Reflections of a Rebel – The Representative of Humanity
Updated: May 20
“Does anyone know what's happening about arrestee support for the Shell Action this afternoon?” Confusion. Was there an action? Did someone get arrested? "On Friday, the police arrested 33 activists from the climate action group Extinction Rebellion at Shell headquarters in The Hague.” 33?! What happened? Is everyone okay?
And then I saw the video: a group of people walking with determination... a police woman smiling, saying hi... now approaching the Shell Headquarters... more policemen… agitation… a policeman’s hand grabs a shoulder… one rebel suddenly runs and joins the others who were already there from before, blocking the door… more try to follow… the policemen chase them with swinging clubs… one of them violently strikes an older man, chasing him away… the others follow… screams of pain… “enjoy playing the rich man’s toy”… more shouting in Dutch… cut.
Confusion. This violence…why?? Is everyone okay? I want to be there, with my friends, I want to make sure that they are okay! But I am in Switzerland…why? I feel an impulse, almost as if someone is pushing me from behind, to go back, to join them, to be there for them. But I can’t.
And so I write to a friend… he tells me he is supporting the arrestees and that most were released except for 5. He then writes some things about the Dutch police and legal issues but I cannot follow... I feel my eyes filled with tears, how I wish to give a big hug to everyone! He sees me, saying it’s alright, and promises that arrestee support had a lot of good and loving people there who had all the hugs. It makes me feel better and I thank him.
Two days ago I went to see The Representative of Humanity, a 9 meter awe-inspiring sculpture by Rudolf Steiner and Edith Maryon. I knew that I would return to it but I didn’t imagine that these would be the circumstances. Walking up the hill to the Goetheanum I am confronted with the question: “Who are you, The Representative of Humanity?” Confusion. The images of violence return to my mind, and so do the tears. I walk faster, impatient, now climbing up the stairs to the 4th floor, my heart beating heavier than the clubs of the policemen.
I enter the room. The turmoil inside me is so deafening that it seems like the other visitors are about to cover their ears. I sit down on the floor and I look at Him. Everything else disappears, even the parts of the sculpture that surround Him become irrelevant. It is just Him and I.
Silence. “Who are you?” His face – slim, like a triangle pointing downwards – portrays a quiet force. “Are you the Red Rebel?” No answer. My gaze shifts sideways and acknowledges His raised arm. The other day the woman said that it might represent His attempt to connect with the Heavens. But no... to my dismay I see the raised arm of the policeman tightly gripping his club before swinging it against the poor old man.
Confusion. How can it be??
Silence. How can it be not?
The outer reality is but a reflection of the inner one.
The other is a reflection of myself.