On Empathy and the poetry of conversation
Answer truly, if only for a moment and to yourself: how are you in the home of your body?
I have felt still, mostly, since I last wrote to you. It is with a sense of anticipation that I am entering into the last month of this relentless year; anticipation for how much could happen in the coming year; how much of a fresh start it could be. At some point during this week, the thought of the character Chowder crossed my mind and I almost could not believe how much I remembered. I searched for a few episodes and when I was done watching, I remembered why I loved his purple-faced-enthusiasm for food. Did you ever watch this on Cartoon Network? A fond thought, similar to that, is related to Pinocchio: the thought, that if Pinocchio was so interested in lying, the most significant lie he could have told was that his nose grew every time he told the truth.
Housekeeping
Before I get into the thoughts I have for you, I will like to take care of some housekeeping. First off, thank you. Thank you for being here, and thank you for writing back to further these conversations and tell me how you’ve been. Even the few letters I received expressed their concerns, on if I would receive the replies or not. If you have written to me and I have not responded, it is because your reply was not delivered. I have now corrected the settings that must have made replying difficult and I will now receive your delightful replies. I look forward to reading from you.
In one of the conversations I had earlier in the fortnight, a concern was expressed and I have been thinking about it. The concern was expressed as: “I am careful… Because I cannot die here [in Nigeria] by accident.” Although this anxiety is not one we go about actively considering, I find it to be true. I think the value placed on the Nigerian life is dehumanized enough as it is, but to then lose such a life by mistake, by a forgettable means, is a depth below rock bottom.
In response to this concern, I will leave you an excerpt—although satirical—that acknowledges and lends advice on this concern.
1
You have to first of all understand that death is not a noun or a state. It is an event, the success of which requires proper planning.
2
One way to die is to ensure that in life, you did something worth remembering. This action need not be good or exemplary. In Nigeria no one cares if you were good or evil when you die. The only crime is dying without having done anything worthy of note. Like dying so poor no one knows your name.
Death, especially that of someone rich or powerful, confers sainthood that cannot be challenged. Coup plotters and government thieves assume the title of elder statesmen and heroes of the nation. It will become forbidden to research your deeds and you will be beatified. You may even get a posthumous national award or have universities and streets named after you. And most importantly, the newspapers will carry ads about your unfortunate exit or “Call to Glory”. In this way your death will have a meaning. So, please, to die in Nigeria, acquire power and wealth.
3
Do not die in the company of important people if you yourself have not attained importance or notoriety. If you go and die in the company of an ex-governor or ex-militant, the news will say Governor so-and-so has died in a ghastly motor accident. Then the report may add that “also among the casualties were two persons travelling in his convoy”. No one will know which of the two unidentified persons you are. Or if you are male or female. You will pass on into oblivion without so much as an ad in the paper. Because in Nigeria, you are a number unless you are important. God forbid that this should happen to you. The only exception to this is dying in a plane crash. This is the most respectable death for persons without a title to their name. The flight manifest — one of the few records that are consistently available on demand in Nigeria — makes it possible to have a full list of everyone on board. Usually this list is published and the world will receive notice of your untimely death. Your name will appear in full in newspapers and news reports. Your death will matter.
7
… You cannot leave your death to chance. Because, to die is human but to die properly is divine.
Empathy, the poetry of conversation and other conversations
"You’ve got to believe in the poetry. Because everything else in your life will fail you. Including yourself.
[...]
You gotta believe in the poetry. The value of two people sitting in a diner on Christmas Eve, talking [about life, addiction, loss.]"
—Ali
This week, one of my favourite TV series gifted its audience the first of a two-episode-special, as a Christmas present. With the pandemic affecting the shootings scheduled for its second season, the writer, director, and creator, Sam Levinson, decided against his usual fast-paced, neon glitter grading for a stripped-down, vulnerable heart-to-heart conversation. From the very first episode, I have enjoyed Euphoria for several reasons, but this particular episode forms part of my writing to you today because of the subject of conversation it touches on.
Through the nearly one-hour run-time of this episode, the scenery is fixed; for nearly fifty minutes we stay in conversation, and the kind of conversation that happens here, with its intent and vulnerability, is not one we have often. Most of us, rarely have conversations. We talk, a lot and wait our turn—often impatiently—to respond. We don’t listen. And the times we live in makes this situation more ironic, because we have more means and media than ever to hold conversations, yet we hardly do so. We say things perfunctorily: How are you? Did you sleep well? I love you. I’m fine.
I imagine, most of us would have a face stricken with horror, if after asking a sibling if they slept well, they recount honestly how they spent the night awake—praying that the sun should rise and erase the night’s shadow, unable to sleep after a terrible nightmare.
Typical response: Omo… What happened?! Lol. [A few seconds and emojis later] Ttyl. Be good.
