Alexa, What About My Neighbour?

Are We Upgrading Our Things but 

Downgrading Our Priorities?

മലയാളത്തിൽ വായിക്കാൻ

Read in Malayalam

Philipose Vaidyar

When was the last time you bought something you did not really need? When was the last time you wanted to help someone but postponed it, thinking you would do so when you had a little more money?

Could these two things be connected?

We live in a world that constantly tells us to buy more, upgrade more and make life easier. Advertisements appear on our phones, shopping apps remind us of what we might be missing, and social media shows us what others own. Even when we are not looking for anything, we somehow discover something we would like to have.

There is nothing wrong with buying what we need or enjoying the benefits of technology. The question is whether our wants are growing faster than our willingness to share what we have.

From the Bicycle to Alexa

I remember a time when owning a bicycle was an aspiration for many. A scooter or motorbike came next. A refrigerator, mixer grinder or typewriter could make us feel that we had moved up in life. Later came computers, washing machines, vacuum cleaners, microwave ovens and a growing collection of gadgets for our homes, offices and farms.

The changes have been remarkable. We have moved from pressing mechanical buttons to touching screens, and now we can simply ask a voice assistant to switch on a light. We have moved from the finger to the fingertip, and from the fingertip to the voice.

Each new invention promises to save time and effort. Food can arrive at our doorstep with a few taps. Machines can do many of the jobs that once occupied hours of our day. We can even manage several household devices without getting up from our seats.

All this should leave us with more time for the things that matter. Yet I wonder whether we are actually becoming more available to people.

We can order food without leaving home, but do we find time to visit a neighbour who is unwell? We can speak to friends across the world, but do we know what is happening in the home next door? We have access to a global village through our screens, yet sometimes remain strangers to those who live within walking distance.

Perhaps the problem is not the technology. It is what we choose to do with the time and money it saves us.

Earn More, Want More

Most of us want to earn more. Some of that desire comes from genuine responsibilities: educating children, caring for parents, meeting medical expenses, and preparing for the future. We may also want to help relatives, support a ministry, or contribute to someone else's needs. These are good reasons to work hard.

The difficulty begins when every increase in income brings a corresponding increase in expenses. A working phone must soon be replaced by a better one. A vehicle that takes us where we need to go begins to feel inadequate beside a newer model. An appliance that does its job perfectly well is exchanged for one with more features.

Before long, we may find ourselves working harder, not to become more generous, but to maintain the lifestyle we have gradually come to expect.

What happened to the extra money we hoped would enable us to help others?

This is not an argument against owning a good phone, buying a vehicle or making our homes comfortable. Circumstances differ, and what is a luxury for one person may be a necessity for another. The point is to recognise the difference between what we need, what we can afford and what we merely desire.

More Room for Things, Less Room for People

Look around our homes. We find ways to make room for new purchases. We rearrange cupboards, add shelves, buy storage units or make plans for a bigger house. When a new device arrives, we usually find a place for it.

Do we make the same effort to accommodate people?

There may be an elderly person who needs a visit, a family struggling with school fees, a neighbour who needs help, or a relative going through a difficult season. We may feel for them sincerely, but our money is already committed, and our schedules are full.

Of course, we cannot meet every need. None of us has unlimited resources, and we should not feel guilty about every purchase or every need we cannot meet. Still, it is worth asking whether our choices leave any room for someone beyond our own household.

We have become quite good at finding space for things. Have we been equally careful to make space for people?

I Am Asking Myself These Questions Too

I am not writing this as someone who has escaped the temptation. I, too, have wanted things: a laptop, a scooter, a camera, and other items that seemed useful or desirable at different stages of life. I know the pleasure of finally owning something one has wanted for a long time.

There is nothing inherently wrong with such aspirations. A laptop can help us work, a scooter can make travel easier, and a camera can help us preserve memories or tell a story. The same item can be a necessity for one person and an unnecessary upgrade for another.

What matters is the question we ask before making the purchase.

Will this genuinely improve my life or work? Is what I already own no longer adequate? Can I afford it without neglecting my responsibilities? Is there a more important need that I have been putting off?

I may not always arrive at the right answer. You may not either. Yet asking these questions can help us recognise when a reasonable desire is turning into a habit of always wanting the next thing.

Perhaps contentment is not about refusing to own anything new. Sometimes it is simply being satisfied with what works, even when something better is available.

What Are We Making Room For?

Technology will continue to advance. New models will appear, old devices will become outdated, and things that once seemed extraordinary will soon become ordinary. We cannot stop that progress, nor do we need to.

