Obama and Kafka
The news that the Norwegian jury agreed to give President Obama the Nobel Peace Prize caused surprise all across the globe, even for Obama himself. And with good reason. His reaction, totally sincere, was this: “What have I done to deserve it?”
I confess unequivocally that I admire the current president of the U.S. I celebrated his election for many reasons: I like his bold and democratic presence, I appreciate his brilliant speeches, his aim to uphold human rights (something so unappreciated by his predecessor), and for having demonstrated that even in a society so imbued with racial prejudices, intelligence and education are of more value than social origins and skin color.
Something else is that the power of the U.S president, an imperial power if there ever was one, is considerably less than what it’s often thought to be. Not everything the chief of state thinks, wants and says can be translated into action. It’s because even in this so-called democratic society, the entrenched “special interests,” which are part of the imperial state, are notoriously more powerful than the efforts of those who are formally elected to change social and political reality.
For this reason, most of Obama’s promises have not been able to become reality. When awarding prizes, that is what should count. Obama’s confusion following the announcement was more than reasonable, and it has brought to mind the accurate comparison made by Milan Kundera in the memorable book, The Art of the Novel. I don’t have the text on hand and for this reason I am going to write from memory.
The contrasting story by Kundera shows the lives of two famous literature characters: Raskolnikov, the hero (or anti-hero?) of Crime and Punishment, and Josef K., the protagonist of The Trial by Kafka.
Here we go...
Raskolnikov has murdered the pawnbroker Aliona Ivanovna, owner of the room where the youth lives. After the crime has been committed, the crime haunts him in such a way that he becomes obsessed about confessing in order to feel free of this tremendous weight. Meaning, when guilty, you go in search of punishment.
Josef K., on the other hand, knows that he has been condemned by some far away and inaccessible judge who searched in vain for someone to blame. Executioners hunt him down to carry out his death sentence and the character dies with a slit throat, without ever being able to reveal the story’s mystery. After the death, we want to know what the crime was to deserve this, but we never find out.
So, Obama has received the Nobel Peace Prize. How can anyone honestly and reasonably know for sure that his achievements don’t deserve the recognition when faced with the idea that only after receiving the prize you discover the merit?
It appears that the jurors of Oslo have decided, carefully and wisely, that the order of process is as follows: Award the prize with the idea that effective peace policies will follow to justify it.
Let’s hope that on finishing his term, Obama will not be faced with the tragedy of Josef K., and, instead, true merit will be found in the choice to give him the prize and that, retrospectively, he will deserve it. That’s what those that want peace fervently wish for.
I confess unequivocally that I admire the current president of the U.S. I celebrated his election for many reasons: I like his bold and democratic presence, I appreciate his brilliant speeches, his aim to uphold human rights (something so unappreciated by his predecessor), and for having demonstrated that even in a society so imbued with racial prejudices, intelligence and education are of more value than social origins and skin color.
Something else is that the power of the U.S president, an imperial power if there ever was one, is considerably less than what it’s often thought to be. Not everything the chief of state thinks, wants and says can be translated into action. It’s because even in this so-called democratic society, the entrenched “special interests,” which are part of the imperial state, are notoriously more powerful than the efforts of those who are formally elected to change social and political reality.
For this reason, most of Obama’s promises have not been able to become reality. When awarding prizes, that is what should count. Obama’s confusion following the announcement was more than reasonable, and it has brought to mind the accurate comparison made by Milan Kundera in the memorable book, The Art of the Novel. I don’t have the text on hand and for this reason I am going to write from memory.
The contrasting story by Kundera shows the lives of two famous literature characters: Raskolnikov, the hero (or anti-hero?) of Crime and Punishment, and Josef K., the protagonist of The Trial by Kafka.
Here we go...
Raskolnikov has murdered the pawnbroker Aliona Ivanovna, owner of the room where the youth lives. After the crime has been committed, the crime haunts him in such a way that he becomes obsessed about confessing in order to feel free of this tremendous weight. Meaning, when guilty, you go in search of punishment.
Josef K., on the other hand, knows that he has been condemned by some far away and inaccessible judge who searched in vain for someone to blame. Executioners hunt him down to carry out his death sentence and the character dies with a slit throat, without ever being able to reveal the story’s mystery. After the death, we want to know what the crime was to deserve this, but we never find out.
So, Obama has received the Nobel Peace Prize. How can anyone honestly and reasonably know for sure that his achievements don’t deserve the recognition when faced with the idea that only after receiving the prize you discover the merit?
It appears that the jurors of Oslo have decided, carefully and wisely, that the order of process is as follows: Award the prize with the idea that effective peace policies will follow to justify it.
Let’s hope that on finishing his term, Obama will not be faced with the tragedy of Josef K., and, instead, true merit will be found in the choice to give him the prize and that, retrospectively, he will deserve it. That’s what those that want peace fervently wish for.