There's this bridge in Nanjing, China. The Yangtze River Bridge. 4-miles long. And, it is famous for the number of people who jump off of it each year to commit suicide.
There's also this man in Nanjing, China. His name is Chen Sah. This family man chooses to spend his weekends on Yangtze River Bridge, after a full work-week, because he once heard a story about how many people die on the bridge each year. With the help of his faltering moped, he scouts amidst the multitudes of visitors along the bridge for the individuals who will make that fateful choice to take his or her own life. And then, Chen Sah tries to rescue them. Sometimes he meets with success and learns the story and needs of the person; other times he is too late and can only try, try again. He keeps a simple blog (click here for translated excerpts) of what happens each day in a 'hobby' some would find macabre. His reasons for taking on this enormous chore do not include having someone close to him kill themselves. Many of the desperate are from poor farming regions where life is hardscrabble and existence itself is depressing. Coming from this background, he understands the inner struggles which result. From this simple wellspring of commonality evolved a need within Chen Sah to expose himself to tremendous emotional and mental stress on a weekly basis, and to spend a portion of his valuable family time, pooling his limited resources together for the sake of total strangers.
I heard about Chen Sah on "This American Life", a podcast of an NPR radio show out of Chicago. Though it is in Chinese, his blog is now one I follow, even if only to view the pictures he takes of the rescued. I understand the origin of his drive.
Compassion. Empathy. Concern for matters outside of one's self, one's life sphere, one's personal universe of people, places, and things. Personally, I believe these are elements which should make the world go 'round. Personally, I believe there are a great many others who feels the same and live out those feelings with actions grounded in purpose. Personally, I believe some folks give voice to such feelings but are immediately distracted by the immediacy of their own wants and needs. Personally, I believe a larger pool of people don't think it's any of their concern if someone outside of their immediate family is suffering, for any number of reasons, including, 1) they brought it on themselves; 2) they are the concern of someone else; and, 3) "I don't have enough time/resources/energy to help others."
Anyone who knows me well knows that I care for my husband and my children with as much energy, time, and resources as I can muster in a day and beyond. I'm a stay-at-home parent which means though there are countless duties at my rather dry and pruned fingertips to be had, I'm often not at home to do them. Cooking, cleaning, laundering, gardening, shopping, organizing, paperwork-ing, and errand-running, Listening, learning, lecturing, and lamenting. Everything is not a glittering success. I still make mistakes. I must confess to forgetting the kids a time or two at school for pick-up. My husband could always use more 'wifely minstrations' than he gets on a good week . . . but from what I hear, what husband couldn't?! Every now and again, when the moon is full and my hormones are fluctuating, I have been known to lose my cool with any -- all right, ALL! -- of the residents within our household. Still, my reason-for-being is them. The good, bad, and the downright u-u-gly.
But there is another purpose-driven side of me which springs from a concern for others in this human condition who are hurting, who have unmet needs, who are not as blessed as am I. While I am unable to venture out into the wide world on my own and bring care to these countless, my heart and mind often travel to them and with them. I think and pray for, and sometimes fight worry over, the many who are cut off from the world at large and have no one to fight for them in their tiny corner of this existence. I grew up watching our mother reach out, often with mixed results but the best of intentions, to the homeless, the wartorn, the depressed, the lonely, and the sick. At different times in my childhood, I was one of the homeless, the depressed, the lonely, and the fearful. There really is nothing quite like living a thing, or directly witnessing a thing, to pound it firmly home.
What I lived and what I saw has never left me. The residue is a film on my heart. The memories are a stain in my mind. My beliefs and my perceptions are permanently colored by these recollections. And, in a bittersweet way, I am glad for it. I never want to forget how good I have it in relation to roughly 98% of the entire world's population. It would be unwise to fool myself into believing that within the borders of our very own wonderful country there are not those who go without shelter, food, employment, clothing, and love on a daily basis. People are sick in body and spirit and mind without benefit of insurance or a neighborhood or a family or a church. When I look at the excess just within the confines of my own life, from home to family and friends to health, I wish there was a way to balance the inequalities.
Because I am intimately acquainted with that inequality.
(To Be Continued . . . )
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