How Sharing Promotes World Peace

This is my speech I wrote for the 2008 Rotary Speech contest. I hope you enjoy! Apparently others did, since I have won the first two competitions and was called back to give it "for fun". It is given from memory, so its really fun when I forget a word ;) So, I hope you enjoy, and agree with me...if you don't, I'm sorry...but I'd love to hear your opinions!

How Sharing Promotes World Peace

When I first received this year’s assignment for the speech contest, I had no idea what to do. “How does sharing promote world peace?” My first thought after reading that was, “Sharing could never promote world peace. There just isn’t any way!”

I suppose I ought to explain my reasoning. Look at the world around us. Sharing is not something we human beings do naturally. From the two-year-old refusing to share her favorite dolly to the mighty stockbroker of Wall Street miserishly clutching his wallet as he passes a group of ragged-looking people. Need I provide more examples?

We all refuse to share on some level or another. It is simply against our nature to part with the things which we hold most dear, the things we think we simply “cannot” live without.

Yes, I do know that not everyone is like the miserly stockbroker, the whiney two-year-old, or maybe even that grouchy next-door neighbor. There are constant reminders that “the poor are always with us”, and so many do make an effort to help those poor, either by giving them money, food, shelter, and so on, or by giving them protection during a time of war. I know there is sharing going on in the world, but this sharing does not, has not, brought peace to the world. Indeed, it does not even promote peace within a nation, a village, or a family.

Think back to about sixty years ago. What was going on? World War II. What ended the war? The bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, August 1945. And not just any bombs were used, but atomic bombs.

Albert Einstein developed the mathematical equation E=mc², which laid the foundation for the birth of the atomic bomb. This terrible invention was shared throughout the entire world, but did this super-weapon promote world peace?

It did end World War II, so I suppose there is some argument for it. But, rather than peace, America received submission. I do not think submission can equal world peace.

The original purpose of developing weapons of mass destruction, such as the aforesaid atomic bomb and other nuclear warheads, was to frighten and subdue uprising nations, thereby bringing about a forced world peace. A brilliant idea at the time but, unfortunately, one that did not work. Seven years ago, America invaded Iraq not only due to the terrorist attacks upon the World Trade Center, but also because of rumors that they had weapons of mass destruction in their possession. These weapons have not, will not, promote world peace. Instead, they destroy our world and all our hopes for peace.

Not all sharing provokes war, though! America is one of the greatest nations for giving to third-world countries: money, clothes, food, medical supplies - you name it, we give it. It does help, we can see that. But does it promote peace? No, it does not. We give so much to third-world countries that the inhabitants of those countries come to believe that Americans are going to provide for all their needs, so therefore they do not need to work for a living. If we should pull away from them, and cut off the supplies we send to them, they would perish, or rise up angrily against us.

How do I know that these people lean on us so much? I have experienced it firsthand: in Zambia I saw groups of men standing around, doing nothing to provide for their families. They relied completely upon the food given to them from World Vision trucks. In Mozambique, even the youngest of children knew to run after the strange white kids, screaming “Wazungus! Wazungus!” They supposed, since we were obviously wealthy Americans, that we would give them candy or money. When we didn’t give them what they wanted, hate or anger would sometimes fill their eyes, and they would turn away, refusing any other help that we might have been able to provide.

These are all cases of sharing – sharing which does not promote world peace. I am not against sharing, really, I’m not! I am just against sharing things which cause harm, rather than promoting peace. What can we do to help, to share, to promote world peace? What would make us all equals?

Knowledge. Knowledge can promote world peace.

I never thought about this aspect of sharing until a few weeks ago, when a young woman came to my school to lecture. She works with the Peace Corps, and had just returned for a brief visit home from Lesotho, a small country in Southern Africa. She is a teacher at a small college there, and works to teach her students how to grow their own food and to properly care for themselves and for their land.

Now this – this - could promote world peace. Instead of teaching people to rely upon others for survival, we can teach them to rely upon themselves. This young woman has made a long-term commitment to these people, sharing her knowledge with them in order to give them a better life. Now, instead of this particular third-world group needing external support, they can support themselves. That way, in times of difficulty, when America might not be able to help, their needs will be provided for, and they will be at peace with us, and among themselves.

