My Professional Storyteller friend LaRon recently shared with me an event that happened in his life. "I performed earlier this week at a school in Detroit," he said. "During lunch, I went with one of the teachers to a McDonald's 'restaurant' not too far from the school. I never eat McDonald's food, so I was just along for the ride and the conversation, but she does, and she ordered her lunch through the bulletproof safety glass that seals off the staff from the customers." He then exclaimed: "Bulletproof glass at McDonald's!?!?"
LaRon is intensely interested in the history of the creation of slums and the economics of demographic patterns. "What are the stories that support the mindset of hierarchy that allows for such extremes of social polarity to pass virtually unnoticed, and certainly uncared about, in the larger society"," he asked. LaRon then goes on to wonder if we have ever heard a report on the mainstream news about the social tragedy of bulletproof McDonalds-es? "Why aren't we, collectively, as a nation, up in arms about such a horrible situation? How have our stories fostered such a culture of indifference?" LaRon asked.
I "met" LaRon on the storyteller social networking site Professional Storyteller. I invited him to be a part of the "Applied Storytelling: the Power of Story" group, since his profile really intrigued me. In it he said:
"I believe in the creation of a new kind of 'folklore' that redefines our understanding of ourselves and our relationship with our planet. Many traditional folktales reflect the historical era(s) in which they evolved, and contain messages that reinforce human clannishness, antagonism toward the environment, and a weak or nonexistent sense of global perspective. My belief is that contemporary storytelling needs to incorporate themes that teach us the 'new' understandings we've learned about human beings as a single global family, about ourselves as an integral part of the environment, and about the flow of 'cause and effect' in human history."
Now who wouldn't be fascinated by that, may I ask?
LaRon's response to my invitation was equally fascinating. "I believe that we've reached a point in time where it's essential for human beings everywhere to develop different concepts of ourselves," he said. "We simply no longer can afford the old divisive ways of thinking that have determined the course of our history. We can't go on with the incredible levels of violence, the astonishing environmental degradation, or the extremes of hierarchical thinking that allow huge populations to starve and otherwise suffer while others 'enjoy' a glut of overblown luxury." He continued, "The problem is that we're addicted to those old ways -- not simply through our patterns of behavior, but also in our deepest emotional being. The entirety of who we are is rooted in the stories that have grown out of ancient divisive lore. We can't afford to continue to hear those old stories. Our entire Archetype must change if we hope to see new behaviors.
This will be no easy job, LaRon concluded. "We'll need millions of new stories if we hope to counter the old-fashioned mindset that has been developing since before humans even walked erect."
LaRon, I hope you don't mind me sharing your thoughts! I find them extremely poignant and rich fodder for discussion.
What say ye?
Showing posts with label value systems. Show all posts
Showing posts with label value systems. Show all posts
Saturday, March 7, 2009
Tuesday, April 1, 2008
PRETTY WOMAN
Dasho Kinley Dorji, chief editor of Bhutan’s Kuensel News Corp, feels his country is going through difficult times, on the road to a complete destruction of the country’s values systems. One way to combat that, he believes, is to create stories calling attention to the situation and ensure that those stories are shared and heard.
His creative non-fiction short story Pretty Woman portrays how the introduction of television to Bhutan in 1999 thrust the country into dramatic and painful change. The story tells how, over a period of seven years, a young boy and a young woman collide with forces much greater than themselves, their community and even their country. She was the prettiest girl around – strong, sun-darkened, and hard working, with a face as round as the moon and a singing voice that enchanted all the men. He was a young boy, growing up in a volatile climate of change (still continuing today), confused by what he observes.
“The story invites important questions,” Dorji said. “Are the side effects of development taking a toll that is more powerful than the effects of mainstream development? This is symbolized by the immediate excitement over television that far exceeds the advantages of electricity as a source of power for utilities.” (Electricity comes to the story’s setting in 2003.) “In a country where there are now an estimated 50,000 television sets compared with 14,000 computers, television becomes a major status symbol and dominates the altar in the altar room” (as it does in the story), he said.
Over a period of seven short years, the country’s hero is no longer the king, but athletic superstars and Bollywood film actors, and the beautiful image of the hard working village girl is replaced by singing and dancing Bollywood stars and bikini-clad Pepsi models. The end of Pretty Woman is poignant and bittersweet:
Aum Thrimi looks into the distance. “They are so pretty, the girls. They are so thin. They are so fair. They smell so nice.” She looks at Kuenley, a gangly five-foot nine-inch boy, standing with his hands in his pockets. She turns and looks out the window again. “Better study hard, Kuenley. Otherwise you’ll have to live in the village. You have to work all day in the sun. You have to walk everywhere with no shoes. You have to carry manure on your back and smell of cow dung. In the village you will quickly become ugly. We have no choice because we are already old and ugly.” Kuenley says nothing. He does not know what to say. Thrimi is 27 years old. She has not changed. But the world had changed.
“This story is Bhutan’s story,” Dorji said. “The metamorphosis of a rural society is documented through the eyes, and the confusion, of a Bhutanese youth who personifies a generation in transition. There are no subtleties because the experience is not subtle.” The message that comes through as the pair’s community feels the impact of globalization is that there is an urgent need to put on the brakes before it is too late to do anything about it.
Bhutan is a country crying for help and believes in the power of story to help them. What do you think?
His creative non-fiction short story Pretty Woman portrays how the introduction of television to Bhutan in 1999 thrust the country into dramatic and painful change. The story tells how, over a period of seven years, a young boy and a young woman collide with forces much greater than themselves, their community and even their country. She was the prettiest girl around – strong, sun-darkened, and hard working, with a face as round as the moon and a singing voice that enchanted all the men. He was a young boy, growing up in a volatile climate of change (still continuing today), confused by what he observes.
“The story invites important questions,” Dorji said. “Are the side effects of development taking a toll that is more powerful than the effects of mainstream development? This is symbolized by the immediate excitement over television that far exceeds the advantages of electricity as a source of power for utilities.” (Electricity comes to the story’s setting in 2003.) “In a country where there are now an estimated 50,000 television sets compared with 14,000 computers, television becomes a major status symbol and dominates the altar in the altar room” (as it does in the story), he said.
Over a period of seven short years, the country’s hero is no longer the king, but athletic superstars and Bollywood film actors, and the beautiful image of the hard working village girl is replaced by singing and dancing Bollywood stars and bikini-clad Pepsi models. The end of Pretty Woman is poignant and bittersweet:
Aum Thrimi looks into the distance. “They are so pretty, the girls. They are so thin. They are so fair. They smell so nice.” She looks at Kuenley, a gangly five-foot nine-inch boy, standing with his hands in his pockets. She turns and looks out the window again. “Better study hard, Kuenley. Otherwise you’ll have to live in the village. You have to work all day in the sun. You have to walk everywhere with no shoes. You have to carry manure on your back and smell of cow dung. In the village you will quickly become ugly. We have no choice because we are already old and ugly.” Kuenley says nothing. He does not know what to say. Thrimi is 27 years old. She has not changed. But the world had changed.
“This story is Bhutan’s story,” Dorji said. “The metamorphosis of a rural society is documented through the eyes, and the confusion, of a Bhutanese youth who personifies a generation in transition. There are no subtleties because the experience is not subtle.” The message that comes through as the pair’s community feels the impact of globalization is that there is an urgent need to put on the brakes before it is too late to do anything about it.
Bhutan is a country crying for help and believes in the power of story to help them. What do you think?
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