Of course the image is not always this grim nor laughable, but a testament to how little regard we hold for our words and the effects they have on others, how little empathy we have, is evident in how we use our social media.
To explore aspects of this subject, I will attempt to draw comparisons between excerpts of the conversation from Euphoria and those from a dialogue in Albert Camus’ The Stranger. The comparisons will highlight similarities and divergences in the course and nature of these conversations; at the cost of this letter spiralling into an unusual length; like a conversation.
Note: The Stranger is a work of fiction, and as such the dialogue below is edited to suit this subject and takes a different form entirely in the original text.
First, the characters involved in the conversations. In this episode of Euphoria, Rue and Ali are in conversation. Rue, is a seventeen-year-old addict who just relapsed after her romantic complications with another character Jules. Ali is a fifty-four-year-old, who was also an addict and acts as Rue’s sponsor. In The Stranger, Meursault and The Chaplain are in conversation. Meursault is the protagonist through which this fiction is narrated; who has been sentenced to death for the murder of a man, as well as his apparent lack of remorse. The Chaplain is a priest who attends to the spiritual needs of condemned men.
In Euphoria, Rue begins by saying all the right things to Ali, to avoid an actual conversation.
Rue: Look, Ali, I know you don’t believe me, but I’m, I’m doing really good, actually.
Ali: Is that so?
Rue: Yeah.
Ali: Mm.
Rue: Yeah, for sure. I mean it, you know, could suddenly shit flip and get super dark? Yeah, you know. I mean it could, but… I feel like I’ve found this, like, amazing balance, where I’m like happy and healthy, and I’m not, like, looking to anybody else for that happiness, you know? Fuckin’ Jules. The way I was, like, putting way too much of my emotional well-being in her hands, you know, without ever, like, talking about it, or, or saying it. I… Especially the way I was fuckin’… making plans for the rest of our life and shit. And I just… And I look back and I’m just like, why the fuck did I do that? It’s fuckin’ crazy. And weird. [scoffs] Eh, I don’t know. I guess I just, like, made her the point. But she’s, like, not the point. I’m the point, you know?
Ali: Hmmph. The point is your sobriety.
[…]
Ali: Rue. You’re high.
Rue: [chuckles] I feel like you’re not listening to what I’m saying.
Ali: Rue, I don’t think you’re listening to what you’re saying.
Rue: I feel like that’s physically impossible.
Ali: To what? Talk some bullshit?
In The Stranger, there is a similar resistance to conversation. More so here, because Meursault has more control, if not absolute control over the narrative in comparison to Rue; and Meursault is more direct than Rue is.
Before this attempt at a conversation begins, the protagonist has refused to see the Chaplain: “For the third time I’ve refused to see the chaplain. I don’t have anything to say to him; I don’t feel like talking, and I’ll be seeing him soon enough as it is.”
Narration: …at that exact moment the chaplain came in.
Mersault: [shudders]
Chaplain: Don’t be afraid.
Mersault: It is not your usual time.
Chaplain: This is just a friendly visit. It has nothing to do with your appeal. [Silence] Why have you refused to see me?
Mersault: I don’t believe in God.
Chaplain: Are you sure?
Mersault: I don’t see any reason to ask myself that question: it seems unimportant.
Chaplain: Aren’t you talking this way out of extreme despair?
Mersault: I am not desperate. I am just afraid, which is only natural.
Chaplain: Then God can help you. Every man I have known in your position has turned to Him.
Mersault: That was their right. And they must have had the time for it. I, don’t want anybody’s help, and I don’t have the time to interest myself in what doesn’t interest me.
At this point, both conversations, like many conversations, have met with resistance and many conversations would end a few sentences away from this point. However, both conversations carry on beyond this resistance with different intents. In Euphoria:
Rue: Ali, can I tell you something?
Ali: Yeah.
Rue: Like, for real, if– If I say some dark shit, you’re not gonna report me to the state or something?
Ali: Uh, Rue, I’m not a guidance counselor. I’m just a crackhead who’s trying to do a little good on this Earth before I die.
[both laugh]
Rue: Uh, you’re, you’re a trip, man.
Ali: What were you gonna say?
Rue: Ah. It doesn’t matter. It’s stupid.
Ali: All right, I’m sorry. Come on. What were you gonna say? Say it.
Rue: Nah. I don’t wanna–
Ali: Say it.
Rue: Um… When I’m, uh, when I’m clean, you know, when I’m present, uh, like a part of this world, I don’t just think about relapsing. It’s, uh, it’s darker than that. And, uh, you can say that sobriety is my, uh, greatest weapon, but… To tell you the truth, drugs are probably the only reason I haven’t killed myself.