Dear old Socrates sums up my argument in one simple sentence. “There is only one good, knowledge, and one evil, ignorance.” Think of the world that could be if everyone knew the truth about education, nutrition, financial issues, and especially disease! Knowledge would bring about peace.

Again, I am aware that knowledge is not always the answer – there are always cases where the knowledge we share will turn around and bite us in the proverbial backside. But, as I have learned while writing this speech, sharing knowledge is the best way to encourage world peace.

Though we may not see the product of our efforts, the seed will have been planted, and world peace will develop.

Infant Sorrow

Well, here is my ever-so-interesting blog post for the week ;) This is a Romantic poem by Anglican William Blake, from his collection of works "Songs of Experience." I am typing this from memory, since I need to present it at Open House on Friday...

Infant Sorrow
by William Blake

My mother groand! my father wept.
Into the dangerous world I lept.
Helpless, naked, piping loud
Like a fiend hid in a cloud.

Struggling in my fathers hands,
Striving against my swadling bands.
Bound and weary, I though it best
To sulk upon my mother's breast.

This is particularly interesting to me since I was studying gynecology/obstetric emergencies in EMT class (yes, I know, how gross!!!)...this poem seemed to fit, since I was studying the birth od babies, and this is all about the poor baby as it is born!! Poor thing, we never think of them from their point of view ;)
Well, that's my tidbit...I promise these posts will get more exciting during my college years!!! Just think of all the lovely medical/surgical stuff I'll say then! Oh, I need to post about my EMT classes and stuff! Now that is fun! All I'll say for now is - DRIVE SAFELY! Being cut out of a car is NOT FUN!!! Its super cool, but it takes forever, so you will either be permanently brain damaged or dead by the time you get out ;) How nice, I know...so drive safe!!

Sophie's Pride and Emergency Care Guide To Dating...

So, Momma Lou tagged me to do this, so I might as well, just for fun and to keep me from going to bed ;)

The rules are:

1. Pick up the nearest book (of at least 123 pages).
2. Open the book to page 123.
3. Find the fifth sentence.
4. Post the next three sentences.
5. Tag five people.

Ok, number one...I have four books here, I am in the process of reading them all: Emergency Care (didn't know if that counted, since it's a text book...I live by this book now!!!), Sophie's World (I've been plodding through this philosophical muddle for two years now...ugh), Pride and Prejudice (yay!!!), and Jane Austen's Guide to Dating (just for kicks and giggles....its lame!).

Ok, here goes Emergency Care...eh, never mind, its pictures on 123, nothing to quote!

Sophie's World...hmmm, don't remember this part!
"You'd better have a good explanation."
"It has to do with the UN," said Sophie. "I was detained by hostile troops in Lebanon."
"Sure...you're just in love!"

Pride and Prejudice!!! Whoo!!!
But why Mr. Darcy came so often to the Parsonage, it was more difficult to understand. It could not be society, as he frequently sat there ten minutes without opening his lips; and when he did speak, it seemed the effect of necessity rather than of choice -- a sacrifice to propriety, not a pleasure to himself. He seldom appeared really animated. (yaaaaaay Mr. Darcy!!!)

And now for the humor...my Dating Guide!!
Charles's sister Louisa even tells Captain Wentworth as much: "We do so wish that Charles had married Anne instead...I wish she had accepted him. We should all have liked her a great deal better..."
Charles isn't still carrying a torch for Anne.


So, there are some of the things I am reading...maybe I should have done the Aristotle translation we are doing for school, but nah, that's boring. So, there you go, an extended version of my reading list!!!

And I tag....

1) Suzanne of 'Suzanne's Blog' because she is really fun and I saw her yesterday!!

2) Charris of 'Finding Neverland' because she's at college and I miss her and I don't know what she is reading, besides magazines ;)

3) Miss Steinberg of 'Quemodmodum', but she is my teacher, so I can guess most of the things she is reading, such as my future Latin final and History term paper!!!

4) Bekah of 'Oh the Things You Can Think...When You're Pink?' because she is my sister, and there are random moments when I feel like bugging her!

