My search is always to find ways to chronicle, to share and to document stories about people, just everyday people. Stories that offer transformation, that lean into transcendence, but that are never sentimental, that never look away from the darkest things about us. Because I really believe that we're never more beautiful than when we're most ugly. Because that's really the moment we really know what we're made of. As Chris said, I grew up in Nigeria with a whole generation -- in the '80s -- of students who were protesting a military dictatorship, which has finally ended. So it wasn't just me, there was a whole generation of us.
我一直尋找以編年的方式 來分享、紀錄關於人們的故事 關於轉變、自我超越的故事 這些故事從不感傷 從不逃避自我的黑暗面 因為我相信我們最醜陋的時候 才是最美麗的時候 因為只有那一刻,我們才會了解真正的自己 我在奈及利亞長大 我的世代,80年代 每個學生都參予軍政獨裁的抗爭,所幸現在結束了 所以不只有我,而是全部的人
But what I've come to learn is that the world is never saved in grand messianic gestures, but in the simple accumulation of gentle, soft, almost invisible acts of compassion, everyday acts of compassion. In South Africa, they have a phrase called Ubuntu. Ubuntu comes out of a philosophy that says, the only way for me to be human is for you to reflect my humanity back at me. But if you're like me, my humanity is more like a window. I don't really see it, I don't pay attention to it until there's, you know, like a bug that's dead on the window. Then suddenly I see it, and usually, it's never good. It's usually when I'm cussing in traffic at someone who is trying to drive their car and drink coffee and send emails and make notes. So what Ubuntu really says is that there is no way for us to be human without other people. It's really very simple, but really very complicated.
我所學到的 是這個世界不會因為有救世主而改變 而是簡單的溫柔,每天可以看到的無形的悲憫 能拯救世界 在南非,有個詞叫 ubuntu ubuntu的意思大概是 展現人性的唯一方式,只有當別人的行為 反映在你身上的時候 對我來說,我的人性像一扇窗 我看不見它,也不特別注意 除非窗戶上停了一隻蟲的時候 那時候才看的見,通常也是不妙的時候 通常是當我卡在車陣裡 看著別人開著車、喝咖啡 寄電子郵件、寫東西 ubuntu 真正的意思是 沒有別人的存在是無法展現人性的 聽起來簡單又複雜
So, I thought I should start with some stories. I should tell you some stories about remarkable people, so I thought I'd start with my mother. (Laughter) And she was dark, too. My mother was English. My parents met in Oxford in the '50s, and my mother moved to Nigeria and lived there. She was five foot two, very feisty and very English. This is how English my mother is -- or was, she just passed. She came out to California, to Los Angeles, to visit me, and we went to Malibu, which she thought was very disappointing. (Laughter) And then we went to a fish restaurant, and we had Chad, the surfer dude, serving us, and he came up and my mother said, "Do you have any specials, young man?" And Chad says, "Sure, like, we have this, like, salmon, that's, like, rolled in this, like, wasabi, like, crust. It's totally rad." And my mother turned to me and said, "What language is he speaking?" (Laughter) I said, "English, mum." And she shook her head and said, "Oh, these Americans. We gave them a language, why don't they use it?" (Laughter)
我用故事來說 一些動人的故事 先從我母親講起 (笑聲) 她也很黑 我媽媽是英國人 我的父母在50年代相識 之後我媽搬到奈及利亞住 她大概158公分,脾氣火爆,非常的英國 她有多英國呢 有次她到洛杉磯來看我 我們去馬里布,她對那裡很失望 (笑聲) 我們到了一家海鮮餐廳 服務生是個衝浪手,叫Chad 我媽就問他 『小夥子,你們有什麼特餐』 Chad回答:『當然,就有那個鮭魚』 『還有那個哇沙米,把他那個捲起來』 『超屌』 我媽就問我 『他說的是什麼鬼話』 (笑聲) 我說:「是英文,媽」 她搖了搖頭,說 「這些美國人,我們給了它們一個好好的語言」 「為什麼還不用呢」 (笑聲)