What we can examine is our response to it. Every purchase involves more than money. It also reflects our priorities and, over time, shapes the kind of life we live.

Perhaps the real measure of progress is not only how much more comfortable our lives have become, but whether we have become more generous, more attentive, and more available to others.

The next time I feel the urge to upgrade something, I want to pause and ask myself one more question: Am I making my life better only for myself, or am I also making it better for someone else?

Jesus once challenged a rich young man with words that are difficult to fit into a culture of endless accumulation:

“Sell what you have and give to the poor … and come, follow me.” — Matthew 19:21

Jesus was speaking to a particular man in a particular situation. His words are not a blanket command that every purchase is wrong. Yet they leave us with an uncomfortable question about the things we hold on to and the people we may be overlooking.

We have spent years learning how to make room for more things in our homes. 

Perhaps it is time to ask whether we are making enough room for people in our lives.

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Can We Catch the Wind?

February 25, 2022 marks the 36th anniversary of the first EDSA People Power Revolution. 

Courtesy: CODE-NGO 

What happens when a ruler loses 

the loyalty of his own people

and the soldiers can no longer be counted on to protect him?

Read in Malayalam

In February 1986, the Philippines witnessed an extraordinary turn of events. Hundreds of thousands of ordinary citizens filled the streets. Key military leaders withdrew their support from President Ferdinand Marcos. Within days, a man who had ruled for two decades was leaving his palace by helicopter, eventually flying into exile in Hawaii.

No invading army had captured his capital. The story of how it happened is worth reading—and praying over. Here is a true story from history, with a reminder for us as we intercede for the nations today. 

Read on..

When fear began to lose its grip

It was the Philippines, and the year was 1986.

For more than two decades, Ferdinand Marcos had dominated Philippine politics. Elected president in 1965 and re-elected in 1969, he declared martial law in September 1972, citing national security and the need to restore order.

In practice, political opposition was suppressed, newspapers and broadcasters were shut down or controlled, critics were arrested, and serious human rights abuses followed.

The palace continued to speak of stability. Outside its walls, many citizens experienced something very different.

People learned to be careful about what they said. Journalists learned what they could not print. Political opponents learned the cost of challenging the government. Institutions that were supposed to protect citizens increasingly appeared to be protecting those in power instead.

Yet fear has a limit. So does the patience of a people.

In August 1983, opposition leader Benigno “Ninoy” Aquino Jr. was assassinated at Manila International Airport shortly after returning from exile. His death shocked the country. Public anger grew, and the opposition movement gained renewed momentum.

His funeral drew enormous crowds. People who had previously kept their distance from politics began to recognise that silence would not necessarily protect them. The streets became places where grief turned into public courage.

Marcos continued in office, but the foundations beneath his authority were weakening.

The election that changed everything

In February 1986, Marcos called a snap presidential election, hoping to strengthen his claim to popular legitimacy. His principal challenger was Corazon “Cory” Aquino, the widow of Ninoy Aquino.

The election was marred by widespread allegations of fraud and irregularities. The official count declared Marcos the winner, while an independent citizens' vote-monitoring organisation reported a different outcome. Opposition supporters rejected the official result, and the political crisis deepened.

Then came the moment when the loyalty of the machinery of power was tested.

On 22 February, Defense Minister Juan Ponce Enrile and Lieutenant General Fidel V. Ramos, a senior military leader, withdrew their support from Marcos. They took refuge at military camps in Manila, fearing the consequences of their break with the president.

Their position was precarious. They had armed personnel, but they could not be certain how much of the military would stand with them. If the government ordered an assault, the consequences could be disastrous.

Cardinal Jaime Sin, the influential Catholic archbishop of Manila, appealed over Radio Veritas for people to go to the camps and support the breakaway military leaders.

And the people came.

When the streets became a shield

Thousands gathered along Epifanio de los Santos Avenue, better known as EDSA. Soon, the crowds numbered in the hundreds of thousands. Priests, nuns, students, workers, families, and ordinary citizens stood together in the streets.

They brought food and water. They prayed. They sang. They linked arms. Some placed themselves between armed forces and the people inside the camps.

The soldiers had been trained to obey commands. But the people standing before them were not an anonymous enemy. They were their neighbours, relatives, fellow citizens, and countrymen.

Some soldiers fraternized with the crowds. Civilians offered flowers and food to military personnel. Images of religious sisters praying before armed troops and ordinary citizens appealing to soldiers captured the extraordinary character of the uprising.

Not every soldier defected, and the military did not move as one united body. Some units remained loyal to Marcos. Others joined the breakaway forces, while still others did not carry out the actions expected of them.