Ali: Oh. Now we’re talkin’. Now you’re being real. Now you’re being honest. Because this whole bullshit about being a functioning drug addict, about finding balance, that ain’t true. That’s a lie.
In The Stranger:
Chaplain: [throws hands up in annoyance. Settles down.] My friend. We are all condemned to die.
Mersault: It is not the same thing. And if it were, it wouldn’t be a consolation.
Chaplain: Certainly. But if you don’t die today, you’ll die tomorrow, or the next day. And then the same question will arise. How will you face that terrifying ordeal?”
Mersault: Exactly how I’m facing it now.
Chaplain: [Stands up and looks him straight in the eye.] Have you no hope at all? And do you really live with the thought that when you die, you die, and nothing remains?
Mersault: Yes.
Chaplain: I pity you.
The narration of this scene and its subsequent disintegration continues for a few more paragraphs, but the remark “I pity you’ marks the conversation’s end for me. The pity felt by the Chaplin, is not an uncommon response in conversations like this. But nothing meaningful, or helpful, or empathetic comes from pity. Pity is often slightly contemptuous as against empathy, which is informed by understanding, being aware of, being sensitive to the feelings, thoughts, and experiences of another. Admittedly, the subject of belief or God can be touchy, but the same subject is handled differently in Euphoria, where the intent driving the conversation is empathy.
Again, Rue is not as direct as Mersault is—for a number of reasons—still, her avoidances and detours are a closer representation of our average conversation.
Rue: Mm. You know, it’s interesting, ’cause, like… It’s kind of what I struggle with.
Ali: What do you mean?
Rue: The NA shit. Step one, I, I, I’m cool with. Like, you know, I, I can, I can agree, you know, I’m powerless over drugs, and my life is unmanageable. That’s not, like, fucking inconceivable.
Ali: Right. Right.
Rue: But, um… It’s step two. “Came to believe that a power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity.” That one, I just, I, uh… [inhales] I have some trouble with.
Ali: Oh, oh, okay. All right, all right, I see. Now I get it. [laughs] You don’t believe there’s a power on Earth greater than Rue.
Rue: [scoffs] That’s not true.
Ali: Really?
Rue: It’s not true. I think there’s tons of shit that is of greater power than me.
Ali: Name one.
Rue: A Mack truck.
Ali: Uh-huh.
Rue: What?
Ali: Name another.
Rue: Uh, the ocean.
Ali: Try again.
Rue: [laughs] Shit. I would say any song by Otis Redding is of greater power than me.
Ali: That doesn’t make any sense.
Rue: It does. Yeah, it does. It does.
Ali: What?
Rue: The… The impact that “Try a Little Tenderness” had on the world is, is more than I, I could ever do.
Ali: Well…
Rue: It’s more than probably any of us will ever fucking do.
Ali: All right, all right, all right. Little smart ass. Okay, that’s not gonna cut it.
Rue: [scoffs] Ali, I don’t believe in God.
Ali: Guess what? God doesn’t give a fuck if you believe in him. He believes in you.
Rue: I don’t know. That, that, that sounds good, but it, it doesn’t really mean anything.
Ali: Of course it means something. If God didn’t believe in you, you wouldn’t even still be breathing.
Rue: So, you’re saying the reason my dad died is because God didn’t believe in him?
Ali: Rue, uh, that’s not what I was saying–
Rue: There’s nothing that makes me angrier than that fucking argument.
Ali: Hey, that’s, that’s not what I was saying–
Rue: You know, ’cause every time someone survives, like, a mass shooting or some terrible fucking earthquake, they always say, you know, “I survived for a reason. God saved me for a reason. I have a purpose.” [scoffs] And then I think to myself, like, okay, well, what you’re saying is that your life is more important than that six-year-old who died that day, or the newborn who died that day, or anybody fucking else who died that day. Your life has a purpose, right? Well, why does your life have a purpose, and my dad’s doesn’t? Because I could argue that my dad’s purpose was to raise me and my sister. To be there for my mom. That was his purpose, I think. But, you know. He’s dead.
Ali: Listen–
Rue: Ali, if you’re, if you’re about to tell me that he died for a reason, or you know, whatever, I will literally walk the fuck out.
Ali: I, I wasn’t.
Rue: He didn’t die to teach us a lesson. Okay? He didn’t die to, you know, have us all come together, or whatever the fuck people tell people when they don’t have anything to say. He died because he died. That’s it. Same stupid reason I came out of the womb with a couple wires crossed. Right? Just fucking luck. You said it. That’s it.
Ali: Listen, um… I don’t know all the answers. And I’m not gonna pretend to. But I do know that at any given point that we’re unable to see and comprehend the overall arc of human life. No person can see it. The whole chain reaction of how things come to be from beginning to end. It’s a mystery, and will always remain a mystery.