So, this woman, who converted from the Church of England to Catholicism when she married my father -- and there's no one more rabid than a Catholic convert -- decided to teach in the rural areas in Nigeria, particularly among Igbo women, the Billings ovulation method, which was the only approved birth control by the Catholic Church. But her Igbo wasn't too good. So she took me along to translate. I was seven. (Laughter) So, here are these women, who never discuss their period with their husbands, and here I am telling them, "Well, how often do you get your period?" (Laughter) And, "Do you notice any discharges?" (Laughter) And, "How swollen is your vulva?" (Laughter) She never would have thought of herself as a feminist, my mother, but she always used to say, "Anything a man can do, I can fix." (Applause) And when my father complained about this situation, where she's taking a seven-year-old boy to teach this birth control, you know, he used to say, "Oh, you're turning him into -- you're teaching him how to be a woman." My mother said, "Someone has to." (Laughter)
這個女人,在嫁給我爸的時候 從英國國教轉信天主教 沒有人比這些後來轉信天主教的人更激進了 她決定到奈及利亞鄉下教書 特別是教伊博女人 算排卵期來節育 是天主教堂唯一同意的節育方式 但她的伊博語不太好 所以她帶著我去當翻譯 我才七歲 (笑聲) 這些女人 從沒跟自己丈夫討論過生理期 然後我還得問她們:「妳生理期多久一次」 (笑聲) 「有沒有注意到什麼分泌物」 (笑聲) 「陰部有多腫」 (笑聲) 我媽從不認為自己是女性主義者 但她常說 「男人能"做"的,我都能"補"」 (掌聲) 我爸跟她抱怨過 她怎麼帶著七歲的兒子 去教節育的這件事 他會說:「喔,妳快把他」 「教成女人了」 我媽會說:「總要有人犧牲」 (笑聲)
This woman -- during the Biafran war, we were caught in the war. It was my mother with five little children. It takes her one year, through refugee camp after refugee camp, to make her way to an airstrip where we can fly out of the country. At every single refugee camp, she has to face off soldiers who want to take my elder brother Mark, who was nine, and make him a boy soldier. Can you imagine this five-foot-two woman, standing up to men with guns who want to kill us? All through that one year, my mother never cried one time, not once. But when we were in Lisbon, in the airport, about to fly to England, this woman saw my mother wearing this dress, which had been washed so many times it was basically see through, with five really hungry-looking kids, came over and asked her what had happened. And she told this woman. And so this woman emptied out her suitcase and gave all of her clothes to my mother, and to us, and the toys of her kids, who didn't like that very much, but -- (Laughter) -- that was the only time she cried. And I remember years later, I was writing about my mother, and I asked her, "Why did you cry then?" And she said, "You know, you can steel your heart against any kind of trouble, any kind of horror. But the simple act of kindness from a complete stranger will unstitch you."
在內戰期間 我們都捲入戰爭中 我媽帶著五個小孩 一個難民營逃到另一個,一年的時間 她逃到一個可以讓我們出國的機場 每個難民營,她都要面對士兵 因為他們想抓我九歲的哥哥Mark 去當童兵 你能想想這個158公分的小婦人 對抗著想殺我們的士兵嗎 那一整年 我媽一滴眼淚都沒滴過 但當我們到了Lisbon機場 要飛往倫敦時 有個女人看到我媽 穿著洗到快透明的裙子 帶著五個飢餓的孩子 她就走過來關心 我媽告訴她事情經過 之後這女人把她的行李打開 把全部的衣服給了我們 還有她孩子的玩具,他們可不怎麼高興 (笑聲) 就在那時我媽就哭了 幾年後,我因為寫書問起我媽這件事 我問她:「妳當時為什麼哭」 她說:「面對恐懼、困難」 「可以」 「但面對陌生人簡單的關心」 「卻能融化你」
The old women in my father's village, after this war had happened, memorized the names of every dead person, and they would sing these dirges, made up of these names. Dirges so melancholic that they would scorch you. And they would sing them only when they planted the rice, as though they were seeding the hearts of the dead into the rice. But when it came for harvest time, they would sing these joyful songs, that were made up of the names of every child who had been born that year. And then the next planting season, when they sang the dirge, they would remove as many names of the dead that equaled as many people that were born. And in this way, these women enacted a lot of transformation, beautiful transformation.
