Snippet
Ageing
Community
Culture
Football
3 min read

Can we show respect across the generations?

A footballer’s taunt still hurts.

Jean is a consultant working with financial and Christian organisations. She also writes and broadcasts.

A TV screengrab shows a football manager walking while a passing rival player says (captioned) 'stay humble'.
Haaland harangues.
Sky Sports

If you are a football fan, you might be flabbergasted, curious and maybe a bit gleeful about the recent “dip” in form of Manchester City.  It runs deeper for me; I’m an Arsenal fan.  

So let me address the elephant in the room before I go any further.  Yes, we haven’t won the league for 20 years and yes, we’re everyone’s banter club, I get it. But Haaland’s “Stay humble” comment, directed at my team, was a lot for us  and here’s my take on why.  

I grew up in an African household. I have been taught to respect my elders. We aren’t allowed to be overly familiar with anyone older than us. You don’t randomly pat your elders on the back. There is a level of reverence that is not only expected but covertly and overtly demanded. Almost every child of African heritage has been chastised by a parent or caregiver with some version of “Is that your classmate?”, after taking things a bit too far with an aunty or uncle, aka anyone more than 10 years older than you.  

So, you can imagine my shock like so many Arsenal fans when Haaland decided that he was going to tap our manager on the shoulder and utter the words, ’Stay humble.’  

Football is a game of banter. I agree. Tottenham, Manchester United…. say no more, as we say in South London. My brother thinks I dislike Manchester United more than I support Arsenal.  That could be truetrue, but I digress.  

I would have completely understood if Haaland had done what he had done and said what he said to Saka, Gabriel or any other Arsenal player. But the manager, no, that’s taking the mick. The manager is off-limits he is supposed to be respected by the players.  

That’s why Arsenal fans, were celebrating the way we did when the boys humbly beat Man City 5-1.  

I know, it’s been a few weeks, now.  I’m a Christian I am supposed to be over it. But I’m not.  

The older I get the more I understand the wisdom of respecting those with more experience than me. Not just because it was what I was taught, but because I want my parents' generation to be respected. I want to be respected when I am older and I want my children’s generation to be respected, too.   

We live in a moment in time where the differences between generations are often magnified. Intergenerational collaboration doesn’t exactly roll off the tongue and it isn’t something you hear every day.  But I am reminded by my faith that there is wisdom in age and long life brings understanding. Strength and passion are found in young people. Communities work best when the young and the old work together in mutual respect.  

 If I want to live in a society that respects all generations, my role as a millennial (someone who sits awkwardly in the middle), is to ask myself two questions:  

When I meet someone older than me, would I be happy if someone were to treat my mum or dad the way I am treating this person?  

If they are younger than me, would I want someone to treat my siblings like this?  

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Article
Community
Culture
Film & TV
Identity
5 min read

What makes us human?

We've more in common with our ancient ancestors than we might like to think

Claire Williams is a theologian investigating women’s spirituality and practice. She lecturers at Regents Theological College.

A re-enactment of an ancient 'caveman' family sitting around a camp fire.
A dramatic reconstruction of a Neanderthal family.
BBC Studios.

I recently caught up on iPlayer with the excellent BBC series Human. In it, the paleoanthropologist Ella Al-Shamahi explores 300,000 years of human evolution over five beautifully shot, evocatively presented episodes. I was transfixed by the story of these ancient human societies - of Homo habilis; Homo erectus; the hobbit-like Homo floresiensis - and of the ways that paleoanthropologists and archaeologists study the multiple human species. They walk barefoot in deep pits with what look like tiny paint brushes to dust off their finds. They are endlessly patient, and delighted at tiny scraps that I would overlook as rubbish. They see in these fragments stories of ancient lives that lived, ate, loved and died so long ago. 

