I've been struck of late what a difference fine writing makes - and it's the difference between being compelling and being ignored. It's patronizing to state which type of writing sells.
Writing posts used to be an excrutiating proposition of wresting the right words and right tone as purely as possible from me to the screen just eleven months ago when this blog was birthed. Practice is indispensible. Now I can lazily whip out posts in no time. However that means it's time for a new challenge: story-telling - especially adhering to the adage: 'show, don't tell' - and honing my writing craft.
Studying good writing is instructive. For a good example, check out India Uncut's tsunami coverage out of Tamil Nadu, India (discovered via Nipun Mehta on the ProPoor Tsunami Relief blog). Read Amit Varma's Despatches (a pun on desi, a slang term for Indian immigrants) from the wreckage of Indian coastal villages to witness first-hand the power of evocative prose. (BTW, he's back to his usual beat, but I too share Amit's sentiment: "It isn't behind me, it's with me." He's heading back in a few months to pick up the story; it's wonderful to see blogs will follow the personal and community stories long after the "big" media attention wanes.)
Something in what he writes has me muttering to myself "empathetic writing" for lack of a better label which naturally arises out of empathetic listening and observation. It's too easy as journalists, writers and marketers to fall back on sympathy - with our characters, audience, customers and anyone in which we relate to and interact with - which is quite distinct from empathy.
Sympathy primarily involves agreeing with some aspects of the other person's feelings, beliefs, etc. whereas empathy primarily involves experiencing and understanding all of them. The person using empathy tunes into the entire inner world of the other person whereas the person using sympathy often tunes into only those aspects with which he agrees. - Lawrence J. Bookbinder, Ph.D.
Sympathy doesn't connect the way empathy does. Since I've lived through and witnessed the tsunami myself, I've received quite more than my share of sympathy from others. In sympathy, you put yourself into my situation and witness how you would feel rather than truly putting yourself into my skin and relating from that space. I wind up not feeling "heard." Do you think your loved ones, friends, employees, partners and customers feel truly heard?
We read to know we are not alone. - C. S. Lewis
It's best to read the posts in reverse chronological order for the full impact, starting here. Below is a small sampling of Despatches:
Despatches 15: A world of stopped watches
As time passes, clocks that have stopped working tell a story of their own. At Puddupettai, it's 8.40 am. At Chinnavaikal, it's 9.05. At Pandagasalai, it's 9.26. Village by village, all along the coast, time stopped.
Despatches 13: Disaster management
Vailakanni, the town famous for its church, the Shrine Basilica, is a lesson in disaster management. The waves struck there after Sunday mass, with 1000 people on the shore just behind the church to take a dip. At first when they saw the big waves, they laughed. But then the water came closer, and they realised that they were in trouble. They ran for it but the slowest runners, the women and children, could not make it. At least 800 people died.
The state administration did not kick into action, but the church did. Unlike in other villages that we had visited, the bodies did not lie unclaimed for days, but were quickly disposed of. Whichever ones were identified by relatives were taken away by them, and buried or cremated according to their preference. The rest were photographed and disposed of, with the photographs put on a bulletin board so that relatives could identify their kin.
A counselling unit with 12 counsellers was set up, and as volunteers flocked in to help, they were assigned specific tasks. All relief organisations that came here to help went to this one central location, from where they were guided.
The result is that Vailakanni is virtually the first coastal village on this trip where I saw no bodies at all. In fact, if you were a tourist casually dropping in, it would take you some time to figure out that something had happened here. The sea is calm, and so is the village.
Despatches 20: Empathy from within
At Panjakubbam I meet a gentleman named Kumaraguru, a volunteer for SFI. He is living with the villagers, and here is what he says about it:
The government comes here and gives money, food, but those are hand-outs, and a lot of people resent that. They do not speak out about what they really want, they feel embarrassed to speak about their loss. But if you come and live with them, become a part of their lives, then they begin to trust you. They tell you what they need, what they are going through, and only then can you really help them. You have to be one of them.
I can vouch for the truth of what he is saying. The government comes and goes, aid workers come and go, a large number of volunteers come for an extended weekend, give out aid, and are gone. But some stay back, like Kumaraguru, and not only "adopt a village", in the terminology of some NGOs, but are adopted by it. That human touch makes so much difference.
Despatches 22: Just listen
Time after time, at village after village, people rush up to us and start telling us of their loss. When that happens all day, it begins to get tough. But my travelling companion, Dilip D'Souza, teaches me an important lesson.
"These people have so much inside them," he says, "that they just want to unload. That is why they tell you their story. Some of these stories are so sad that I know that I can do nothing to help them – except listen to what they have to say. So I listen."
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