5) Joseph of 'Thoughts' because his blog title is so original and he hasn't done anything on it recently and he apparently has a huge reading list...so, lets see what you are trying to read, shall we???

I Have a Rendezvous with Death...

Now, this particular poem was written during World War I. It was written by a young Frenchman and American citizen, Alan Seeger, in 1915, but was not published until 1917, a year after his rendezvous with death at the battlefront at Belloy-en-Santerre, July 4, 1916. He attended Harvard University, and was T.S. Eliot's classmate and friend. His last postcard sent home to his family read:
"We go up to the attack tomorrow. This will probably be the biggest thing yet. We are to have the honor of marching in the first wave...I will write you soon if I get through all right. If not, my only earthly care is for my poems...I am glad to be in the first wave. If you are in this thing at all it is best to be in to the limit. And this is the supreme experience." - June 28, 1916

I Have a Rendezvous with Death...
by Alan Seeger

I have a rendezvous with Death
At some disputed barricade,
When Spring comes back with rustling shade
And apple-blossoms fill the air--
I have a rendezvous with Death
When Spring brings back blue days and fair.

It may be he shall take my hand
And lead me into his dark land
And close my eyes and quench my breath--
It may be I shall pass him still.
I have a rendezvous with Death
On some scarred slope of battered hill,

When Spring comes round again this year
And the first meadow-flowers appear.

God knows 'twere better to be deep
Pillowed in silk and scented down,
Where love throbs out in blissful sleep,
Pulse nigh to pulse, and breath to breath,
Where hushed awakenings are dear...
But I've a rendezvous with Death
At midnight in some flaming town,
When Spring trips north again this year,
And I to my pledged word am true,
I shall not fail that rendezvous.

A Poison Tree - Or Bitter Me

I came across this poem while searching for 18th century poetry to bring in to Lit class. I suppose what really caught my eye was that this poem exactly mirrored my mood of the month...isn't interesting what you randomly find which fits you so well? Anyhow, on with the poem!!


A Poison Tree
by William Blake

I was angry with my friend:
I told my wrath, my wrath did end.
I was angry with my foe:
I told it not, my wrath did grow.

And I watered it in fears
Night and morning with my tears,
And I sunned it with my smiles
And with soft deceitful wiles.

And it grew both day and night,
Till it bore an apple bright,
And my foe beheld it shine,
And he knew that it was mine--

And into my garden stole
When the night had veiled the pole;
In the morning, glad, I see
My foe outstretched beneath the tree.