The situation remained dangerous. There were confrontations, and people faced the possibility of violence. Yet the government could no longer rely on unquestioned obedience from the armed forces.

The movement that had begun as a political crisis became a historic demonstration of people power.

The crowds were not merely asking for a different president. They were challenging the assumption that the machinery of the state existed to serve the person who controlled it.

February 25, 2021 marks the 36th year of the EDSA Revolution.

Source: Central Philippine University

The palace grows smaller

As the demonstrations continued from 22 to 25 February, Marcos's hold on power deteriorated. International pressure mounted, and the United States, a longstanding ally of his government, became involved in efforts to secure a peaceful resolution.

On 25 February, Corazon Aquino was inaugurated as president. Marcos also held a ceremony claiming the presidency that day. But his authority was collapsing.

The man who had commanded the country's institutions was about to leave the palace he had occupied for years.

He would not depart in a presidential motorcade or at the head of a military procession. His final journey out of the country would depend on American military aircraft.

The night Marcos fled

On the evening of 25 February 1986, arrangements were made to evacuate Marcos and his family. The United States became directly involved in securing their departure.

American military helicopters arrived in Manila that evening. Reports place their arrival at the palace area at around 8:30 p.m., with the evacuation taking place shortly afterwards. The helicopters carried Marcos, his wife Imelda, their children and grandchildren, and members of his entourage.

They flew north to Clark Air Base, an American military installation near Angeles City, approximately 80 kilometres from Manila. They arrived later that evening and spent the night at the base.

The departure was not an ordinary transfer of a head of state. It was the hurried evacuation of a president whose political authority had collapsed.

The next stage took Marcos beyond the Philippines.

On 26 February, US Air Force aircraft transported Marcos, his family, and members of his entourage from Clark to Andersen Air Force Base in Guam. From there, they continued across the Pacific to Hickam Air Force Base in Hawaii.

Marcos arrived in Hawaii on 26 February 1986, beginning his life in exile. He would never return to power in the Philippines.

Consider the contrast.

For years, Marcos had exercised authority through the country's political institutions and military establishment. Yet, when his rule collapsed, he depended on a foreign military to take him and his family out of the country.

Meanwhile, the crowds remained in Manila. They had not captured the palace through a military assault. Their sustained presence, together with the withdrawal of crucial military support, had helped make Marcos's continued rule untenable.

The palace had not physically disappeared. Its occupant had lost the authority to remain there.

The president had fled. The people had reclaimed their voice.

What history leaves us to consider

The Philippines did not become a perfect democracy overnight. The country continued to face political dynasties, corruption, inequality, and struggles over human rights. The departure of one ruler did not automatically resolve every injustice.

Yet February 1986 remains a powerful reminder that political authority has limits.

A government may control the police, the military, the media, and the institutions of administration. It may use the language of law and order to justify suppressing dissent. It may even convince itself that criticism of its leadership is an attack on the nation.

But a nation is not its president. The law is not the ruler. Public institutions are not the private property of those temporarily entrusted with them.

The most consequential moment comes when those entrusted with protecting the public must decide whether they will serve a political personality or fulfil their duty to the people and the constitutional order.

The soldiers at EDSA did not all make the same choice. Some remained loyal to Marcos. Others withdrew their support. Still others stood aside or responded to the changing situation. History was shaped by that breakdown in unquestioned obedience, together with the courage and persistence of millions of civilians.

The lesson is not that every protest must end at a presidential palace, or that every government can be brought down in the same way. It is that no government can indefinitely assume that the instruments of power will always compensate for the loss of public trust.

A ruler may command the gates, but cannot permanently command the conscience of a nation.

Sometimes, the beginning of an ending is not the moment when the crowds grow larger.

It is the moment when those ordered to stand against the people begin to remember that they, too, are the people.

Source: CCP Encyclopedia of Philippine Art -Cultural Center of the ... / Two Nuns of Edsa 

From history to intercession

This account is not a prediction that events in one nation will be repeated in another. Nor does it suggest that every political crisis has the same causes or demands the same response.

It does, however, give us reasons to pray for nations: for leaders who exercise power responsibly, for citizens who have the courage to stand for truth, for public institutions that serve the people, and for those who face injustice, fear, or oppression.

We can pray that leaders will listen before anger turns into crisis, that those in authority will recognise the limits of their power, and that moments of political change will not descend into bloodshed and revenge.

We can pray for nations where people are afraid to speak, where institutions have been weakened, and where the vulnerable have little protection. We can pray for wisdom, courage, justice, restraint, and peace.

