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IF THE WORLD WERE A VILLAGE OF 100 PEOPLE

My daughter's junior high school teacher is a wonderful woman who sends out an e-mail
every day to her students, in the form of a class paper.

Among these messages there was one that so moved me that I want to send it to you.
Sorry if it's a bit long.

When you woke this morning, did you look forward joyously to the day?
When you go to bed tonight, do you think you will be filled with satisfaction?
Do you think the place you are is precious?

It is to you who cannot say right away, "Yes, of course" that I send this message.
If you read this, the things around you might start to look a little different.

In the world today, 6 billion 300 million people live.
If this world were shrunk to the size of a village, what would it look like?
If 100 people lived in this village, 52 would be women, 48 would be men.
30 would be children, 70 would be adults, among these, 7 would be aged.

90 would be heterosexual, 10 would be gay or lesbian.

70 would be non-white, 30 would be white.
61 would be Asians, 13 Africans, 13 from North and South America, 12 Europeans,
and the remaining one from the South Pacific.

33 would be Christians, 19 believers in Islam, 13 would be Hindus,
and 6 would follow Buddhist teaching.
5 would believe that there are spirits in the trees and rocks and in all of nature.
24 would believe in other religions, or would believe in no religion.

17 would speak Chinese, 9 English, 8 Hindi and Urdu, 6 Spanish, 6 Russian, and 4 would speak Arabic.
That would account for half the village.
The other half would speak Bengal, Portuguese, Indonesian, Japanese, German, French,
or some other languages.

In such a village, with so many sorts of folks, it would be very important to learn
to understand people different from yourself, and to accept others as they are.

But consider this.
Of the 100 people in this village, 20 are undernourished, 1 is dying of starvation,
while 15 are overweight.

Of the wealth in this village, 6 people own 59%, - all of them from the United States -
74 people own 39%, and 20 people share the remaining 2%.
Of the energy of this village, 20 people consume 80%, and 80 people share the remaining 20%.

75 people have some supply of food and a place to shelter them from the wind and the rain,
but 25 do not.
17 have no clean, safe water to drink.

If you have money in the bank, money in your wallet and spare changes somewhere around the house, you are among the richest 8.
If you have a car, you are among the richest 7.

Among the villagers 1 has a college education. 2 have computers. 14 cannot read.

If you can speak and act according to your faith and your conscience
without harassment, imprisonment, torture or death,
then you are more fortunate than 48, who can not.

If you do not live in fear of death by bombardment, armed attack, landmines,
or of rape or kidnapping by armed groups,
then you are more fortunate than 20, who do.

In one year, 1 person in the village will die, but, in the same year, 2 babies will be born,
so that at the year's end, the number of villagers will be 101.

If you can read this e-mail, that means you are thrice-blessed.
First, because someone thought of you, and sent you this message.
Second, because you are able to read.
Third, and most important, because you are alive.

Someone once said:
What you send out comes back again.

So sing from the bottom of your heart, dance with your body waving free,
and live, putting your soul into it.
And when you love, love as though you have never been wounded, even if you have.

And love the fact that you, and others, live here, in this village.

Perhaps, if enough of us learn to love our village
it may yet be possible to save it from the violence that is tearing it apart.


(½Ðŵ:¡ÖÀ¤³¦¤¬¤â¤·£±£°£°¿Í¤Î¼¤À¤Ã¤¿¤é¡×ŽÏ޶ŽÞ޼ŽÞŽÝŽÊ޳޽)


The white cat had many, many cute little kittens.
The cat no longer said "You know, I've ¡Ä"
The cat came to like the white cat and all her little kittens
   more than he liked himself.

In due time, all the little kittens grew up,
   and went their separate ways.
"They all became splendid wild cats, didn't they."
   the cat said with satisfaction.
"Yes." the white cat said, purring softly.
The white cat grown a little old.
The cat purred even more softly.
He wanted to live together always with the white cat.

One day, the white cat laid beside the cat, and quietly stopped moving.
The cat cried for the first time ever,
   all day and all night.
All day and all night, he cried a million million tears.
Day and night, day and night the cat cried,
   until one day, when the sun was high and bright, he stopped.
Lying beside the white cat, he quietly stopped moving.

The cat was never, ever born again.
 
The end.



The Cat Who Lived a Million Times

Once, there was a cat who lived for a million years.
He died a million times. He lived a million times.
He was truly a splendid tabby-cat.
A million people loved him,
   and a million people cried when he died.
But never once did the cat cry.

Once, the cat belonged to a King.
The cat really hated the King.
The King was good at war, so the King always went to war.
He always put the cat into a splendid cage and took him along.
One day, a stray arrow hit the cat and he died.
Right in the middle of battle, the King held the cat
   and cried.
The King quit the war and went home to his castle.
He buried the cat in the castle's garden.

Once, the cat belonged to a seaman.
The cat really hated the sea.
The seaman took the cat across all the world's seas, and all the world's bays.
One day, the cat fell out of the boat.
The cat could not swim.
The seaman quickly caught the cat in a net and pulled him back onto the boat.
But the cat was soaked through. He got sick and died.
The seaman hugged the cat, who now looked like a wet rag,
   and cried loudly.
He buried the cat beneath a tree in the park of a faraway bayside town.

