Arrogance and Oil Spills

By Sandy Lord, CAS ’06

Daybreak. The Dane, Carsten, that I have been walking with and I get up, share a glance and prepare our bags. Seven pounds each have lasted us twenty-eight days to this point, and today, the 23rd of April, is no different. However, today is different, the end of something, and the beginning of something even better. A knowledge more elusive and more sought. But we need some sort of closure, some finish to our Camino.

We meet our French friend, Anthony a little way down the road, but today, different than days passed, we decid to walk with him rather than pass him. His Camino had been one of walking alone, of saying ‘Ultreya’ to passers-by, of taking naps in dry fields next to waterfalls. We had passed him many, many mornings, but now, with closure in sight, we decided to walk together, peregrino by peregrino by peregrino.

After walking for about fifteen kilometers we see a sign: Fisterre ten kilometers, Muxia twenty-five. Our voyage, in one concrete sense, was about to end. After walking eight-hundred sixty-four kilometers, over the Pyrenees, through Pamplona, Burgos, Leon, Santiago and countless remote villages, after having slept in monasteries and refugios, after having eaten bocadillos and chorizo aplenty, we were coming to the physical end. Santiago, a city where many pilgrims stop, was not an adequate finish to our Way: we could see something beyond it. But the Atlantic, the ever-sprawling ocean, with its crystal blue waters, was not something we could walk further on.

At about four in the afternoon we arrive in the township of Fisterre (coming from the Latin ‘finis terrae,’ or ‘the end of the earth’), looking for those last few yellow arrows to point us on the Way. We get a little lost, but eventually find a sign pointing to the Faro (‘lighthouse’, in Galician), and it is there that we know we must go. Climbing up and up a road on a hill, we start to see nothing but ocean in front of us. Finally, we see the Faro, and then the cliffs, and the ocean beyond. Here, Carsten and my Camino ends, and for that we are proud and happy and content. The ocean, with its never-ending brilliance tells us it is ok to not walk anymore, to relax and just enjoy the sunset. There is no civilization in sight, no humanity, just a Frenchman, a Dane, and an American united in one breath, one solid image with nothing to impede our view.

The next morning, Anthony leaves Carsten and I to start his two-day walk to Muxia. He wants to clear his mind up a bit more before returning to civilization and normal life. The coastal route between Fisterre and Muxia was doubtless one of complete beauty and relaxation for Anthony, a man with a completeness in his heart that not many know of.

But let us imagine this scene today. Sick from fumes, looking at an oil slicked ocean, seeing birds and other creatures dead or dying, watching local fishermen out of jobs and unhappy in their lives is the only thing a pilgrim has to look forward to for closure. I consider myself to be a more complete and satisfied person because of my Camino, and I owe much of that satisfaction to that last day and the beautiful sunset. What do the pilgrims, who are arriving in Muxia and Fisterre even as you read this article, have to finish their Way? But more than that, what do the people of the Galician coast have to live with every day? Let me put it this way: How would you react if you were walking down by the Charles and all you could see were ducks struggling to get their way out of oil slicked water? How would you like to breathe the fumes coming from tens upon tens of thousands of gallons of oil as the end to your day? How beautiful would seeing all the fishermen from the South Shore out of jobs be because all the fish are dead or dying?

I didn’t want to get political about this issue, but I am afraid that I must. The world has disrespected one of the most amazing places in nature and in history. What kind of arrogance do we have that we think that this spill is all right? Where is the appreciation for the beauty that others and I have seen? Furthermore, where is the reverence for the simple fact that this is a major world tragedy, not just something happening many thousands of miles away? The indifference for this event is astounding, something for which I, personally, cannot stand.