Books

As Jesuit Volunteers, we are placed in communities which suffer under structural violence. Whether they are broken education systems, political systems, healthcare systems, social systems, or economic systems people we work with suffer under systems they have no control over. This is the type of world we live in and the type of world that Suzanne Collins and Graham Greene create in “Mockingjay” and in “The Power and the Glory.” These books resonated with me, not because of how they are written, but because they thrust a knife into my conscience and twist as hard as they can.

What fascinates me about both these books is the fact that I see them both as protest books. In "Mockingjay," Katniss Everdeen is reduced to a figurehead. A bulk of the story revolves around her conflict with being her own agent, but this self-agency is co-opted by both sides of the conflict. Whether as a sacrifice to remind the districts of their weakness or a lightning rod that the rebellion can hang its hopes on, she becomes a pawn in a greater game between political systems. She is no longer a person, but a role that is inhabited. Katniss and the other tributes are sufferers that we as readers get to know rather intimately. But, the reality is that Panem is a world wherein self-agency is reduced to meandering existences of suffering.

Economic inequality reduces people into caricatures of humanity. From the grotesque Capitol to the faceless Districts, we are forced to take a pause in where we are today. How does our life of privilege, with our ability to take a year of our lives to "sacrifice in service," reflect the grotesqueries of the Capitol? How do our day-to-day interactions with our partners and clients, how they sometimes become just a torrent of victims rather than respected individuals, reflect the facelessness of the Districts? Suzanne Collins slides that knife into our consciousness so that we can see our own lives for what they are: privileged consumption.

In "The Power and the Glory," we are introduced to a flawed nameless priest. The bulk of the story revolves around his quest to survive. But, his final acts revolve around answering the call to serve knowing full-well that such service would require his life and would only affect one singular person that did not even embrace his sacrifice. The priest and the sufferer both die nameless and loveless deaths. Both deaths are witnessed by crowds of people that go on about their lives. We have to ask ourselves, how are we all witnesses to suffering in each of our ministries?

The beauty of the story is that compassion grows from a sense of duty and from a sense of suffering. The priest acts only after he has suffered persecution and been witness to it. He himself became a victim and a witness. It brought him closer to a sense of love for all people. How does our year of solidarity and as witnesses affecting us right now? After this year, where will our experiences as guide us? Graham Greene shocks us into realizing that witnesses bear a great responsibility to change the system that has victimized us all.

It maybe flippant to say what I am saying. In all respects, we are afforded the luxury to reflect on suffering as a means to entering a greater conscious morality/spirituality. The suffering that our clients, (I prefer calling them partners) is all too real. I am not trying to reduce such suffering to an academic discussion. But, it would be a disservice to not let their stories shake our worldview. The fictitious characters in “Mockingjay” and “The Power and the Glory” affected me in a visceral manner. Their suffering is fictitious. In a world of self-numbing media consumption, of caricatured human experiences, of narcissistic self-advertisement, we have the ability to bear the stories of this year and learn as witnesses to suffering. What we learn and how we change is entirely up to us.