Since the last update, I’ve settled in the town of Mytilene on the island Lesvos to complete some volunteer work.
I purposefully booked my accommodation in Mytilene because it boasted a central location, pristine sea views, and plentiful terrace space. The pictures of the place confirmed that I’d indeed be able to drink a morning coffee while admiring the Turkish coastline; Google Maps confirmed that was a mere two kilometers from the town center. I finalized the reservation without hesitation.
This is not another post about the existential distress I feel as a result of Airbnb (though an entire post could be dedicated to the complicated, often slum-like housing market that sprouted to accommodate the influx of short-term volunteers on Lesvos), instead this will be a post about dignity, about not checking the elevation change feature on Google Maps, and about guilt.
Where to begin?
Since winning the Watson, I knew that I would want to take time in each country for a bit of volunteer work. Growing up in the heyday of the ‘Cleveland Renaissance,’ I was indoctrinated to believe that places change when people change them, for better or for worse. I am not naive (nor arrogant) enough to think that a week or two of volunteering will profoundly alter a place that barely spend fortnight in, but I do see the importance of dedicating time, even if only a little, to a greater good.
I am spending a little over two weeks volunteering with an organization that coordinates yoga and sport activities for refugees. All yoga takes place in the ‘Yoga Shed,’ a rectangular structure with an exposed frame of cylindrical metal pipes shaded with a tarp roof, while many of the sports take place in an old warehouse retrofitted with mismatched foam play mat tiles and handmade, plywood storage units for the clothes and equipment that are borrowed for each class. My role involves providing support to the long-term teachers here. Some days that means partaking in a women’s yoga class, other days a men’s muy thai, and, every so often, providing babysitting services so mothers may fully enjoy the experience of a class. One of the organization’s main goals is to dignify individuals who live under the indignant conditions of the camps here. Though I certainly prefer assisting with deep breathing to serving as a punching bag in muy thai, in each class I witness this goal being fulfilled as the number one rule (‘Have Fun’) is diligently obeyed.
Any glance at the front page of a major newspaper will reveal a blindness to the indignity rampant in refugee camps (or detention centers in the US), but our reaction to an ill-fated diagnosis received by a loved one confirms that this blindness is only partial. Throughout my time here, I’ve come to believe that dignity is related to value, and that one of the greatest ways to help dignify another is through showing them that they are valued (certainly, the opinions and actions of others are not needed to cultivate a personal sense of dignity, though I believe they can be quite influential in doing so). Outside of the work done by NGOs, for refugees, the bottom rung of Maslow’s hierarchy is, at best, only sloppily guaranteed—a direct reflection of how little they are valued in the eyes of the state. However, when a loved one is diagnosed with a serious illness, the inclination is often to drop everything and play our part in the epic drama of navigating medical institutions, coordinating treatment, and providing support. We show our belief in the other’s value by happily serving as a personal Uber, DoorDash, or TalkSpace service.
The relationship between dignity and value helped to resolve a paradox that has emerged in my research. Many individuals in Greece have told me that a good death would be a sudden one, yet many more have also told me that it is important to ‘do everything to delay death.’ If the goal is to die suddenly, I’ve wondered why everything should be done to extend life. When I’ve probed as to why the sudden death is the preferable one, the answer has almost always been so as to avoid suffering. The rigors of treatments involved with ‘doing everything’ are seldom synonymous with alleviating suffering, ergo the paradox continues. After pondering this seeming incongruency, it occurred to me that ‘doing everything’ may be a way of showing someone they are valued. A way of affirming that their longevity should follow lockstep with the impact they’ve had on our hearts, even if it means undergoing treatments or procedures that assure against a sudden, or ‘good,’ death.
Organizations involved with spreading awareness about palliative care often work to revise the notion that valuing an individual involves bestowing things with a perceived high value upon them (expensive treatments, endless tests, a myriad of consultations with all of the ‘best’ clinicians). Instead, these organizations promote the idea that individuals can also be valued when we do our best to preserve the things that they value. Some individual can, and do, value receiving intensive treatment to delay their illness, though many more place the greatest value on maintain a high quality of life, however that may be defined.
Altering this perception of value may seem simple, intuitive even, but rewiring cultural thinking about value and dignity is a task rife with Sisyphusian frustration. At the end of the day, I think that most people simply want to believe that they did the best that they could to honor their loved one. For Greeks, I’ve often heard that many feel it is their duty to take care of their parents in old age as repayment for the care they were provided as a child. The dedication with which this duty is approached is truly astonishing—I’ve anecdotally heard of individuals who, for many years, paid meticulous attention to osentibly minute details such as room temperature to prevent the worsening of a parent’s condition.
A surefire recipe for languishing guilt is to agonize over whether you did ‘the best’ that you could to dignify another. To me, it seems natural and somewhat hopeful that this is a source of anxiety. Naturally, we all hope that our best was commensurate with the way we valued the other; hopefully, our agony is a sign of how deeply we wanted to communicate that value. Natural and hopeful as it may be, I recognize that languishing guilt is corrosive if held for too long. During my volunteer orientation, one of the experienced coordinators sternly instructed us ‘not to be guilty.’ Undoubtedly, this advice was a result of his own experience with the aftereffects of corrosive guilt. But, even with that advice in mind, in the face of this too-huge world confronted with the too-huge prospects of death and despair, we flounder, we bargain, and we feel immense amounts of guilt. We, or at least I, have the somewhat obsessive inclination to take measure of the uneven cosmic scale: he got cancer, she was born in a war-torn country, they tragically lost their mother; I am healthy, I was born in the US, I am at peace with those I’ve lost. How can this scale ever possibly near balance?
It is precisely this sort of weighing that the advice to ‘not be guilty’ was targeted towards. Even still, it’s difficult to stop. Often as I walk home, I can’t help but indulge. Though the trip from the bus stop to my accommodation is indeed the promised two kilometers, what was not obvious at the time of booking (because I neglected to look at the terrain change) was a steep, 120-meter elevation gain during the last 800 meters of the walk. While I make my way up the hill—huffing, puffing, often needing to stop and catch my breath—I sometimes have the urge to run. The neighbors and stray cats watch this scene with great confusion: a young, very obviously not Greek girl, already dirtied from a day of sport, makes a beeline up the street whilst her bag thrashes against her back. They probably wonder what I’m doing and, to be honest, I wonder the same thing. Maybe this is my way of dealing with uneven cosmic scales, of trying to communicate the innate value I see in others, of trying to show that I am striving to do the best I can. Or, maybe, this is my way of grappling with not feeling guilty.
I will be spending about one more week in Mytilene before heading back to Athens for a few weeks. In Athens, I will begin to tie up some of the loose ends of the research I’ve been conducting over the summer before partaking in a few festivals near the end of the month.