Once upon a time, a man escaped from a prison camp.
For quite a long time, he hardly knew whether to be happy at his freedom, bewildered at it, or sad because of the loss of a cosy life where he always knew what was going on and what to do about it. Most of the time he settled for an exotic casserole of all of them, just as he did about the happiness that comes from making new friends and the sadness that comes from losing old ones.
Whenever he mentioned these feelings to people who had never been in the prison, they were always sympathetic but puzzled. "We all come from prison camps," they said, "yours was just more closed-in than some." And they would point to some suburban house, as though that was proof. The man wouldn't say anything, usually, but would look back across town at the skyscraping walls of his old camp, behind which, out of sight, was everything he used to know, and wonder how the little fence of a house on the outside could be the same in any way.
At other times he would apologise at some social clumsiness, saying that he only knew the rules of the prison camp, and was finding it hard to learn how things worked on the outside. Again, people weren't sure what he meant. "Out here," they said, "nobody knows the rules. You aren't any different." But still he felt at a disadvantage, though he began to wonder how much of his discomfort came from expecting there to be more rules than he found. Most people, he tried saying, may not start out knowing how to behave, but not many find themselves in so many new situations all the time as I do. "But we do," they said, and left him mystified why they didn't show it.
One thing everybody seemed to understand was that it was very sad to have to leave people he loved behind in the camp. Even then, though, they thought things would improve in time. "Your family and friends will move closer to the outside," they said. "They'll put a door to the outside for you, so you can visit, and install a telephone just for you. Why don't you ask them now? It will be easy." The man just looked towards the place where the people he knew must be, but could only see the wall.
Quite often, he would meet and talk with other people who had escaped the camp. They would always agree that escapers were special people, who would never be understood by people who had never known the prison camp. "They don't know what it's like," they would say, but he noticed that each escaper had a different thing that they thought was impossible to understand.
Often these other escapers would try to tell him of rules they'd discovered that applied to the outside, too, and sometimes got quite angry if anyone said that they weren't rules after all. "You mustn't disapprove of anybody because they're different to you," they would say, for example, even though the man could clearly see that many people DID judge and disapprove of others, although there appeared to be more complicated rules about whether and when they could show it.
After a while, in which the man gradually became more confident that other people's acceptance of him wasn't just kindness, that they truly didn't think he was different because of coming from the prison camp, he was walking one day with another escaper, and a friend who had never been in the camp. "I wonder if that wall will ever be demolished," the other escaper wondered aloud. "What wall?" asked the friend. Looking across from the hill they were walking on, the man realised the wall was invisible from there, and that from far enough outside, the camp looked only like another part of the town.
There's no moral, and no happily-ever-after, because it's an unfinished story. Who knows what happens next?
7 comments:
Dear Survivor, I'm interested in your choice of terminolgy for describing your hitherto lifelong incarceration. Your use of "camp" has nuances for me of WW 2 and Europe. Funny sort of "prison" too, when there were no physical barriers and no crime for which you were doing the time. How can you be sure that you are not still imprisoned? Isn't there the possibility that taking on the persona of an "escaper" involves a new prison?
"Escapee" is a reasonable metaphor. I remember once telling an acquaintance that I had run away from home. When he discovered that I was over 18 at the time he said I didn't run away, I just left. But I had run away. I had literally hidden from my family and the brethren until I had a sense of being established. I think I am more than usually sensitive to risks and danger simply from the years of "incarceration" when everything I said and did was observed and discussed.
Another metaphor is "immigrant". I live in "the world" but am not a native. My family and relatives were left behind when I migrated to "the world". I had to learn the language and customs of "the world" and I still make mistakes after all these years. On the bright side, my children are native born.
Ah yes, "a friend", "immigrant" to me is a better metaphor. Some migrants blossom and draw on their talents to make a great contribution in their new country. Others stay preoccupied for life with the country they have left behind.
I was corresponding with a recent escapee from EB who was complaining that males returning from Bristol or wherever the EB AGMs are held actually brought back dirty jokes! I pointed out that I'd not detected this in ex-EB. Each ex-EB has suffered and fought for his/her beliefs or lack of belief. Ex-EB are like the early apostles and martyrs - suffering imprisonment, and worse, because they do not accept the dominant culture. Such people have spine, unlike the gormless masses they have left.
Whilst I understand where escapee is coming from, but the "gormless masses" he makes reference to are happy to obey.
I too have been in correspondence with recent leavers and one of them sent me a transcript of a phone call she had.
She was told that she was asking too many questions and that she should just accept what was being said. The caller also told her that natural family come second to the brethren family.
The sad thing is, they believe it.
This post was originally a more structured and standard piece of writing, but when I realised that my ideas were cloudy and I was unsure what my point was, I turned to allegory instead.
So I'm interested to see what others make of it.
I think, in mulling over it, what I was trying to get at was that one's reality is very much shaped by the perception one has of it, as much as the other way around. I find it tempting to let my past define me, and let it shape my present, and see other ex-brethren appear to find the same, yet those without the experience see my background only as another of the many possible backgrounds there are. Yes, it's unique, but so is everybody's.
That, as much as anything, is why I have distanced myself a little from this particular posting. The protaganist is me to some extent, but not all me, and not all of me. I wrote it in a quick stream without analysing it, and probably anybody else's interpretation will be as valid as mine. Make of it what you will.
As a 'non-Brethren, may I hesitantly make a comment from an 'inexperienced' viewpoint?
The most I have been able to do is learn about life in the EB and the emotional trauma of leaving. I would not begin to minimise the effects on an individual in any way, especially as the loss of family is undeniably cruel. However I have at times struggled with the idea by some that life's problems can all be blamed on EB.
So many hurdles, issues, thinking, attitudes and prejudices that are attributed to EB are in fact just as prevalent in general society and from various backgrounds. EB do not have a monopoly on injustice.
The EB wall is but one of many.
Post a Comment