我父親村莊的老婦人,戰爭的時候 都會記住所有逝去的名字 他們會用這些名字編成輓歌 這些輓歌難過到會灼傷你 他們種植稻米時,會唱著輓歌 彷彿將逝去的人們,連同稻米一起 種植下去 當收成的時候 他們會唱著歡樂曲 用當年新生兒名字 編成的歡樂曲 直到下一年種植的時候,唱著輓歌時 編出來的死者名字 會扣掉當年出生的新生兒數目 這樣一來,這些女人展現了轉變 美麗的轉變
Did you know, that before the genocide in Rwanda, the word for rape and the word for marriage was the same one? But today, women are rebuilding Rwanda. Did you also know that after apartheid, when the new government went into the parliament houses, there were no female toilets in the building? Which would seem to suggest that apartheid was entirely the business of men. All of this to say, that despite the horror, and despite the death, women are never really counted. Their humanity never seems to matter very much to us.
你們知道,在盧安達大屠殺前 強姦這個字,和婚姻 是同一個嗎? 今天的盧安達由女人重建 你們知道種族隔離過後 新政府進議會時 是沒有女用廁所的 表示種族隔離 完全是男人的事 這些例子看出,不管恐懼與死亡 女人從不被看在眼裡 他們的人性不被在乎
When I was growing up in Nigeria -- and I shouldn't say Nigeria, because that's too general, but in Afikpo, the Igbo part of the country where I'm from -- there were always rites of passage for young men. Men were taught to be men in the ways in which we are not women, that's essentially what it is. And a lot of rituals involved killing, killing little animals, progressing along, so when I turned 13 -- and, I mean, it made sense, it was an agrarian community, somebody had to kill the animals, there was no Whole Foods you could go and get kangaroo steak at -- so when I turned 13, it was my turn now to kill a goat. And I was this weird, sensitive kid, who couldn't really do it, but I had to do it. And I was supposed to do this alone. But a friend of mine, called Emmanuel, who was significantly older than me, who'd been a boy soldier during the Biafran war, decided to come with me. Which sort of made me feel good, because he'd seen a lot of things. Now, when I was growing up, he used to tell me stories about how he used to bayonet people, and their intestines would fall out, but they would keep running. So, this guy comes with me. And I don't know if you've ever heard a goat, or seen one -- they sound like human beings, that's why we call tragedies "a song of a goat." My friend Brad Kessler says that we didn't become human until we started keeping goats. Anyway, a goat's eyes are like a child's eyes. So when I tried to kill this goat and I couldn't, Emmanuel bent down, he puts his hand over the mouth of the goat, covers its eyes, so I don't have to look into them, while I kill the goat. It didn't seem like a lot, for this guy who'd seen so much, and to whom the killing of a goat must have seemed such a quotidian experience, still found it in himself to try to protect me. I was a wimp. I cried for a very long time. And afterwards, he didn't say a word. He just sat there watching me cry for an hour. And then afterwards he said to me, "It will always be difficult, but if you cry like this every time, you will die of heartbreak. Just know that it is enough sometimes to know that it is difficult." Of course, talking about goats makes me think of sheep, and not in good ways. (Laughter)
