I am grateful for the power of tears. I have long found it interesting how preoccupied we often are in appearing strong and in complete control of ourselves, especially in such situations in which any display of strong emotion would be not only perfectly justified, but also appropriate. In almost any Middle Eastern country, if a loved one is killed or murdered, all stops are out. Women and men wail and scream like exorcised demons at the funerals of their sons, daughters, brothers and sisters. There is no sense of shame or embarrassment about letting go, letting it all out, no fear of being perceived as weak. Expressing grief over the death of a loved one is not viewed in some cultures as weakness, but as strength.
It`s rather different here in restrained Canada. If anyone cries at a funeral, it is done only in the most tasteful way. A little silent sniffling, a couple of tears, or absolute granite silence and faces to match. No emotion, please, we are Canadian. If you are faced with a terminal illness and you do it stoically, then you are lauded for your courage. You are battling cancer. Never a victim. And what they don't tell you is how relieved everyone is that you`re not showing emotion, since most Canadians are absolutely inept at handling genuine expressions of grief and loss.
When I was a child anger was the only acceptable emotion in my family. No one cried. Tears were a sign of weakness. Being weak, or seen as weak, was the cardinal sin. My parents were raised during the great Depression and Second World War. No one had time for the luxury of emotion. Life was hard and weakness was not tolerated. Only small children and women were allowed to cry. In the case of boys the "weakness" was shamed and beaten out of them. You had to be strong, a fighter, not a wimp, not a sissy. Life was a jungle, a battlefield and only the strong survived.
This must be very similar to the kind of thinking that drove the Spaniards and the Aztecs during the conquest of Mexico. Both nations were proud military powers fighting (so they believed) for their very existence. Always fighting, always killing, always snuffing out the tears until they were finally too battle hardened to feel any emotion outside of anger, rage, hate and wrath. Did Spanish conquistadores cry while falling from their horses in battle and waited for the spear, sword or axe to finish the job? Did sacrificial victims weep and plead for their lives as they climbed their longest march ever up the steep temple stairs? Did they weep as they were forced to lay on the altar? As the knife did its work and they felt their beating heart torn out?
We have no way of knowing. I find it interesting that here in emotionally restrained Canada, if a spouse or family member shows little or no emotion over the murder of a loved one they are considered immediately under suspicion. But many people, here in Canada anyway, have been trained from the cradle to restrain their emotions. We are not allowed to openly express the hurt and grief we are feeling. The cool, unemotional reaction is otherwise seen as an indication of strength.
The cultures of earlier times were formed often in harsh and unforgiving conditions. Only the strong survived. Violence as the way of reckoning with the opposition was never questioned, almost always celebrated. People still wept as allowed but I think that a general staunching of tears before they can flow does something to also staunch our humanity. Tears invite empathy, which can be difficult. I have sometimes heard standup comedians (always men!) joke that crying men never elicit empathy in other men, only scorn and contempt. That is a learned behaviour.
We need to unlearn our fear of tears. God gave us, men and women and others, tear ducts for a reason. If we can accept crying as a necessary, often important catharsis, then so much the better. We shed tears in order to rebalance ourselves. And sometimes, some of us need to weep harder and longer than others, without shame. I think that this learning to accept as valid the full venting and expression of emotions of grief, fear and loss, can do much to help us to unlearn the ways of violence. I have long believed that violence is often the result of refusing to cry.
I remember still the much weeping that I experienced during the eighties and nineties while I was coping with the hundreds of deaths around me during my work with people with AIDS, my mother's death, and many others. This was a particularly dark chapter, I think, for many of us. Even if this prolonged agony of grief and much weeping contributed to my experience of trauma, in a way it also eased things, and I believe has helped make me into a more complete and more compassionate human being.
Many people believe that violence is an essential component of human nature. I suppose this could be true and, despite evidence to the contrary, I often would prefer to not believe this. Whether or not this is the case, I think that human beings have a particular advantage over other animals. We have an advanced capacity for changing ourselves through education. Even if violence is a part of our broken and fallen human nature will it really have to always be so? Can we see ourselves as slowly lurching forward by a slow and agonizing process of evolution?
I will conclude here with the words of Jesus Christ: "Love one another."
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