The Man Born Blind

"Bless us!" said Mary. "There's eleven o'clock. And you're nearly asleep, Robin."
She rose with a bustle of familiar noises, bundling her and her little cardboard boxes into the work-basket. "Come on, lazy-bones!" she said. "You want to be nice and rested for your first walk tomorrow."
"That reminds me," said Robin, and then stopped. His heart was beating so loudly that he was afraid it would make his voice sound odd. He had to wait before he went on. "I suppose," he said, "there...there'll be light out there - when I go for that walk?"
"What do you mean, dear?" said Mary. "You mean it will be lighter out of doors? Well, yes, I suppose it will. But I must say I always think this is a very light house. This room, now. We've had sun on it all day."
"The sun makes it...hot?" said Robin tentatively.
"What are you talking about?" said Mary, suddenly turning round. She spoke sharply, in what Robin called her 'governess' voice.
"I mean," said Robin, "well, look here, Mary. There's a thing I've been meaning to ask you ever since I came back from the nursing home. I know it'll sound silly to you. But then it's different for me. As soon as I knew I had a chance of getting my sight, of course I looked forward. The last thing I thought before the operation was "light". Then all those days afterwards, waiting till they took the bandages off - "
"Of course, darling. That was only natural."
"Then, then, why don't I...I mean, where is the light?"
She laid her hand on his arm. Three weeks of sight had not yet taught him to read the expression of a face, but he knew by her touch the great warm wave of stupid, frightened affection that had welled up in her.
"Why not come to bed, Robin dear?" she said. "If it's anything important, can't we talk about it in the morning? You know you're tired now."
"No. I've got to have this out. You've got to tell me about light. Great Scot - don't you want me to know?"
She sat down suddenly with a formal calmness that alarmed him.
"Very well, Robin," she said. "Just ask me anything you like. There's nothing to be worried about - is there?"
"Well then, first of all, there's light in this room at present?"
"Of course there is."
"Then were is it?"
"Why, all around us."
"Can you see it?"
"Yes."
"Then why can't I?"
"But, Robin, you can. Dear, do be sensible. You can see me, can't you, and the mantelpiece, and the table and everything?"
"Are those light? Is that all it means? Are you light? Is the mantelpiece light? Is the table light?"
"Oh! I see. No. Of course not. That's the light," and she pointed to the bulb, roofed with its broad pink shade, that hung from the ceiling.
"If that's light, why did you tell me the light was all round us?"
"I mean, that's what gives the light. The light comes from there."
"Then where is the light itself? You see, you won't say. Nobody will say. You tell me the light is here and the light is there, and this is in the light and that is in the light, and yesterday you told me I was in your light, and now you say that light is a bit of yellow wire in a glass bulb hanging from the ceiling. Call that light? Is that what Milton was talking about? What are you crying about? If you don't know what light is, why can't you say so? If the operation has been a failure and I can't see properly after all, tell me. If there's no such thing - if it was all a fairy tale from the beginning - tell me. But for God's sake - "
"Robin! Robin! Don't. Don't go on like that."
"Go on like what?" The he gave up and apologized and comforted her, and they went to bed.
A blind man has few friends; a blind man who has received his sight has, in a sense, none. He belongs neither to the world of the blind nor to that of the seeing, and no one can share his experience. After that night's conversation Robin never mentioned to anyone his problem about light. He knew he would only be suspected of madness. When Mary took him out the next day for his first walk he replied to everything she said, "It's lovely - all lovely, just let me drink it in," and she was satisfied. She interpreted his quick glances as glances of delight. In reality, of course, he was searching, searching with a hunger that had already something of desperation in it. Even had he dared, he knew it would be useless to ask her of any of the objects he saw, "Is that light?" He could see himself that she would only answer, "No. That's green" (or 'blue', or 'yellow', or 'a field', or 'a tree' or 'a car'). Nothing could be done until he had learned to go for walks by himself.
About five weeks later Mary had a headache and took breakfast in bed. As Robin came downstairs he was for a moment shocked to notice the sweet feeling of escape that came with her absence. Then, with a long, shameless sigh of comfort, he deliberately closed his eyes and groped across the dining-room to his bookcase - for this one morning he would give up the tedious business of guiding himself by his eyes and judging distances and would enjoy the old, easy methods of the blind. Without effort his fingers ran down the row of faithful Braille books and and picked out the worn volume he wanted. He slipped his hand between the leaves and shuffled across to the table, reading as he went. Still with his eyes shut, he cut up his food, laid down the knife, took the fork up in his left hand and began reading with his right. He realized at once that this was the first meal he had really enjoyed since the recovery of his sight. It was also the first book he had really enjoyed. He had been very quick, everyone told him, in learning to read by sight, but it would never be the real thing. 'W-a-t-e-r' could be spelled out; but never, never would those black marks be wedded to their meaning in Braille, where the very shape of the characters communicated an instantaneous sense of liquidity though his fingertips. He took a long time over breakfast. Then he went out.
There was a mist this morning, but he had encountered mists before and this did not trouble him. He walked through it, out of the little town and up the steep hill and then along the field path that ran round the lip of the quarry. Mary had taken him there a few days ago to show him what she called the 'view'. And while they had sat looking at it she had said, "What a lovely light that is on the hills over there." It was a wretched clue, for he was now convinced that she knew no more about light than he did, that she used the word but meant nothing by it. He was even beginning to suspect that most of the un-blind were in the same position. What one heard among them was merely the parrot-like repetition of a rumor - the rumor of something that perhaps (it was his last hope) great poets and prophets of old had really known and seen. It was on their testimony alone that he still hoped. It was still just possible that somewhere in the world, not everywhere as fools had tried to make him believe, guarded in deep woods or divided by distant seas, the thing Light might actually exist, springing up like a fountain or growing like a flower.
The mist was thinning when he came to the lip of the quarry. To left and right more and more trees were visible, and their colours grew brighter and brighter every moment. His own shadow lay before him; he noticed that it became blacker and firmer-edged while he looked at it. The birds were singing too and he was quite hot. "But still no Light", he muttered. The sun was visible behind him but the pit of the quarry was still full of mist - a shapeless whiteness, now almost blindingly white.
Suddenly he heard a man singing. Someone whom he had not noticed before was standing near the Cliff edge with his legs wide apart dabbing at an object which Robin could not recognize. If he had been more experienced he would have recognized it as a canvas on an easel. As it was, his eyes met the eyes of this wild-looking stranger so unexpectedly that he had blurted out "What are you doing?" before he realized it.
"Doing?" said the stranger with a certain savagery. "Doing? I'm trying to catch light, if you want to know, damn it."
A smile came over Robin's face. "So am I," he said, and came a step nearer.
"Oh - you know too, do you?" said the other. Then, almost vindictively, 'They're all fools. How many of them come out to paint on a day like this, eh? How many of them will recognize it if you show 'em? And yet if they could open their eyes, it's the only sort of day in the whole year when you can really see light, solid light, that you can drink in a cup or bathe in! Look at it!"
He caught Robin roughly by the arm and pointed into the depths at their feet. The fog was at death-grips with the sun, but not a stone on the quarry floor was yet visible. The bath of vapour shone like white metal and unfolded itself continually in ever-widening spirals towards them. "Do you see that?" shouted the violent stranger. "There's light for you if you like it!"
A second later the expression on the painter's face changed. "Here!" he cried. "Are you mad?" He made a grab at Robin. But he was too late. Already he was alone on the path. From beneath a new-made and rapidly vanishing rift in the fog there came up no cry but only a sound so sharp and definite that you would hardly expect it to have been made by the fall of anything so soft as a human body; that, and some rattling of loosened stones.