Once, the cat was a circus magician's cat.
The cat really hated the circus.
Every day, the magician would put the cat into a little box,
   and then saw the box right in half.
He would pull the balled-up cat out of the box,
   and the crowd would clap and cheer.
One day, the magician made a mistake, and really did saw the cat right in half.
The magician held the two pieces of the cat, one dangling from each hand,
   and cried loudly.
No one clapped or cheered.
He buried the cat beneath the circus's biggest tent.

Once, the cat was a thief's cat.
The cat really, really hated thievery.
The thief would always take the cat into towns at night,
   quietly sneaking like a cat down the dark alleys.
The thief would only break into houses that had dogs.
While the dog barked at the cat, he would go break into the safe.
One day, the cat was bitten by a dog, and died.
The thief hugged the cat and a stolen diamond, walking down the alleys
   and crying loudly.
He went home and buried the cat in his small yard.

Once, the cat was a lonely old widow's cat.
The cat really, really hated the lonely old widow.
Every day, the widow would hold the cat in her lap
   and stare out a little first-floor window.
The cat would sit in the widow's lap all day, and nap.
In due time, the cat grew old, and died.
The decrepit old widow held the decrepit old cat,
   and cried all day.
She buried the cat underneath the a tree in her garden.

Once, the cat was a little girl's cat.
The cat really, really hated children.
The girl would make the cat ride piggy-back,
   or sleep holding him too tight.
When the girl cried, she would wipe her tears off on the cat's back.
One day, the girl made the cat ride piggy-back
   by tying a string around his neck. The cat died.
The girl hugged the wobbly-necked cat,
   and cried all day.
She buried the cat underneath a tree in her garden.

The cat didn't really mind dying.

Once, the cat was nobody's cat.
He was a wild cat.
For the first time the cat was his own cat.
The cat really, really liked himself.
For you know, he was a truly splendid tabby cat,
So of course he made a truly splendid wild cat.

Every girl cat wanted to be the cat's wife.
Some brought him big fish as presents.
Some brought him the best mice as presents.
Some brought him presents from unusual journeys.
Some said he was greater than the greatest of tigers.
The cat said: "I've died a million times. After so long a time, this is amusing!"
The cat liked himself better than anyone else.

There was only one cat who never looked his way.
She was a beautiful white cat.
The cat would go up to her and say: "I've died a million times!"
"Oh." is all the white cat would say.
The cat was a little angry, for you know he liked himself better than anyone else.
The next day and the next, the cat would go up to the white cat and say:
"You'll probably only live once, you know."
"Oh." is all the white cat would say.

One day, the cat stood in front of the white cat
and turned three summersaults in a row.
He said: "Once, I was a circus cat, you know."
"Oh." is all the white cat would say.
"You know, I've died a¡Ä" the cat started to say, then:
"Do you mind if I stay with you?" he asked the white cat.
"No," she said.
From then on, the cat was always with the white cat.


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¡ÈJerusalem Prize" Remarks

Good evening.  I have come to Jerusalem today as a novelist, which is to say as a professional spinner of lies.
Of course, novelists are not the only ones who tell lies.  Politicians do it, too, as we all know. Diplomats and generals tell their own kinds of lies on occasion, as do used car salesmen, butchers and builders.  The lies of novelists differ from others, however, in that no one criticizes the novelist as immoral for telling lies.  Indeed, the bigger and better his lies and the more ingeniously he creates them, the more he is likely to be praised by the public and the critics.  Why should that be?

My answer would be this: namely, that by telling skilful lies--which is to say, by making up fictions that appear to be true--the novelist can bring a truth out to a new place and shine a new light on it.  In most cases, it is virtually impossible to grasp a truth in its original form and depict it accurately.  This is why we try to grab its tail by luring the truth from its hiding place, transferring it to a fictional location, and replacing it with a fictional form.  In order to accomplish this, however, we first have to clarify where the truth-lies within us, within ourselves.  This is an important qualification for making up good lies.

Today, however, I have no intention of lying.  I will try to be as honest as I can.  There are only a few days in the year when I do not engage in telling lies, and today happens to be one of them.
So let me tell you the truth.  In Japan a fair number of people advised me not to come here to accept the Jerusalem Prize.  Some even warned me they would instigate a boycott of my books if I came.  The reason for this, of course, was the fierce fighting that was raging in Gaza.  The U.N. reported that more than a thousand people had lost their lives in the blockaded city of Gaza, many of them unarmed citizens--children and old people.

Any number of times after receiving notice of the award, I asked myself whether traveling to Israel at a time like this and accepting a literary prize was the proper thing to do, whether this would create the impression that I supported one side in the conflict, that I endorsed the policies of a nation that chose to unleash its overwhelming military power.  Neither, of course, do I wish to see my books subjected to a boycott.
Finally, however, after careful consideration, I made up my mind to come here.  One reason for my decision was that all too many people advised me not to do it.  Perhaps, like many other novelists, I tend to do the exact opposite of what I am told.  If people are telling me-- and especially if they are warning me-- "Don't go there," "Don't do that," I tend to want to "go there" and "do that".  It's in my nature, you might say, as a novelist.  Novelists are a special breed.  They cannot genuinely trust anything they have not seen with their own eyes or touched with their own hands.
And that is why I am here.  I chose to come here rather than stay away.  I chose to see for myself rather than not to see.  I chose to speak to you rather than to say nothing.

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