History reminds us that the future of a nation does not rest in the hands of one person alone. It is also shaped by the choices of its citizens, its institutions, and those who must decide whether to obey an order or follow their conscience.

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I have written hundreds of stories over the years, but I have never asked you to forward them to your friends. This time, I am asking you to do so.

Please read this account, intercede for the nations, and forward this post (use the link you received) to your friends. Let us encourage more people to join in prayer for nations, their leaders, and the people who long for justice and peace.

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The Breaking Point

 

The Day the Servant Hit Back

The manager raised his hand to strike the servant boy again. But this time, the boy did not lower his head. He looked straight into the manager’s eyes.

“What are you staring at?” the manager shouted.

The boy remained silent.

The next moment, the manager was on the floor, stunned by a blow he had never expected.

How had the timid servant, who had endured years of humiliation, suddenly found the courage to fight back?

The boy had grown up in poverty. His relatives could barely support themselves. Having dropped out of school, he was labelled unintelligent and incapable of achieving anything. He eventually found work as a servant in the house of a wealthy businessman.

The master travelled frequently, leaving the household under the control of a shrewd, hard-hearted manager. The manager soon discovered that the boy was an easy target. He piled extra work on him, blamed him for every mistake and scolded him even when he did things right.

Sometimes, the scolding ended in blows.

The boy would stand with his head bowed, tears rolling down his cheeks. He endured everything because he feared losing his livelihood. The master paid his relatives a small monthly amount, but the manager exploited the boy’s helplessness without restraint.

Years passed. The boy grew older, but the abuse continued.

Then came that day.

The manager shouted, threatened and struck him as usual. Something in the boy finally snapped. He punched the manager, who stumbled and fell. The boy pushed him down and struck him repeatedly before standing up, breathing heavily, his eyes fixed on the man who had tormented him for years.

The manager struggled to his feet, unable to believe what had happened. Enraged, he called the police.

When the officers arrived, they listened to the accounts and examined the circumstances, including the bundles of money in the house. To the manager’s surprise, they took him away rather than the servant.

The man who had always felt powerful when dealing with someone weaker had suddenly discovered his own vulnerability.

The Lesson

The drum gets the beatings, and the drummer gets paid. Those at the bottom often carry the burden while those above them enjoy the benefits.

Never mistake silence for weakness or patience for an unlimited capacity to endure injustice. This does not justify violence, but it reminds us that prolonged oppression can have consequences nobody expects.

Do not wait until someone breaks down or strikes back before recognising their humanity.

Look at how you treat the people who make your daily life easier. The security guard who manages your gate, the auto driver who takes you through congested roads, the delivery person who brings your package to your doorstep, the domestic worker who keeps your home running, or the junior colleague who does much of the work behind your success. They are people with feelings, struggles and families of their own.

Offer a smile. Say thank you. If an auto fare or delivery deserves a little extra and you can afford it, be generous. Appreciate your team members and invest time in helping them grow. Correct them privately, never humiliate them publicly, and pay them fairly when you have the means.

These are not grand gestures. They are small expressions of compassion that preserve another person's dignity. You may never know how much a kind word or a little consideration means to someone who spends the day being ignored or taken for granted.

If you are a manager, remember that you are a steward, not an owner, of the people entrusted to your care. Their poverty, limited education or dependence on you is never an excuse to exploit them.

Treat others as you would want them to treat you. — Matthew 7:12

You will not become poorer by showing kindness. You may make someone else's day, and discover that you have made your own better, too.

The Bible reminds us:

“Do not be proud, but be willing to associate with people of low position. Do not be conceited.” — Romans 12:16

 

Unframing the Past

Have We Framed People on the Wall?

മലയാളത്തിൽ വായിക്കാൻ

“Oh, you have grown up so fast! Look how tall you have become!”

We often say this when we meet someone’s children after many years. We remember the little boy who was running around the house or the little girl who was barely tall enough to reach the table. Now, suddenly, they are grown-ups. We can hardly believe our eyes.

“Children grow up so fast!” we exclaim.

Strangely, other people’s children seem to grow faster than our own. We see our children every day, watching them move from one stage to another. Their growth seems natural and gradual. With other children, we carry an old picture in our minds. When we meet them again, the difference surprises us.

Perhaps this is how we see more than just children.

We take a mental picture of people on a particular day and frame it on the wall of our minds. We label them according to what we know about them: their abilities, weaknesses, appearance, performance, position, and limitations. Then we preserve that picture for years, sometimes for a lifetime.

The trouble begins when the person changes, but our picture does not.

