Choose grace

I attended a conference with three friends — Tom, George, and Viola. One particular sentence from our conversation one of those nights still rings in my ears.

We walked up the stairs to a restaurant for dinner after the day’s sessions. As we sat down, we noticed that Viola was not there. Perhaps she had gone to the bathroom, we thought, and we waited. Just as one of us was about to go look for her, she came in. It turned out that as she was about to walk up the stairs to the restaurant, a homeless man had approached her and asked her for some money. Viola, who was known for her gentleness, struck up a conversation with this man about his life and hopes and, specifically, his plans for the money. He wanted to buy himself a backpack—or so he said. She said she did not want to give him the money directly, but since there was a store nearby, she went there with him and bought him a backpack worth $17 (about a thousand rupees at the time). After this small transaction was completed, Viola returned with an uneasy expression on her young face.

George and Tom laughed at her naiveté. Viola was often the butt of our jokes in college — whether for her insistence on using hand sanitizer (this was long before COVID) or for the almost unhealthy affection she felt for her two dogs. Today was this. George said, “You know, don’t you, that he’s since returned the backpack, taken the money, and he might be on his way to get some of his favorite narcotics?” Viola blushed and shrugged with an “oh, I don’t know… what can I do.”

Since we were all graduate students in economics and history, we had started discussing employment, culture, materialism, the ethics of charity, and so on. During dinner we quoted some authors we had studied and the discussion continued, but not in a particular direction. We had slowly moved on to other topics: the conference, our research, and the latest political news. After dinner Tom said softly, “Viola, we have laughed and teased you before… but I think you have done well now. It is better to err on the side of mercy.”

I was in my late twenties at the time. I’m sure the meaning of this phrase didn’t register with me—not because I was young, but because I was immature. Age is an excuse for immaturity. Over the past fifteen years, this conversation has come to my consciousness many times—choose grace. It’s such a beautiful sentiment. It acknowledges that we are fallible. Yet it offers an easy remedy.

Several examples come to mind where an application of this little piece of life instruction could lead to action in professional, maternal, family and other matters. In my previous workplaces, there was often discussion about how to deal with indiscipline in the classroom. Some suggestions that came up were to ban cell phones in the classroom and to lock the doors at the back of the hallway so that students cannot escape while the teacher has his back to you. Measures that ban and lock absolutely produce immediate results (narrowly defined: silence in the classroom), while more liberal measures that take into account the autonomy and individuality of young, immature people can produce long-term results (broadly defined: students who can think about their priorities). This choice is not an easy one, but erring on the side of grace makes for a better night’s sleep.

On to elegant blunders!

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