Mercy - Why don't we talk about it?
Mercy, not really a concept that I’ve considered lately especially in this age of transactional negotiations where “the strong do what they can and the weak suffer what they must.” Yet, that’s what I was thinking after watching the movie “Small Things Like These” starring Cillian Murphy based on a book by Claire Keagan. Bill Furlong lives in the small Irish town of New Ross in 1985, husband, father of five daughters, owner of a coal delivery business.
One delivery takes Bill to a Magdalene Laundry run by Catholic nuns. The convent provides food and shelter to pregnant women, victims of abuse, orphans and abandoned girls and nonconformists. In return for this “kindness”, they wash, iron, and fold clothes plus sew, clean, and cook.
It’s early morning when Bill arrives. He walks through geese grazing in the yard to a woodshed. He opens the lock and the hoists a heavy bag of coal on his shoulder and dumps it in the shed. Upon completion, he rings the bell to the convent. When no one answers, he walks in and its then we witness the girls hard at work in the laundry.
Upon discovery, a nun admonishes him for entering without permission. He says he’s looking for payment. She sighs in disgust and leaves him in the hallway. Suddenly, Sarah, a young pregnant girl rushes up, weeping and in obvious distress. She begs him to take her across the river. The nun returns, shoos the girl away, and gives Bill his money. He leaves the convent upset and confused.
We learn from flashbacks that Bill’s mother could have been an inmate at one of these institutions. Instead, when she became pregnant out-of-wedlock, Mrs. Wilson, a wealthy Protestant lady, welcomes her into her home and cares for her and then, Bill after his birth. When Bill was still a boy, his mother collapses, immediately dead from an apparent aneurism. However, Mrs. Wilson doesn’t send Bill to an orphanage. She raises him as her own child.
The present-day Bill can’t sleep at night. He sits, staring out the window, watching the occasional passer-by, thinking, remembering. Early one morning, he figures he might as well start his deliveries early. His first stop is the convent where, after unlocking the nun’s coal shed, he discovers Sarah, covered in coal dust, crying in the corner.
Outraged, he takes her into the convent. The nuns are outraged. The Mother Superior invites him for tea by the fire. She tells him that the girls were playing hide-and-seek and must have accidently locked her inside the shed. She praises Bill on his eldest daughter’s graduation from the convent school. Then, she reminds him that his youngest two daughters still must be accepted if they are to continue their education at the convent, the only school for girls in town. Mother Superior seals the contract of secrecy inserting money into an envelope addressed to Bill’s wife Eileen. Bill’s quandary continues.
I think of the guys standing on the median in Victoria panhandling for money. I could show them mercy. I could give them money. But, I don’t. I could put change in the hat of that individual seated on the sidewalk on the street. I could show them mercy. But, I don’t. In Europe, individuals will kneel on the sidewalk, bent at the waist, their face in their hands, a cup or hat on the sidewalk just in front of them. I could give them change. But, I don’t.
They could be taking advantage of me. They could use it to purchase drugs such as fentanyl. Or, they could use it to purchase food. What’s a loonie or toonie to me. Honestly, nothing. A few hundred dollars could be added to my taxes to help provide shelter for these individuals. Would I notice? I’m embarrassed to say, probably not. And, I suspect it would be the same for many of the rest of us.
My point being, mercy needs some celebration. We need to talk about it. We may think of giving to others as a form of exploitation. However, we could also consider it mercy. Is being so merciful so bad?
In the present political environment, I’m going to start thinking a little bit more about mercy. When, I go to the polls, I’ll definitely consider what’s best for me. But, I’ll also consider how my government can help others, other Canadians, how we can insulate ourselves from the greed that pervades that administration south of the border.
For example, USAID, dismantled by the Trump administration provided antiretroviral drugs to those infected by HIV (mostly women and children). Since the withdrawal of that funding, an estimated 15,000 people have died of AIDS, including over 1,500 children and that number will rise to an estimated 6.3 million in four years.
What did this cost each American citizen? About $65.36 per person or $151.75 per taxpayer.
To be clear, in no way would that money be directly benefitting American citizens. It could simply be called an act of mercy.
Surely, we, as Canadians can do better. Surely, we’d be willing to pay a paltry sum to support individuals in developing countries and surely, we’d be willing to do the same for our own citizens.
Of course, life is a balance. Bill wasn’t going to save all the girls in the Magdalene College. But, he could save one.
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