A Child Who Changes Everything
Fernando De Haro - We have a miracle, a total present, a now without shadow.
The now of a child being born. There is no past, and there is no future. Try to understand what I mean. There is always a past, and there is always a future, but now we have a miracle, a total present, a now without shadow. The now of a child being born. The gerund is important: being born.
When I say there is no more past, I am talking about nostalgia. What I mean is that we are given the opportunity not to be dominated by nostalgia for a past that we think is gone but that, in fact, never existed. Often, you and I are stuck in the memory of a golden age that is only a projection of our frustrations. We think we lived in happier times, the good old days. In reality, we were walking among ruins that had always been uninhabited.
The good past is only good when it is also present. In this sense, I say there is no past anymore. There is no future either. Let me explain further: there is not that future to which we always flee under the illusion that projects and dreams will give us what we do not yet have. There is not that future that fills us with anguish because it is unknown.
There is a total now, a child, a beginning. And the future is the assurance that this child will continue to be a beginning, no matter what happens. We do not know what life will hold in store for us. We long for happy days and prosperous years. We expect loyalty from friends, justice, and respect from the powerful. But we can only be sure that this child will continue to be a beginning.
And that is better than any oracle or any good prediction.There is no more judgment. On this, too, I must explain myself. Stealing is stealing. Lying is lying. Raping women is bad, very bad. When I said there is no judgment, what I mean is that judgment is mercy. It no longer matters if you had five husbands or if you collaborated with the invader. Pastors are unclean, almost as unclean as a prostitute. Everyone does what they can, trying to find a solution to their life in one way or another.
Who can judge? The judgment is that a child has brought, and continues to bring, a radical beginning. The beginning is not that the adulteress stops going from bed to bed or that the thief returns everything he stole and becomes a donor to an NGO. That would be too little. It is not about fixing something that is broken. It is much more than that.
The child is being born, and, as the poet says, he is not dedicated to pronouncing condemnatory sentences against a perverse world, nor is he dedicated to “making opposition.” The child initiated then and initiates now (there is no good past without a present) another way of being human, a path to reach the fullness of being human.
There is no more wound. And here I have to explain myself in detail. Because there is always a wound: there are small wounds and big wounds. We all know their many names. There are wounds that never close. I say this in a low voice, almost without daring: in the wound, more than anywhere else, the child is being born. The birth of the child in the wound is often just the possibility of something being different. The possibility that the pain will not sully or destroy.
The possibility that after what seems like a resounding no from fate, there is an unexpected yes.
There are no more explanations. This is easier. You have to explain where the nearest pharmacy is; you have to explain why subatomic particles are in two places at once. The problem is that, often, we are convinced that everything will work out with a good speech, with lots of coherent logical arguments (we call them reasons), with good ideas, and with good plans.
And the child being born is the supreme reason, not because he is a professor of logic or a preacher of sound doctrine. The word is clear because it has become flesh. And any word that speaks of his flesh without being his flesh confuses things further.
There are no consequences, no principles to apply, and no strategies to add anything. Only a child being born: a hope, a judgment of mercy. And the possibility of the wound being an opportunity for liberation.
Fernando de Haro, born 1965 in Madrid, is a prominent Spanish journalist and radio broadcaster. He directs "La Tarde" on Cadena COPE, has authored several books, and contributes academically. De Haro holds degrees in Information Sciences and Law, and is known for his insightful media work.
This article has been translated from its original source solely for educational and informational purposes, intending to facilitate understanding and foster knowledge sharing.
Please note that the translator or distributor makes no claims of authorship or intellectual property ownership of this version. All intellectual property rights, including copyright, remain with the original authors and publishers. Any reproduction, redistribution, or adaptation of this material for purposes beyond its intended educational use is strictly prohibited without prior consent from the original rights holders.
This translation respects and honors the integrity of the original work and its authorship, ensuring it is neither misrepresented nor plagiarized.
