On little questions

I know I'm not the first to write about this. I know this because we danced around it in various classes at varsity. I did my readings, submitted my essays and wrote exams on it, along with hundreds (and thousands) of other students. Amateur representations imitating other 'more credible' representations about the politics of representation, and so on. A snake biting its tale, which really is all philosophy is.

Now, you see, I know this (the last bit). But knowing is not understanding. The concerns of philosophy are, for me, concerning. Which makes being a writer a little bit tricky.

Because representation raises ethical issues about the observed, the observer and the viewer. (Me being the first and last.) Let's say I have some time so I mosey on down to the promenade, sit on a bench and write about what I see. What I see is an elderly couple walking, without looking at the scenery, without saying anything. They are walking side by side, without much distance between them.

(This already is a character study, but let's carry on.)

I dub them Mrs Blake and Mr St John. They began an affair in their thirties, Mrs a widow and Mr married. Having been married once, Mrs didn't care to repeat the experiment and never pushed him to leave his wife. Ho-hum, life continues for a few decades. (Whether or not the wife knows is irrelevant because she's not the one on show. Mr loves both women.) Then Mrs St John dies. But the relationship carries on as before for a few years, hidden, to dodge the gossips. They finally come clean (about their love, not the affair), the children are gutted, and they continue much as before. Ho-hum. After all this, they know each other well enough not to have to speak. They have walked the promenade many times before and know the ocean's many moods without looking. Intertwined with themes of memory, choice, accountability and gender relations.

This is a fiction. Imposed on a reality - someone else's reality. Think of your relationship with another person. Would you want to be described like this? Even if it is made up. If some trace of you remains: a gesture or expression.

A person isn't a theme or a metaphor; you have a complex inner life and the right to that. Do you permit me to manipulate that? If so, why?

The example above is just that. My main concerns have to do with the disenfranchised; the people you see at traffic lights, under bridges, knocking on your door. Even if written in an empathetic or sympathetic voice - especially if - what do I know of their lives? Anything I write will stem from pity or accusation; they will become symbols of time or chance or human dignity. What right do I have to their lives? What right do I have to pity or blame?

But how do I continue to ignore a portion of society whose stories already are ignored? Continue the cycle, heap blow upon blow, act the hypocrite. Equality isn't food, shelter, education; it is human relationships. If you want respect, respect all you would pity or pass judgement on until you know their story.

(Again I have sidelined the point: to do with travel photographs, amateur and professional, and how they objectify the lives of people. Another time.)

There is no solution here, we say (I hear the whispers). Let's not bother, then. Let's continue with our lives without tripping over the little questions. True. We can't second guess every moment of our lives: every thought, action or emotion. But that doesn't drown the little questions. And to someone else they may be crucial ones. To me, they are.