And in typical Western tradition, I've been spending this time making it all about me. Or about not me, and about the life that could have been mine but wasn't. And I've been doing a lot of thinking that has reaffirmed my beliefs in social liberalism, anti-racism, poverty eradication and feminism.
One of my key beliefs is that the fate of most people is heavily predetermined at birth. Without discounting personal liberties, motivation or merit, so much of our life paths are simply functions of the family and socioeconomic class we were born into.
As a little kid I played with many of the children who lived around my house in 'squatter camps' or shanty towns, groups of houses made of scrap materials. It struck me how much alike we were, except for key differences like the fact that my house had a locked cupboard dedicated to lollies and their house didn't have a ceiling. Our games were the same, our laughs were the same. But as we grew up and started to reach puberty, more and more differences became apparent. I would stress about a C on a test and they would stress about finding their next meal. I would try and get the cute boy up the road to notice me, and they would try and get their middle aged neighbour not to rape them. I became increasingly uncomfortable with my massive amounts of privilege, and more and more confused. What had I done to deserve this life? It upset me too. I didn't want my friends to suffer. What had my childhood friend done to deserve a life of alcoholism, regular beatings, extreme poverty and rape, all by the age of 14?
Moving to a small town in Northland, New Zealand, further broke down illusions I had about the way the world worked. In South Africa I lived two lives, one with my privileged friends in private school, and the other with my friends at home, the children of our maids and gardeners. New Zealand was a much more equal society, and I had no privileged little shell to retreat to every day. I learnt that some people don't care about education and couldn't wait to reach age 15 when you could drop out of school. I learnt that going to university is not a given for everyone, and is a massive achievement for some, where it was an expectation for me. I learnt that having a curfew wasn't such a bad thing when your friends had parents who wouldn't notice whether they came home that week.
My first job out of university was working in men's remand prison. Like any good knee-jerker, I had many predetermined ideas about offenders and criminals and punishment. Meeting these people and talking to them blew all those notions out of the window. Seeing three generations of men in a prison at the same time, the youngest being 17 years old, made me again question our ability to influence our fate and the degree to which it was already decided by the actions of our parents, and theirs by the actions of their parents. I also met some downright nasty people who I absolutely knew made active decisions to harm others, but surprisingly the nastiest of these was a prison officer and not a prisoner.
During this time I also volunteered with a domestic violence agency on a helpline. I once talked to another volunteer who had just visited a house where the children were playing Playstation in a carpeted room that was stained with their mother's blood. Some of the stains were fresh. The kids hadn't even noticed. Again I wondered 'how do these kids ever have a chance?'
It might seem at this stage that I am a fatalist, resigned to accept an imperfect world where people act according to an unchangeable script. But I'm really not. And I think where the optimism kicks in is where the liberal political beliefs begin. I feel that too often social conservatives see the world as being essentially equal, where we all come in with a clean slate and through a series of decisions determine our own fate. The weak who make bad decisions ought to, at the very least, live with the consequences of their decisions. At worst, they must be punished for them. Those with the fortitude to make good decisions, even when it's hard, are clearly those of best merit and should be rewarded.
I don't believe this is true. And I believe it is the responsibility of the lucky, of me, to take active steps to make things better for those who were not as lucky. To ensure that government policies do not push people further into poverty, do not make domestic violence worse, do not reinforce the patriarchy. I believe government policies can make a real difference to improving the people's lives. New Zealand has, against all odds, reported a 15 year low in recorded crime. Teen pregnancy is at a 70 year low in the USA. These rare good news stories illustrate slow burning gains that are possible under consistent government policy.
How can we change? By acknowledging the complexities of solving seemingly intractable social problems. By not victim-blaming. By recognising that our comfortable lives might be less to do with us and more to do with the good luck of our birth.
And I'll keep navel-gazing and remembering my cousin and I playing fashion designer, doctor, supermodel. She taught me how to paint my nails and tried to make me cool. She succeeded in one and failed dismally at the other. Rest in peace dear cousin.