-by C. S. Lewis

I hope you enjoyed this short story. We read it today in English, and it was...touching? Not as in fluffy-bunny touching, but moving...you know. C.S. Lewis is the most amazing author. I don't think many other authors have moved me to tears like he has.

The Thoughts of Andrew and Joseph Upon Smoking Their First Cigars

12/02/07

The legal smoking age in Italy is 16. When the boys found out about that, they decided they wanted to smoke their first cigars there. So, one day when we were in the lovely town of Siena, Fr. Foos searched out and purchased three Cuban cigars: one for him, one for Joe, and one for the eager Andrew. I had them write out their experiences in my journal, and here are their thoughts for one and all to read. Thanks guys!

"Well, Sarah wants me to write on my experience on how my first cigar was so here it goes...All day everybody was building it up saying that I am not going to like it and that I am going to throw up after the first couple puffs. So I get it lit up and start smoking it. Some said that I looked more natural than Joe. But I never threw up. About halfway through the cigar I started to feel a bit dizzy so I sat down. It was a Cuban Habana cigar, and I liked it! While I was smoking it, it went around and Bekah, Amanda and Sarah had a few puffs as well. Towards the end of the cigar it started to taste ashy, so I put it out and saved it so that I can remember my first cigar in Italy." - Andrew Bradley, age 17.

It's true...some of we girls had a few puffs as well. I consider it a nasty habit for women to smoke, and especially to smoke cigars. Fr. Foos actually gave me his to try, which was shocking, if you know him. What are my thoughts on the subject? It felt like having warm smoke in my mouth...I personally don't think it would be much different if I held my mouth over a campfire!! But anyway, moving right along...

"Most of what Andrew said works for my story as well. Honestly, I wasn't super impressed. I mean, it was fun because it seemed like a rite of passage. I couldn't smell or taste a lot, and I don't know if I was doing it right because my cigar kept going out. However, I didn't get dizzy and I didn't vomit. I simply had a relaxing evening with my friends." - Joseph Salvatore...er...Don Giuseppe Salvatore, age 17

There you go.