In May of 1992, I graduated eighth grade.
That summer, I, as I can only assume everyone else my age, became fixated on the televised national conventions of both the Democrats and Republicans. Although neither offered any real intrigue as previous years, my 14-year-old self was fascinated by the speeches, as well as the pomp and circumstance.
While the Democrats’ convention that would ultimately nominate Bill Clinton for president happened 32 years ago, I can still remember some of it vividly. Two things stand apart in my memory. The first is that Gov. Mario Cuomo, easily one of the best orators of my lifetime, gave a fantastic speech. The second is that there was an outstanding biographical video regarding Clinton called “The Man From Hope.” Looking back, the 1992 election was fascinating in many ways and, I believe that video played a crucial role in Clinton’s victory a few months later.
While it might have been sheer coincidence that Clinton was born in a town named Hope, his advisors deserve credit for emphasizing that point. For hope, I would argue, is perhaps the most integral of human emotions. Throughout history, we encounter moments that are almost beyond comprehension — pestilence, war, genocide, famine and more. Atrocities like the Holocaust make us question not just how people survived, but why. The answer, time and again, comes back to hope ... hope that there would be a brighter future.
In a recent sermon, my pastor, Dr. Patrick DeVane, shared a story about British children orphaned during the World War II bombings of London by the Nazis. Despite being relocated to refugee camps where their necessities were met and where they were showered by love, these children faced difficulties sleeping at night. Caretakers, determined to comfort them, discovered an unconventional solution — letting the children sleep holding a loaf of bread. It worked miraculously for most of the children. When asked what magic was about the bread, one child explained that they had been able to eat that day and, by holding that loaf, they had hope of eating again the next day. It wasn’t as though the bread was a surrogate stuffed animal, but rather that it symbolized a hope that brought them comfort and provided the ability to rest.
Our world is becoming increasingly critical, and it is noticeable. People complain about the most trivial of matters to the highest arching. Whether it be a forgotten item at a drive-thru or national governmental policies, people are quick to share criticisms. People engage in arguments merely for the fun of arguing, causing many to shy away from the spotlight, eschewing involvement in business, political or civic affairs in order to avoid the relentless criticism and character assassination. Much like the sleepless nights of war-torn London’s children, it is highly understandable.
What people may not realize is the impact of their criticism. Each complaint chips away at the souls of those striving to make our world better. It’s human nature ... 99 compliments can be overshadowed by one disparaging remark. Every uttered criticism diminishes the flame of hope, sometimes to the point where only glowing embers remain.
Thích Nhất Hạnh, a Vietnamese Buddhist monk who witnessed unspeakable horrors in his homeland prior to his 1966 exile, once said, “Hope is important because it can make the present moment less difficult to bear. If we believe that tomorrow will be better, we can bear hardship today.”
If we are to improve as a society, and I believe that should always be our goal, we have to believe that tomorrow will be better. While I pray none of us experience what Hanh or the children of London went through, let’s recognize that we also never know what personal challenges each other are facing within our own lives. We need to ensure that our actions help build up one another, rather than causing a collapse. We need to make a concerted effort to avoid making situations worse from ill-advised comments. Or, as the famous words from a 1988 political convention implore, we need to do our part to keep hope alive.