當我在奈及利亞長大 不該說奈及利亞,太廣泛了 在Urhobo,我長大的地方 有成年儀式 教導我們成為男人的方式,就是不要成為女人 本質就是如此 這些儀式必須殺動物 13歲那年輪到我了 其實儀式正常,因為我們是農業社會 殺動物是必須的 因為沒有批發店賣袋鼠肉之類的 所以我13歲時,輪到我要殺一隻羊 我是個很怪、個性敏感的孩子,這種事我做不到 但不得不做 本來是要自己來的 但我的朋友Emmanuel 比我大好幾歲 在內戰時當過童兵 決定陪我 我放心很多 因為他經歷過大風大浪 小時候他會跟我講 他用刺刀殺人 他們的腸子會掉下來,但還是繼續跑之類的事 所以他陪著我 不知道各位有沒有看過羊、聽過他們的叫聲? 聽起來很像人類 所以我們形容悲劇叫"羊的歌聲" 我朋友Brad Kessler說,我們開始養羊的時候 我們才是個人 總之,羊的眼睛很像小孩的眼睛 我試著殺它,但下不了手 Emmanuel 蹲下,用手遮住羊的眼睛 這樣在我殺的時候 可以不用看 像他這樣看過大風大浪 殺羊對他來說沒什麼 應當稀疏平常 但他還是保護著我 我是個膽小鬼 哭了很久 他一句話都沒說 就坐在那看我哭了整整1小時 之後他對我說 這種事一定會很困難,但如果每次都哭 會真的哭死的 知道有時候很難 就夠了 當然,講到羊我就想到綿羊 不是好的聯想 (笑聲)
So, I was born two days after Christmas. So growing up, you know, I had a cake and everything, but I never got any presents, because, born two days after Christmas. So, I was about nine, and my uncle had just come back from Germany, and we had the Catholic priest over, my mother was entertaining him with tea. And my uncle suddenly says, "Where are Chris' presents?" And my mother said, "Don't talk about that in front of guests." But he was desperate to show that he'd just come back, so he summoned me up, and he said, "Go into the bedroom, my bedroom. Take anything you want out of the suitcase. It's your birthday present." I'm sure he thought I'd take a book or a shirt, but I found an inflatable sheep. (Laughter) So, I blew it up and ran into the living room, my finger where it shouldn't have been, I was waving this buzzing sheep around, and my mother looked like she was going to die of shock. (Laughter) And Father McGetrick was completely unflustered, just stirred his tea and looked at my mother and said, "It's all right Daphne, I'm Scottish." (Laughter) (Applause)
我生日是12月27日 過生日是有蛋糕之類的 但從沒有禮物,因為離耶誕節很近 我九歲那年,我叔叔從德國回來 有位神父到家裡作客 我媽媽正在招待他 我叔叔突然說:「Chris的禮物在哪」 我媽說:「別在客人面前講這個」 但他急著想讓我們知道他剛回來 便叫我過去,說 「到我房間」 「可以從行李隨便選一樣」 「當作你的生日禮物」 他以為我會選書或襯衫 但我找到一隻充氣羊 (笑聲) 我把他吹氣完,跑到客廳 手指放在不該放的地方 搖著這隻有聲音的羊 我媽看起來快昏倒了 (笑聲) 但McGetrick神父卻一臉鎮靜 攪拌著他的茶,對我媽說 沒事的Daphne,我是蘇格蘭人 (笑聲) (掌聲)
My last days in prison, the last 18 months, my cellmate -- for the last year, the first year of the last 18 months -- my cellmate was 14 years old. The name was John James, and in those days, if a family member committed a crime, the military would hold you as ransom till your family turned themselves in. So, here was this 14-year-old kid on death row. And not everybody on death row was a political prisoner. There were some really bad people there. And he had smuggled in two comics, two comic books -- "Spiderman" and "X-Men." He was obsessed. And when he got tired of reading them, he started to teach the men in death row how to read, with these comic books. And so, I remember night after night, you'd hear all these men, these really hardened criminals, huddled around John James, reciting, "Take that, Spidey!" (Laughter) It's incredible. I was really worried. He didn't know what death row meant. I'd been there twice, and I was terribly afraid that I was going to die. And he would always laugh, and say, "Come on, man, we'll make it out." Then I'd say, "How do you know?" And he said, "Oh, I heard it on the grapevine." They killed him. They handcuffed him to a chair, and they tacked his penis to a table with a six-inch nail, then left him there to bleed to death. That's how I ended up in solitary, because I let my feelings be known. All around us, everywhere, there are people like this.