[…]
So, why is one person’s purpose greater than another’s? Why are some people struck down while others live? Why are you, Rue Bennett, sitting here when other 17-year-olds, 17-year-olds who are better, who are kinder, who are more respectful than you, aren’t sitting here, I don’t know. That’s the mystery. But here we are. So what now?
See? I could go on and on about this conversation.
Speaking of conversations, besides pity, another kind of conversation prone to fail on account of its intent, is one intended to sell something, anything; conversations aimed at inventing want. How honest, for instance, can a conversation between the consumer and the salesperson be?
Although this would form an interesting subject—and Ali discusses this subject, in part, with insight and humor when he talks about advertisement and algorithms, then exclaims "Fuck Nike!" —I will hold my tongue and fingers, and touch shortly on one last subject: How the way we treat our conversations affect our relationships, including romantic ones.
Euphoria is a teenage drama, but the irony is how some of the unresolved conflicts portrayed here continue into adulthood.
Rue: Ali, what am I supposed to do about Jules?
[…]
[sighs] You know… It’s funny, when I think about it. I still blame Jules for all this shit.
Ali: Why?
Rue: ‘Cause… I was clean. And I was, like, gonna stay clean. And for the most part, I was pretty happy, so… And fuckin’ Jules–
Ali: Wait, wait. You were gonna stay clean?
Rue: Yeah.
[…]
Ali: And that relapsing was Jules’ fault.
Rue: Ali, you don’t know what she did to me.
Ali: You’re right. I don’t.
Rue: She cheated on me. When I was sober, she literally cheated on me.
Ali: I didn’t know that.
Rue: Exactly.
Ali: So, you were in a relationship.
Rue: Yeah.
Ali: I thought you two were just friends.
Rue: No.
Ali: Huh. When did it shift?
Rue: Uh, the night of the carnival, she came over, and we, like, kissed a whole bunch.
Ali: Okay, but when did it become a relationship?
Rue: I just told you. That night.
Ali: It became a relationship that night.
Rue: Yeah.
Ali: So it wasn’t just kissing. You two talked about being together.
Rue: What? That’s so weird.
Ali: What?
Rue: Why would we talk about it?
Ali: Because that’s how people get into relationships, Rue. They talk about it.
Rue: [scoffs] I mean, we said “I love you.” A lot.
Ali: I say “I love you” to my barber.
Rue: Okay, yeah, but you don’t make out with your barber.
Ali: Even if I did, my barber might assume it was just a casual thing.
Rue: We talked about getting matching tattoos on the inside of our lips.
Ali: Damn. Did you?
Rue: No, but we, we talked about it.
Ali: Okay. [laughs] Keep going.
Rue: I mean, there’s nothing else to say, you know? Except that I loved her. I trusted her. And when I look back at it, you know, just, it’s like she lied to me. [chuckles] And, uh, manipulated me.
Ali: Right.
The conversation in The Stranger ended with Mersault yelling at the Chaplain, telling him not to waste his prayers, and shouting insults at him while grabbing his cassock by the collar. It is not a manner of speaking when I say it ended in tears, because the Chaplain was weeping when he left.
The conversation in Euphoria became even more vulnerable and ended with Ali expressing faith in Rue in the best way possible—for reasons even he could not tell. There is still uncertainty as to how the character of Rue will develop, how or if she will overcome her illness; but in that moment, the conversation served beautiful poetic purpose. I hope this lengthy writing to you around this subject, serves some purpose as well.
Readings
I will leave you with words to hold you till I next write to you. This beautifully narrated story was written by Sayaka Murata and translated by Ginny Tapley Takemori. The course of the story explores subjects worthy of conversation.
You can read here: Faith by Sayaka Murata
Enjoy.
Playlist
This has been a beautiful fortnight for me, music-wise. The Otis Redding references led me to find such soulful music, and that search only led further to the likes of Donny Hathaway and Etta James. This fortnight was also a good time to re-relish the brilliant work Labrinth did on the Euphoria (Original Score) album. Earlier in the fortnight, I returned to Drake’s Views, for some reason, and enjoyed listening to the artiste he was. On the title-track, he rapped: “You don't worry 'bout fittin' in when you custom made” then went on several punchlines later to concede, “If I was you, I wouldn't like me either.”
Enjoy listening to Leon Bridge’s River, Drake’s Views, Fire & Desire and Redemption, Lil Wayne ft Drake’s B.B. King Freestyle, Tiwa Savage’s Save My Life and Otis Redding’s Loving You Too Long.
'[Too bad for me] if once again I have to write you so long a letter. ...'
Like the song encourages, this fortnight, try a little tenderness. I wish you a blissful fortnight filled with true conversations. I hope to read from you soon.
Love.
Ọbáfẹ́mi