Like most people, I have vivid memories of momentous historical events, such as Princess Diana’s death, 9:11, and the time Poi e made #1 on the New Zealand music charts. It was 1984, and we were staying at Nana’s house in Tokoroa. It must have been a Saturday because Ready to Roll was on, and we were due to watch Poi e, by Patea Maori Club, for the first time. Tragically, moments prior, I was banished to Nana’s bedroom for some long-forgotten misdemeanour (likely sibling battery). As the now familiar music began play, I gingerly pushed the bedroom door open, allowing me a direct view of the television. Unfortunately, I was also in mum’s direct line of sight. Feeling sure I was about to be told-off and re-banished, I was astounded when mum pretended not to see me, and instead let me watch the song in its entirety. It was a momentous event for me, not because of Poi e – as awesome as it is (I still well-up when I hear it) – but because it was the first time I experienced mercy. Mercy (aka undeserved kindness) is rare in this world, most likely due to the human penchant for giving other people their just desserts. As such, when you’re on the receiving end of it, it tends to stick in your memory.
I was reminded of my mum’s mercy the other day. I had decided to take up running…again, and there I was, running (read shuffling) around the Point of Ayre, when Poi e popped up on my playlist. The obligatory tears that fell down my cheeks, invigorated my strides, and before I knew it, I had been running for almost an hour. Naturally, I paid for my vigour in the days that followed, which caused my fella, when in my vicinity, to hum the tune to Raw Hide and ask as to the whereabouts of my horse.
I had already been thinking a lot about mercy, as it is the crux of the Ann painting. When I consider the trajectory of what happened to her – grinding poverty (she lived in the Manx equivalent of a slum), getting caught stealing 37 yards of lace (technically, she was caught trying to sell it, likely to feed herself), entrapment (don’t even get me started on the callous woman who deliberately entrapped and betrayed her), prison (in a literal medieval castle that a contemporary report deemed the worst prison in Europe), followed by her grizzly death in a shipwreck, the details of which scandalised the world and nearly bought a premature end to Britain’s penal-transportation system (but didn’t, because it was too convenient/lucrative) – I can’t help thinking that her fate could have been altered if just one of the people involved had shown her mercy.
I think its worth looking out for those opportunities when we ourselves can show mercy. Those times when we know someone has done something wrong, but instead of calling them to account, and seeing to it that they suffer the humiliation and attendant consequences of their wrong doing, we look the other way, sure in the knowledge they know we know. Showing mercy confers dignity, which, in turn, can have a transformative effect, as dignity is more rehabilitative than humiliation.
bexODESSA 