Dang, but it never fails. No matter how many stage productions, and even the most recent movie version, I always cry. I cry for the people of the play; I cry for their manifestly hard lives, for the courage of those who dared to speak out despite their more privileged status in society and I cry for myself, personally and for our situation today.
The play? Les Miserables, a versatile play which lends itself to varying stresses and interpretations and never fails to wow the audience. Last nite was no different as the audience sat mesmerized, glued to the stage and the excellent performances of the cast. And yes, I cried, a lot.
It is a play of and for the people. It was a harsh time in France, a time when the elites failed the people, when the Emperor forgot his true role and responsibility, when the arrogance of the law became no law and when the hearts of people were smashed upon the pavement and the harsh realities, the manifestly unfair reality of life.
People are entitled to be able to expect food, clothing, shelter, a life where they can provide for their loved ones, a modicum of justice, a law with a heart. To send Jean Valjean to the slave labor of French prisons for nineteen years because he dared to steal a loaf of bread for his starving nephew, to have his number tatooed upon his chest - ring any bells there, foks - nothing new under the sun, is there - to be hounded through life - this is not justice nor a government which cares for its citizenry. Not at all.
Jauvert, of the harsh name and harsh mien, cannot find himself if he is not to adhere to a law with no exemptions, if people behave out of character according to his way of thinking and at the end needs to remove himself from this life. He stands for a law with no humanity. He stands for a law which accepts no exceptions, the same category of law and law enforcement that chase down the 'enemy' in the middle of the night, that rips apart families, that demeans and dehumanizes the poor, the immigrant, the migrant, the 'other'. We have that version of the law growing apace in our country today.
One Day More, One More Day - the theme, the motif of Victor Hugo's masterpiece, echoes throughout. The people are angry. The people are afraid with a fear for their lives, their families, a real fear, for it has happened. And yet, this fear paralyzes them, cripples them and their need to do something, anything. Thus the students, always an ingredient for change in any society, take it upon themselves to fight the battle for those who fear to do so. And they die for it, bravely, boldy, valiantly and stupidly, in vain, as the people were too downtrodden, too weak, too numb to anything other than a weak grasp on life to even think of fighting.
But the time came and France is no more a monarchy, an absolute monarchy, but a Republic, albeit one with problems, but then again, that appears to be the situational reality of mankind. But at least there is not that crippling fear to act, to react.
Unfortunately, that fear has come to reside within our own borders. We have grown men who are afraid of their own shadows, afraid to take on the immoral and 'criminal' leader of the party and the country. They rail against his decision, his cowardly, lying position re Turkey ad the Kurds, but fail to follow through on the connection between that decision, their behavior and the man's demented self. Only one who thinks he has an "unmatched wisdom", who thinks he deserved the Nobel Peace Prize - and thank the Lord it was given to the Ethiopian Prime Minister who did the undoable in his own country - a man who behaves with a demented toddler's actions and speech, only that man would dare to desert our allies, court our enemies and then justify it all with a perverted speech fostering anger and hatred towards other Americans.
We are headed for those barricades in the streets. Think not, that never here will that happen? Have we forgotten the battles of 1968, the anger that roiled the country? Have we forgotten all those assault weapons out there in the hands of those willing to use them on fellow Americans? Have we forgotten that we have the worst President ever at the top of the pyramid?
The characters of the play are the characters of life drawn with personal affectations and enough story to catch the audienc and make it personal. So yes, I cried at the death of Fontine. I cried at the cruelty of the tavern keeper hidden beneath his bluff exterior, at the level he had to sink to in order to remain alive. I cried at the death of the universally undervalued woman, Eponie, as she sank to the ground, shot, even as the object of her love held her. I cried at the death of Jean Valjean, as he asked G-d to allow him to come home, to be at peace, finally. No more running. A chance to recover from the harshness of life.
And I cried at the scene when Jauvert came to greet him and hug him, when Fontine came to hold his hand, and Eponie the other. I cried at the tears of Cosette and Marius. I cried for the uselessness of it all, for the needless deaths, the needless cruelty of a society which refused to face its sins. And I cried for our country, for MY country, which is no longer mine. I cried because we have that same growing split in our population today. Go watch a video recording of Trump's speech in Minnesota and see his appeal to the worst in and of us, of his demeaning and crowd rabble rousing speech, his negligence to speak of anything other than hate, to speak nothing but lies.
And finally, I cried for myself. When one reaches a certain age, shall we say, we know that the last stage of life is upon us. No one gets out of this life alive, but it does grow closer and one has to rethink one's life, its values, its character, its understanding of what is important and what is not. One has to accept that the final reckoning is approaching and it forces a person to wonder. What have I done that is good? What have I done or NOT done that I should have? It gets particularly more personal if one has one or more conditions that can lead to demise. So I cried for all and I wondered, will my parents be there to greet me, to hold my hands, to take me to the rest of the family, my grandparents, my namesake? Will the afterlife be one of light or........
Cry, people, cry. Cry for the unfairness of life. Cry for the bad things we do, for the negligent behavior of people as they destroy the world, ignore the cries of the people, and concentrate on themselves and their crass need for more, more and yet even more.
Art in whatever form, be it literature of prose, essay, or poetry, of play writing, or painting or the values found in music - all this is a piece of life that must be reckoned with and used properly. It will give us warning, courage and incentive. It will make us people. People who try. People who care. And G-d forbid, people who willingly trample on others, unceasingly and massively indifferent to their woes. We can be better We must be better.
One more day, one day more, as we march together for the right things. I hope. I wish. I cry.
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