Vulnerability and Communion

Yesterday I watched “Beasts of No Nation,” and I cried. I couldn’t tell you the last time I cried at a movie. Hell, it’s been a while since I’ve cried at all. Yet “Beasts of No Nation” induced tears.

I didn’t cry at the scenes where you’d expect me to cry. When the protagonist, a young boy named Agu, witnesses the murdering of his family, I didn’t cry. When Agu is forced by his commanding officer to kill innocent women and children, I didn’t cry. When Agu was raped by his commander, I didn’t even shed a tear. Oddly, I cried during the happy ending. I cried when Agu rushes into the ocean with his friends, a moment that signifies growth and the prospect of hope.

Obviously, the scenes of terror and war were appalling. But how could I have a visceral reaction to something that is so far removed from me? For God’s sake, I was intermittently scrolling through Tinder during part of the movie. I can’t see a greater contrast in the state of Agu’s life and mine than that. Regardless, I was able to relate to Agu in the last scene because it highlights the intense emotional isolation he feels from the rest of mankind.

Even though my bougie concerns about my identity and the "self" are nothing in comparison to Agu's concerns about war atrocities and child abuse, I think there's something significant about the fact that both of us, each in our very different worlds, feel totally isolated from those around us. And because of that, I'm able to connect with him, someone whose life is so different from my own. But the difference between Agu and me is that my isolation is self-imposed. It’s a choice.

There is Me, and then there is Them.

If prompted, I will undoubtedly tell you I am a nonconformist, and that I actively choose to be this way because it forces me to truly believe what I believe rather than simply accept the status quo. It is a better way of being, as it results in constant questioning that in turn leads to a more refined person. I don’t believe in bending my will to others’, as I think this is a denigration of self. Most people would describe me as aloof, standoffish, and (hopefully) righteous. And to the few who know me well, I am heartfelt and vulnerable. Unafraid to be unabashed, liberated in the short-reaching arms of my inner circle. I pride myself on this vulnerability, as I think that it elevates me and makes me more genuine.

When I saw Agu jump into the water, I cried because I was inspired. Agu’s decision to play with his peers against his instinctive defensive isolation challenged my conception of vulnerability. Am I truly vulnerable for being completely real to a few, but aloof to the majority? Is this strength? Is this righteousness? I used to believe the vulnerability was the ability to show your heart to a person, fully aware that they could choose to either caress it or stab it. That choosing to be vulnerable with someone was the bravest thing that a person could do.

But it’s one thing to be vulnerable with someone, and a whole other thing to be vulnerable every day, with everyone. That’s what Agu does. And that makes me cry.

If a nine year old can live through countless horrors and still be brave enough to be vulnerable with the entire world, I can sure as hell do so too. Any conception I have of the world as heartless or cold may be true, but that doesn’t mean I should run away from it. If anything, true strength comes from authenticity in a shelter-less environment, being genuine despite the pain that may come from it. I want to emulate the bravery of Agu in my daily life, regardless of how scary it is to trust others.

Yet even as I write this, I am fearful. I am fearful of admitting weakness to a group of unknown people. I am scared of the judgment that will arise from my description of myself. More than anything, I think I am fearful that I will not follow my own advice. That I will turn inwards to shield myself from the world, to protect my values from the influences of The Other. I’m concerned that this realization won’t spark genuine growth because I’m having it while I watch a fictional movie, on a computer screen, sitting on my bed, eating Samoas. Hardly the environment to have life-changing revelations. I’m concerned that this won’t give rise to progress to a better Jamie.

The cards are in my hands, and only I decide whether this realization is ephemeral or lasting. Whether this is growth or retreat will be wholly settled in my actions and thoughts in the future. This is both liberating and anxiety inducing, and I’ve done enough wondering for now.

I’m going to go hang out with some friends.

Jamie C. Stewart ’18 is a philosophy concentrator in Dunster House. His column appears on alternate Tuesdays.