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An interesting photo series
If you had to flee your house and country forever, and could only take one thing with you, what would it be? This photo essay poses refugees with their most important possession.
Now here's what I did, and what I recommend doing: before you click on the link, think about it. If you had to flee forever, what would be the first thing you'd grab, and the thing you'd want to keep with you? Because I think it's kind of an illuminating look into our lives, and here's what I realized after I did it and then looked at the pictures (and if you're going to play along at home, I recommend picking your "important thing" before you click on the cut).
I couldn't decide on any one most important thing, but here are the things I thought about taking with me, more or less in the order they occurred: my laptop; a notebook to write in; my wallet; one of the books from the shelf where my favorite books live; the ruby necklace that my husband gave me for my birthday, which is also the only actual -- in the sense of "expensive, with real gemstones" -- jewelry that I own (other than my wedding ring, which oddly enough didn't occur to me); a picture of my family.
After looking at the linked photos, I realized all the things I didn't think of: food; water; a container to carry water in; a knife; an axe. My dogs and cat. My husband. Because, I guess, on some subconscious level, I assumed that I would have those things wherever I'm going, and that my family and pets would be safe. I just didn't even think of it. The closest that I got to genuine practicalities is to include things like my wallet in my mental list of maybes, although that's partly because I've done a lot of mental fire drills, and "grab the wallet and laptop" is my main priority in addition to getting family and pets out. But mostly, when asked "most important thing to take?" my brain went instantly to luxuries and keepsakes. (And, as much as writing feels like a necessity to me, in comparison to, say, food? Water? It's a luxury.)
I don't think it's a symptom of materialism so much as an awfully telling indication of ... well, privilege: how safe and stable my life is, and has always been (even if it sometimes didn't seem like it at the time). I am clearly not very good at thinking like a refugee -- because I've never had to.
Now here's what I did, and what I recommend doing: before you click on the link, think about it. If you had to flee forever, what would be the first thing you'd grab, and the thing you'd want to keep with you? Because I think it's kind of an illuminating look into our lives, and here's what I realized after I did it and then looked at the pictures (and if you're going to play along at home, I recommend picking your "important thing" before you click on the cut).
I couldn't decide on any one most important thing, but here are the things I thought about taking with me, more or less in the order they occurred: my laptop; a notebook to write in; my wallet; one of the books from the shelf where my favorite books live; the ruby necklace that my husband gave me for my birthday, which is also the only actual -- in the sense of "expensive, with real gemstones" -- jewelry that I own (other than my wedding ring, which oddly enough didn't occur to me); a picture of my family.
After looking at the linked photos, I realized all the things I didn't think of: food; water; a container to carry water in; a knife; an axe. My dogs and cat. My husband. Because, I guess, on some subconscious level, I assumed that I would have those things wherever I'm going, and that my family and pets would be safe. I just didn't even think of it. The closest that I got to genuine practicalities is to include things like my wallet in my mental list of maybes, although that's partly because I've done a lot of mental fire drills, and "grab the wallet and laptop" is my main priority in addition to getting family and pets out. But mostly, when asked "most important thing to take?" my brain went instantly to luxuries and keepsakes. (And, as much as writing feels like a necessity to me, in comparison to, say, food? Water? It's a luxury.)
I don't think it's a symptom of materialism so much as an awfully telling indication of ... well, privilege: how safe and stable my life is, and has always been (even if it sometimes didn't seem like it at the time). I am clearly not very good at thinking like a refugee -- because I've never had to.
no subject
But I am willing to bet I would have gone in a similar direction to you, because yeah, I too live a privileged life where worrying about food and water isn't a thing a I have to do.
Those photos are really something.
no subject
But you still get a lot of that impact from looking at the pictures, because, damn.