我在監獄的最後18個月 18個月裡的第一年 我的獄友14歲 他叫約翰詹姆 當時,只要家裡有人犯法 軍隊就會抓其中一個人當贖金 逼你的家人自首 所以這個14歲的男孩成了死刑犯 並非每個死刑犯都是政治犯 有些是真的做了壞事 他偷帶了兩本漫畫書 蜘蛛人和X戰警 整個很著迷 他讀煩讀累的時候 會用他的漫畫書,教其他死刑犯 識字讀書 我記得好幾晚 會聽到這些凶神惡煞 圍著約翰詹姆,讀著「看招吧蜘蛛人!」 (笑聲) 很神奇的一刻 但我很擔心 他不知道死刑的意思 我已經經歷了兩次 所以非常擔心我會死 他就會大笑的說 「別這樣嘛,我們會出得去的」 我就會問:「你怎麼知道」 他會告訴我:「我有小道消息」 他被處死了 他們把他銬在椅子上 用六寸長的釘子,把他的老二釘在桌上 讓他流血致死 我無法控制情緒,後來被關禁閉 我們身邊都是這樣的人
The Igbo used to say that they built their own gods. They would come together as a community, and they would express a wish. And their wish would then be brought to a priest, who would find a ritual object, and the appropriate sacrifices would be made, and the shrine would be built for the god. But if the god became unruly and began to ask for human sacrifice, the Igbos would destroy the god. They would knock down the shrine, and they would stop saying the god's name. This is how they came to reclaim their humanity. Every day, all of us here, we're building gods that have gone rampant, and it's time we started knocking them down and forgetting their names. It doesn't require a tremendous thing. All it requires is to recognize among us, every day -- the few of us that can see -- are surrounded by people like the ones I've told you.
伊博人說過,他們創造自己的神 他們會聚在一起 述說共同的夢想 他們把願望告訴祭司 祭司會找個祭祀地點 舉行祭品儀式 建神壇祭神 如果神要求用人作為祭品 伊博人便會摧毀神 摧毀祭壇 不再呼喚神的名字 藉此,重獲人性 每一天,這裡的每個人 我們崇拜著猖狂的神 摧毀他們的時候到了 忘記祂們的名字吧 過程並不難 只要我們每天 認知到身邊的人們 就像我說的這樣
There are some of you in this room, amazing people, who offer all of us the mirror to our own humanity. I want to end with a poem by an American poet called Lucille Clifton. The poem is called "Libation," and it's for my friend Vusi who is in the audience here somewhere. "Libation, North Carolina, 1999. I offer to this ground, this gin. I imagine an old man crying here, out of the sight of the overseer. He pushes his tongue through a hole where his tooth would be, if he were whole. It aches in that space where his tooth would be, where his land would be, his house, his wife, his son, his beautiful daughter. He wipes sorrow from his face, and puts his thirsty finger to his thirsty tongue, and tastes the salt. I call a name that could be his. This is for you, old man. This gin, this salty earth." Thank you. (Applause)
在座很多不凡的人 在他們的身上我們看到人性 最後我想分享美國詩人Lucille Clifton的一首詩 這首詩《奠酒》獻給我朋友Vusi 他就在這裡的某處 《奠酒》 北卡羅來納州,1999年 我獻給大地,這琴酒 我想像一個在此哭泣的老人 遠離著監工 他將舌頭放進口中 這原本應長滿牙齒的地方 空洞的疼痛 空洞的大地 他的家、妻子、兒子及美麗的女兒 他從臉上拭去悲傷 枯渴的手放進枯渴的嘴裡 嚐那鹹味 我喊著也許屬於他的名字 獻給你,老人 這琴酒,獻給鹹鹹的大地 謝謝 (掌聲)