One Side Stories; Guilty Victims

After listening to Chimamanda Adichie's ted talk on the dangers of one-sided stories, I find myself wavering between two discerning feelings. One one hand, I relate to what she is talking about and feel, as a Colombian, a victim of one-sided stories too. On the other, I feel ashamed for being much like Chimamanda's roommate in a lot of ways; I have a handful of predispositions towards the world because of one-sided stories I chose to blindly absorb.

First, I felt ecstatic. This woman was talking about something Colombians suffer from every single day: one-sided stories. Not only was she pointing out the ridiculousness of this, but also she was able to inspire her listeners to reflect upon the issue. The story of her roommate being incredulous at her fluent English repeated itself recently on my trip to Washington D.C during October Break. While riding a cab with some people I had met, I started singing to the song that was being played on the radio. A guy who was sitting next to me turned, surprised, and said, "Oh my God, how come you know the lyrics to this song?". I stared at him and replied, "Well, Colombians also listen to this type of music." He was bewildered at the fact that Colombians actually heard pop music, and additionally seemed a little confused that I could sing the song, which meant I knew, or could at least decipher, English. This comprehensibly opposed his one-sided story about Colombians being indigenous, ignorant, barbarian drug dealers.

Nonetheless, I have to admit that I too have been guilty for formulating one-sided stories. I am incredibly ashamed of accepting this but as I heard Chimamanda's talk I felt surprised by the fact that she, an African, could fluently speak in English. This is ironic, having in mind that I suffered from the same discrimination during my recent trip. But then I quickly wondered, why is it that people in Africa are only thought of as HIV infected natives?  Well, one-sided stories. The exact same reason why Colombians are though of as close-minded, uncultured terrorists.

Chimamanda not only inspired me to speak up for my country and against its one-sided prescribed reputation but also to have an open mind before taking any other stories in. People should have, as she emphasizes, a "balance" of stories before judging people, countries, or just anything around us. We need a balance of stories before we can understand anything that happens around us.

Kurtz's Omnipotence

Heart of Darkness, by Joseph Conrad, idealizes a particular man named Kurtz only to have him die a few pages after he first comes into presence. Kurtz was a great man, indeed. His accomplishments and his vista were beyond the ordinary, but he did not strike me as a man who would go down in history. What was it of Kurtz that made people put him on a pedestal?

Charlie Marlow, the story's narrator, starts off by merely hearing rumors about Kurtz's greatness. This quickly grows into an obsession to the point where Marlow mourns even the idea of Kurtz dying before he is able to listen to him. Marlow's idealization of Kurtz convinced him that Kurtz was a man worth listening to, as if Kurtz were above Marlow and therefore incapable of interacting with him. 

To this point, the reader only knows that Kurtz is some kind of an innate leader who was able to establish a successful ivory business in the middle of a savage milieu. This, to me, did not make Kurtz a god-like man at all.

In Part III of the novel, however, we are able to see Kurtz for the first time. Beyond rumors, Kurtz really is an outspoken man. Although suffering from a lethal disease, Kurtz is still able to impress those around him. He seems like a leader, yet fails to correspond to the God he has been portrayed as by his servants. 

Unconvinced by Kurtz's apparently admirable traits, I was reassured by Marlow's similar reaction. Notwithstanding the fact that Marlow is loyal to Kurtz and to his unquestionable reputation, Marlow also ventures to conclude that Kurtz isn't so unbelievably great. When traveling with him back to Europe, and after a series of deep conversations, Marlow conclusively states that Kurtz has a childish side to himself. More specifically, a "contemptibly childish" side to himself. This he noticed after getting to know Kurtz's vista's on a more intimate level and realizing that most of these were remarkably foolish. Nevertheless, this could also be the personification of what the doctor had foreshadowed in Part I of the novel; the changes that occur inside the men's head once they leave off to colonize.

Kurtz died, as does every other memorable hero, and I still failed to recognize him as an overly admirable man. What was it about him that seized the rest of the men? Was it his ability to speak up? Was it his skill of alleging possessions? Was it his perseverance? All these seem like very common human traits to me, but why was he idealized then?

I have come to believe than men at the time were far less innovating and independent than they are now, which would explain Kurtz's reputation to some extent. This is not convincing though. Does it have to do with the wilderness' darkness? Did Kurtz have a darkness of his own that would struck other men as threateningly admirable? I believe the answer to Kurtz's real magnificence cannot be answered until we grasp the underlying meaning of his surroundings. Was his omnipotence the omnipotence of the jungle that enveloped him?