| The Rung of Laddering |
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As I am writing this I'm keenly aware that I'll need a convincing moral alibi or I might end up hoisted with my own petard, so to speak. It's a good thing we have a saying to provide for this, all the more so given my fondness for playing devil's advocate. In my opinion a separate course should be devoted to this at secondary school level, given that the much-sought-after grasp of what compassion is will only be sparked when people try empathising with that which is not understood. Nor would I dare call into question the words of the expert who in the 9 December edition of Het Parool, the daily newspaper, stated this his type of art robbery (he was talking about the two Van Gogh paintings that were recently swiped from the museum bearing that august name, the burglars not even having had to bring their own climbing gear thanks to the builders, who had been good enough to leave one of their ladders sitting outside on the roof) was only ever committed by common burglars - an intriguing comment even if I had nothing to say on the matter, suggesting as it does that some burglars by contrast are civilised and well-versed individuals who wouldn't dream of including anything by Van Gogh in whatever it is that they nick. Leaving aside the question as to whether we are in fact dealing with civilised people, I have a different explanation. Just think about it: it's late at night, you're touring the country and the ease with which one treasure after another falls into your lap makes you feel you're tangoing. I hasten to add that I wouldn't dream of underestimating the grief and misery inflicted upon those who are robbed and burgled: having personally been the victim of five burglaries and eight thefts, I have nothing but sympathy for what the victims are going through, which entitles me as a fellow victim to express wonder at the demanding work performed by these uncouth individuals and the risk to which they are exposed, all alone and in the dead of night. But I digress. After the umpteenth effortless acquisition, during the long drive home, your thoughts start wondering. You are thinking, What the heck, there's more to life than money, it's immortality I'm after, I want to be the king of burglars, he who can do what no other burglar is capable of. What should I steal to prove it? Nothing common will do, you realise, which motherboards or chi-chi watches. And it's at this precise juncture that your well-rounded education manifests itself: art, of course. A second interjection is in order. I understand how disheartening it must be for experts in social and cultural welfare to have to admit that even their efforts can be translated into criminal conduct, although in the hands of the appropriate entertainment producer this could yield plenty of amusement, but how is that my responsibility? I am merely the messenger, the envoy who is keen to hear from his fellow creatures whether or not it's true what he's conveying. In the event, however, that it's unacceptable for me to have these thoughts, I cannot all the same accept that there aren't multitudes of others who are also wondering what the hell it is that makes those thieves tick, for I can't be so special as to be the only one in the whole world who feels the need from time to time to contemplate the seamier side of life without instantly resorting to verbal violence, and even less so given that the ladder had been ready and waiting for several days. Or do you think they made that bit up, that it was more of an act of revenge vis-à-vis the miscreants, along the lines of "No matter how tall the ladder may be, the social ladder is out of your reach", rubbing their noses in it by adding the word "common"? There's plenty of stuff happening between the lines, see? |