Of course, we have no such difficulty with our own children. We want them to grow, achieve, become successful, and even go further in life than we ever did. When our children become accomplished professionals, travel to distant countries, gain recognition, or reach positions we could only dream of, we are overjoyed. We proudly tell others about their achievements.

Some parents, however, seem to find an opportunity to talk about their children in almost every conversation.

“My son is working in this country. His wife is in another country. Their children are studying there. He has achieved this, and she has accomplished that.”

Before long, an ordinary conversation becomes a presentation of the family’s achievements. The listener may not have asked, but the story continues.

Perhaps it comes from a parent's natural pride and love. Sometimes, however, it may also be an attempt to affirm one's own worth through the achievements of one's children. When we are not sufficiently secure in our own identity, we may feel the need to keep reminding others of who we are through the success of our families.

There is nothing wrong with celebrating our children. The question is whether we can celebrate them without making every conversation about them. Even good news, repeated at every opportunity, can become tiring to those who have come to share a conversation, not attend a family achievement report.

There is another side to this habit of framing people in our minds.

A teacher remembers a student who was once an ordinary boy in the classroom. Perhaps he was not particularly brilliant, rarely answered questions, or struggled with his studies. Twenty years later, that student becomes a successful entrepreneur, a respected professional, or an influential leader.

You would expect the teacher to feel proud. Many teachers do. But some may respond with surprise mixed with reluctance.

“He was never that talented when he was my student. I don't know how he has become so successful!”

Think about it. The student has had twenty years to learn, experiment, fail, improve, and discover his abilities. But the teacher's mental picture has not moved an inch.

We know a person's past so well that we mistakenly believe we know their limits.

This happens among former colleagues, friends, relatives, and people who once worked with us. We may have known someone thirty years ago, and we continue to judge that person by the same old standards. When they develop new skills, move into a different field, or achieve something beyond our expectations, we struggle to update our opinion.

Sometimes, when someone performs better than us or moves to another organization in pursuit of new opportunities, we rush to find their flaws. When viewed through the psychological framework of the Johari Window, all four dimensions of our mindset become clear:

·         Open Area: The other person’s growth, performance, and success are visible realities known to everyone.

·         Blind Spot: As we rush to point out their faults, our underlying envy and feelings of inadequacy leak out. While clearly visible to those around us, this remains an area we fail to see in ourselves.

·         Hidden Area: To conceal our inner fear of failure and inadequacy from others, we put on a mask of criticism.

·         Unknown Area: As long as we stay consumed by envy over others' achievements, our own latent potential and undiscovered talents remain hidden and unexplored.

True personal growth happens when we recognize these four dimensions, actively work to shrink our Blind Spot, and expand our Open Area..

Perhaps they are learning, growing, and exploring opportunities that we have never considered. We may not know enough about their circumstances to make a fair judgment, but our old picture is already ready with its labels.

When people no longer fit the image we have of them, we sometimes try to reduce the person rather than enlarge the picture.

Not every change is progress, of course. People can make mistakes, and fair criticism has its place. But there is a difference between exercising discernment and refusing to recognise that another person has grown.

People are not photographs. They are living stories. They learn, fail, recover, discover their abilities, and sometimes become people we never imagined they could be.

Let us, therefore, be more generous in the way we see others. Let us allow people to grow in our minds just as they are growing in real life. We do not have to exaggerate their achievements or approve of everything they do. We simply need to recognise that our knowledge of them may be incomplete and our old impressions may no longer be accurate.

The next time we meet someone after many years, perhaps we should look at them with fresh eyes.

And before we criticise someone, let us ask ourselves a simple question: Have we invested even thirty minutes or an hour in that person's life recently? Have we taken the trouble to understand their circumstances, listen to their story, or discover what they have been through? If we have not, perhaps we should be a little slower to judge.

We may have known them once. That does not mean we know them fully today.

Seeing Beyond the Surface

This habit of preserving static mental pictures stands in sharp contrast to how God sees us. Scripture reminds us: "Do not judge by appearances, but judge with right judgment" (John 7:24). Human nature naturally focuses on the outward surface—past mistakes, old roles, and physical limitations—but "the Lord looks at the heart" (1 Samuel 16:7).

When we hold people to outdated frames, we view them strictly "according to the flesh" (2 Corinthians 5:16). True discernment requires seeing beyond these external surfaces. As we are renewed into the image of God, we begin to reflect His vision: looking past labels, recognizing inner potential, and allowing others the grace to grow into who God is calling them to be.

Let us stop framing people in the past and give them room to grow in our minds.

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