Take a set of footsteps fossilised into the ground in White Sands, New Mexico, discernible through their impact and weight distribution. They are thought to be those of a woman walking at speed, probably, scholars think, carrying a child. Now and again these footsteps appear to stop and stand, and in-between the right and the left foot are a small set of footprints. The mother appears to have put down the child for a moment before picking him or her back up and starting again.  

This was so familiar to me, a mother of four. It reminded me of all the times I’d carried toddlers around on my hip before giving up, plonking them on the floor and then switching sides. This very human urge to care for our children, and to get tired by them, echoed through time. Although luckily for me I did not have a giant sloth chasing me, as this ancient mother seems to have done.  

But the flip side of the ability to love is the ability to also reject. And the series highlighted that this less pleasant human habit – the exclusion of others – appears to be an equally core part of our existence.  

Al-Shamahi asks,  

‘what must it have been like to have been a hybrid child... Did these children feel like they belonged or were they teased and ostracised?’   

Behind her question is a sense of deep concern about the hybrid children’s welfare all those millenia ago.  

Fast forward thousands of years. Most of us went to school and know what it feels like to either be different or see someone else who is different. Imagine if a modern-day Homo sapien/neanderthalensis hybrid turned up the local primary school, would it be okay? Unlikely. We don’t look after difference particularly well. The question Al-Shamahi posed seems pertinent today as well as in palaeoanthropology terms, what would it be like to grow up a hybrid? For us today the question is similar, how do we judge what is human? Is our human status founded in the horror and aversion to difference? 

The drive to surround ourselves with similarity and force others to fit is sometimes called ‘the cult of normalcy’. This behaviour only tolerates people who look, act, and represent what is familiar to you. I experience this as a neurodivergent person struggling at times to feel ‘normal’. That is why the story of hybrid children is affectively impactful. Their struggle is easy to imagine, how do they fit in?. What makes them and us human? 

The little story of a mother and a child being carried (minus the sloth part) is enchanting. Is it this love for children that makes the ancient people count as human? Is it the presence of a relationship and the assumed communication between individuals that makes them human?  

The risk here is to say that all people who are in families, who are parents, are the prime example of humanity and that does not fit with many lives that we would want to count as human. Love may be essential, but it cannot be a prescriptive type or circumstance. Nevertheless, the allure of love and community is strong in Human and my response to it. That familiarity with the feeling of exclusion of the hybrid child and the story of the mother and child are common. They are experiences that we can relate to concerning community and care. The series shows these human species in relationship groups, with evidence of successful community and unsuccessful community (again a familiar trait). So far, that ability to love is also the same ability to reject, to cast out the hybrid or the different human. That is unsatisfactory as the trait of what is core to humans despite the likelihood of it being at the heart of the human story.  

What, then of religion? These ancient peoples who lived before language and writing yet still worshipped – their practices evident from paintings found on the walls of caves. Is this what it means to be finally human? Was it, I thought, when they demonstrated language? Was it the early signs of religion and worship? Was it to do with thinking and rationalising, deciding upon a set of gods and the rules about them? However, this cannot be. For there are people today who do not speak through choice or disability. There are those who cannot demonstrate their ability to worship, for the same reasons. Rationalising cannot be the way in which we determine humanity, for then are children, or the intellectually disabled not human? If awareness of the sacred is what makes us human, then that limits those whose cognitive abilities are different. 

Christians believe that what makes us human is the image of God in us. But what is that image? It is given to humans when God made them right at the beginning of things. It is the divine something that sets us apart from trees and plants, even animals. It is a quality that God gives to humans in the creative act of making them. It is not something that humans do for themselves but something they receive from God. Could it be applied to Neanderthals or early human species? I think so. Although these early species were very different in some respects to us, they had the features of humanity that count. They had relationships, the capacity to experience awe and wonder and they loved one another (like the mother and child). The image of God could be many things but one thing is certain, it a gift from God because of his love for humans. The need for love, community and worship that is in all of us points back to this. We love one another because we are first loved by God and that is what makes us human. 

 

 

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