Never-ending Story

By Rafael Abasolo

I read somewhere that once upon a time there was a king in a faraway country who wanted to make some improvements to his palace.

There was a piece of land next to his palace that the king wanted to include in his project, but the piece of land belonged to a poor peasant farmer who had nothing more than that piece of land inherited from his ancestors.

Since the farmer didn't want to sell his land, the king was utterly distressed to the point that he couldn't eat or sleep.

His wife, the queen, was worried about her husband and how depressed he was. When she found out what was upsetting her husband, she decided to do something about it, and told the king what she would do.

The queen sent letters to her subjects telling them of this peasant who was insolent enough to oppose the wishes of the king. She also said that this man was a rebellious subject who was hurting the kingdom and needed to be punished. She urged the local authorities to prosecute the peasant. The authorities declared him guilty. He was put to death, and the peasant's land title was given to the queen, who gave it to her husband. The king could now do as he pleased and go ahead with his palace improvement dream.

I read this story somewhere. In fact, I have read it more than once. The story is from a famous book, the Bible, and it appears in The First Book of Kings, chapter 21.

Then, the other day I realized that what I thought was an old story is in fact not old at all. Nor does it refer to a faraway country in the distant past. The story has been reenacted nowadays, just a few kilometers south from where I live. And it was happening to the poor neighbors of some dear friends of mine living in a monastery.

Because these poor neighbors were refusing to sell the land of their ancestors ― the only land they had ― to a powerful business company, they were treated as if they were traitors of the larger community, the city, and the country. In other words, not only were they about to lose their land, their livelihood and the life they had known, but were also their honor and good name.

It is a sad story, indeed. And the saddest part of it is that it hit so close home. It was about my friends, their friends and the beautiful shores of the South Sea, which were about to undergo a face-lift for the worse.

And yet, I thought, this could turn out to be a happy story, a story in which people would not have to be killed or lose their livelihood ― which is about the same thing, in the end.

So, I reasoned. If the common good requires the poor peasants' lands to be used, the peasants must also benefit from the common good. Similarly, if the peasants have to sacrifice their lands for the good of the nation, the rich businessmen would also have to sacrifice their earnings for the good of the nation.

As it is, the peasants are asked to give all they have. It is only reasonable, therefore, that the rich companies and governments be asked to share their part of the burden.

Ethical behavior on the part of the big corporations, companies, authorities and common people is what contributes to the real common good of the nation.

Perhaps sprinkling around some ethics could bring about a happy ending to this story. For it is truly hard to guarantee the common good without common sacrifice. What is needed, therefore, is a social climate in which everyone is ready to make some sacrifice, to give up something one would like to keep, offering it, instead, for the good of the community. Benefit-sharing implies sacrifice-sharing.

Speaking of benefits, this much can be said. Our story will end well the day everybody gets ``an offer they cannot refuse.'' Don't get me wrong. I don't mean the kind of offer ``The Godfather'' makes in the famous movie. What I mean is an offer that looks really good to those concerned, and an offer that is fulfilled.

The writer is a member of Our Lady of Peace Friary in Seoul. He can be reached at frarafa@yahoo.com.