Some years ago an American TV show aired its choices of those it considered the world’s great heroes. In one segment the producers took us into rebel-controlled territory in Mexico to meet a rebel leader. This man, obviously well educated, articulate, and with considerable charm, had entered a tribal area and assumed the role of saviour of the people. He had raised money from an unidentified source and equipped a small army. He enlisted young men and trained them as soldiers and led them in battle against government forces.
During the program the “hero” took the camera crew on a tour of the dilapidated homes of the tribal people. He impressed us with the poverty of the downtrodden inhabitants. The superbly produced TV documentary gripped us as we watched, carrying us emotionally into the squalid kitchens. We walked in fancy among the poorly-dressed residents; we felt uneasiness for the camera crew as we looked down the throats of modern weapons of death in the hands of teenage soldiers.
The show ended, leaving us with compassion for the people, respect for their leader, and a heightened concern for the downtrodden peoples of the world. Television has great emotional power.
The next day I reconsidered what I had seen, and anger replaced the sense of admiration. Television had taken the gun and war culture and fed it to me with the right mixture of vivid images portraying poverty and exploitation. And I had accepted it. They had appealed to the Robin Hood myth, and sucked me in. They had argued for the right of the have-nots of the world to point a gun and demand equality.
As I mulled over the squalid conditions of the tribal group and contemplated their hero, I remembered walking through equally difficult conditions in a Philippine village with another hero, Arsenio Dominguez. Dominguez told me of his arrival in that community; he had pitched a tent and settled with wife and small children on the banks of a robber-infested ravine. Throughout the day the robbers passed by his camp on their way to “work.”
Dominguez took me to visit the cottage industries he had founded. I watched skilled wood carvers preparing crafts for export. I visited the primary school and heard happy songs. I walked through the college campus and met serious students. I heard of the fishing-boat project, in which Dominguez raised money for boats, provided them to families, and then taught the people to fish. He has founded many similar projects. Each project breaks another family or village free from the cycle of poverty.
Arsenio Dominguez died a few years ago, but his work carries on. Neighbours and strangers rather than robbers now pass by going to the medical clinic staffed by Arsenio’s family and other volunteers. A college campus occupies the land where his tent had stood. The surrounding community, although shoddy by our standards, has changed greatly.
Rarely do people like Dominguez appear on prime-time television in the USA or Canada. Why do so many in media prefer to emphasize war and aggression over peace and dignity, placing guns above tools and industry, and promoting military training over job skills? And do we, as ordinary citizens, really want to see the problems of our day handled by wild-west heroes? I believe most of us would vote for champions like Dominguez who encourage practical help, education, and self-sufficiency.
I hope that none of us want to see the life-and-death problems of other people as simple entertainment. Rather, let’s hear them as calls to empathy, compassion, and action.