reply to post by Sublime620
A agree that some people don't seem to try, and because of this, it's easy to paint them in certain stereotypical ways. But there is another factor
that is often overlooked. Hopelessness builds walls to many things.
I have lived on the reservations of South Dakota, and trust me, it seemed like a suburb of Culcutta or Mexico City. Alcoholism was rampant, as was
suicide. There was an air of despondancy that pervaded everything, a miasma of hoplessness that dulled the senses and blunted the will.
Rusted hulks of vehicles littered the yards, trash piled up unmoved, children played listlessly in the unkept yards while parents drank rotgut and
watched the flies circle the stove. But changing the conditions surrounding them seemed more effort than could be mustered, for the will to rebell,
even against squalor, had been removed through years of failure. Failure to retain a culture, failure to achieve equality, failure to believe in
dreams of a better future. Failure to see themselves as worthwhile.
When any group of people, regardless of culture or color, feels collectively that they have no hope of a better tommorow, at least for their
offspring, then there seems no reason to care much about the conditions of the present. And worst of all, the vicious circle can spiral downward for
Dreams and hopes need understanding and nourishment even more than the body.
I'm not making excuses, just understanding the reasoning that is often instilled so young that it seem to be as much a fact of life as the air one
breathes. It creeps into the soul almost before formal language, and like a stutter or a lisp, effects all the words uttered to one's self, binds all
the promises to escape. Like a card game rigged by the Fates themselves, the House of Hoplessness almost always wins. If you haven't even a memory of
prosperiaty, the weight of the future, even the next hour, is a burden scarcely to be born.
Haven't you seen those commercials for depression, how it effects every facet of a person's life? Now imagine a depression sucked into the psyche
with the first breath of this world, and (hopefully) released at last with that final mortal exhalation. Life without meaning, without change, without
true joy. Impoverishment so deep and inescapable that life and death seem all the same, impoverishment of the soul.
Now imagine the resentment one feels for "tourists", who want to go slumming and pointing their fingers and holding their noses. Feel the anger of
knowing that they will go back to their soft world of grand houses and china dishes and linen covered beds. Share the hurt of certainty that you will
never live like those sitcom families.
Put yourself in those shoes, and you too might well gather the energy to pick up a brick and bust a windshield on a car you will never have the money
to buy tires for. You too might vent some anger on an alien world that reinforces the shabbiness of your own.