been born into a penniless family with no prospect for a nightly dinner, let alone a first-rate education. I had no control over where or to whom I was born, and neither does anyone else. And yet, we so frequently hear discussion of personal responsibility for one's failings.

How much of our failing is the result of our own actions? Conversely, how much of our success depends on the actions and status of others? It was this line of questioning, I think, that led me to take an interest in sociology. Everything I had thought about responsibility, about accountability, about blame was in error: How can I condemn a woman for defecating on a sheet of newspaper? Who am I to judge?

This is not to say that we in the privileged class--and anyone with the luxury to read mindless blog entries like this one are most assuredly privileged--have no right to complain about anything. To be sure, there is much to deplore: wealth disparities, health disparities, civil rights violations, and so forth. But it's important that we take the time to reflect on just how fortunate we are to be able to raise objections like these in the first place. In short, it's important that we have some perspective.

So, the next time you want to complain about your boss, your classes, or about the ice cream sandwich that you absolutely must have, think about the child who goes to sleep on an empty stomach, about the woman who must defecate on the sidewalk. Your life could be much worse, the object of your complaint much more dire. The degree to which we complain suggests that life is terrible, and in many ways, it is. But it's more terrible for others than it is for us.