fear ---> moral outrage

So last night we went to see Inglorious Basterds. Aside from being visually stunning quite often, surprisingly funny at times, interestingly written, very precisely timed for suspense and maximum impact, and well-acted by a number of people in it -- I never want to see another Quentin Tarantino movie again. I can't handle it. Not surprising - I don't do well with lots of graphic violence. It also raised some uncomfortable issues about justification and entitlement to revenge. And in this case, quite a parallel process, poetic justice kind of revenge, given the historical context it refers to. Questions I can't answer, which is a great thing.

But therewas a scene closer to the end that triggered something inside me. It was visceral terror - I thought I was going to throw up, I was trembling, and my hands and arms felt tingly. It was very physical, and I'm not entirely sure why. I stayed in my seat until the end (which I'm glad about, because I didn't want that scene to be the last I saw). I left the theater quickly and crossed the street. I intensely did not want to see any of my fellow theater-goers except my partner, and I didn't want to hear anyone making any comments about it. I felt disgusted, horrified, and deeply disturbed. And moved very quickly into moral condemnation. I did not want to know of anyone who found the film entertaining. I did not want to hear anyone say they liked it. I precluded my partner's comments about whether or not he liked it, and consumed our world with my experience of fear and moral condemnation.

This morning, I'm much more settled, but left with better awareness of this move from visceral fear to moral outrage and condemnation. I think it says a lot about human experience and how we've come to understand morality and fear. What triggers and justifies moral tirades - at a deeper level than simple discomfort with what is unfamiliar? When moral outrage spurts up somewhere, maybe now I'm better equipped to look for the bodily fears behind it. I don't have anything more to say about it right now...but there it is.

'reality'

I haven't been writing because I fell down a deep hole called "two part-time jobs with small nonprofit agencies." I will emerge eventually, but probably not for a couple more weeks.

In the meantime, I wanted to write about a person I saw during the part of one of my jobs where I meet with HIV+ people who are eligible for some of the services we offer. I met with a person who was quite religious in conversation and very cautious about personal details. They revealed that they had once been almost dead from 'cancer' and that a very close 'loved one' had died recently. The usually language of partner, lover, boyfriend, AIDS, gay, and all of that was completely absent, except for the times when I referred to my own life & experiences.

As I pondered my pastoral diagnosis (this is not part of my job explicitly, but it's behind many of the things I do), I considered what goals I might identify for this person. Primarily I thought about what it means to 'face reality.' The reality for this (as least partially homosexual) person is that they have HIV and their partner died from it. The reality is that they don't receive certain helpful services because they don't wish at this point to publicly identify with the diagnosis. But that's not the only reality.

It's also a reality that their family (from what I gather) is not particularly accepting of same-sex desire, nor of HIV status. Their religious community isn't either. And perhaps most importantly, this person is not particularly comfortable with the labels I just described. Instead, they have found ways to talk around this cancer, the burden of grief of watching friends and a lover die from it - and knowing that they also have the diagnosis.

I think about the many ways I find to talk around certain things in my life - what things I let slide under assumptions, and what kind of language I use to frame my life, depending on the audience. How important is it to make someone agree with my version of reality?

I guess at this point it seems more important to support their survival. If they refuse to get treatment, for example, or if they seem too isolated and depressed, then I might find ways to help them get access to treatment and social support. But who am I to mess with the structure of their self-understanding? Maybe as I get to know this person (who was delightful & interesting to talk to, and who gave me a hug when I left), my perspective will change. But in the meantime, I'm struck with my own impulse to "make" them describe their reality in terms I would use - rather than let them structure it in ways that work for them.