Best Episode Ever is a column about our favorite episodes of certain series; the ones that we feel go a little bit beyond 30 minutes of distraction and advertisements.
I don’t believe in God.
I don’t expect this to be a shocking revelation. There are many people who have selected “Atheist” from the drop-down menu on their Facebook profile editor. I don’t really like talking about it, but I think it makes a relevant lead for this entry.
As far back as I can remember, people have always done more for me than some man/woman/whatever in the sky. And perhaps you have found a guiding force or comfort in some variation of deity, and that’s fine. I mean, hey, who am I to rain on your parade? But in my own experience, it got a whole lot better once I started allowing myself to depend solely on people. I’m not going to say they’ve never let me down, but they’ve come through for me a hell of a lot more often than faith ever did.
Lately I’ve realized that zombie movies offer a decent parallel for my personal beliefs. They almost always illustrate the power of humans over unstoppable forces. There’s no time to sit and wait for divine intervention when you’re surrounded by decaying, oozing, impulse-driven monsters. All that’s left to do is trust your gut and try and join forces with anyone else you can find. You might not have won by the time the credits start rolling, but you’ll have gotten pretty far.
That’s not to say I’d fare well in the event of a zombie apocalypse. I’ve pretty much accepted that I will be one of the first ones to go. My editorial career path has supplied me with absolutely zero end-of-the-world survival skills, and I have abnormally poor vision for someone my age. What if the apocalypse comes while I’m wearing my contacts? Those will make a terrific petri dish for infectious diseases after marinating in my eye juices for a few days. Or worse, what if it comes while I’m sleeping? Even if I have time to grab my glasses I really doubt they’d make it through my first run-for-your-life situation. Significantly compromised eyesight combined with my irrational love of cute animals will amount to swift death for me. “Is that a kitty? OHSHITNOIT’SAZOMBIE” graggghhhhkkkgggg. Done.
I’m also not saying that faith in your fellow man will lead you to any better place than a utopian afterlife. Very few apocalypse scenarios end with the survivors sharing fresh food around a campfire and starting anew. I’m just saying it makes more sense that surrendering your own sense to some ambiguous force that hasn’t done anything for you that you or other people haven’t ultimately brought to fruition, during a crisis or your day-to-day life. Frank Turner nails it on the last track of his latest album:
If we accept that there’s an endgame and we haven’t got much time
Then in the here and now we can try and do things right
We’d be our own Salvation Army and together we’d believe
in all the wondrous things that mere mortals can achieve…
Zombie movies have taught me that if we’re going to put all our trust in something, it’s better invested in ourselves or the person standing next to us. That way, when we run headfirst into some kind of horrific situation (as we all eventually will in life), there’s at least a sliver of hope for some bright spots in our dim future. Shutting your eyes tight and talking to someone that never answers is only going to make you go crazy faster.
Take, for instance, the storyline in Episode 4, Season 1 of The Walking Dead: “Vatos”. Rick (whom I always want to call Frank, because I am confusing him with Frank “Grimey” Grimes), Darryl, T-Dog, and Glenn venture back into Atlanta to find Darryl’s brother, Merle, and retrieve the bag of guns and ammo Rick dropped in his haste to escape a horde of walkers. After finding that Merle is gone, Glenn goes down to the street to grab the guns, but runs afoul of a group of Latino men who have laid claim to the stash. They take Glenn hostage and retreat back to a deserted building with a walled-off atrium. Rick attempts to strike a deal with them for Glenn and the guns, but the men won’t agree to his terms. Just as guns are drawn, an elderly woman emerges and makes her way through the impending melee to Felipe, one of the gang’s leaders.
“He needs his medicine,” she says in a thick accent.
Guillermo and Felipe call a halt to things, and we follow them into the building. It’s a nursing home, and the men have been caring for a group of elderly residents that were left behind in the evacuation of Atlanta.
When I first saw this episode last year, I was so thankful to finally see a well-rounded representation of Latinos on TV. Sometimes I despair at how Mexicans are portrayed in the media. I don’t claim to be all that Mexican — I’m biologically only half-Mexican, and I was not raised with much influence from the culture, but seemingly every Taco Bell commercial nonetheless makes me bury my face in shame. When it’s revealed that they’ve been caring for the seniors left behind in a local nursing home, it’s clear someone on staff did their research, or more likely simply knew from experience. One of the most binding facets of Mexican-American cultures is family, and like a lot of other cultures, there is an ingrained sense of respect for grandparents and the elderly. It’s more likely for Latino families to let their infirm relatives live with them instead of sending them to a nursing home. George Lopez even brings it up in one of his earlier stand-up specials: “That’s just not what we do.”
And sure, they’re all tattooed, posturing, fly-off-the-handle thug types, which some may consider a crude stereotype, but what culture doesn’t have a tough-guy stigma attached to it? Italian, Russian, Asian, Irish, — all of them have unsavory angry-guy caricatures that have been represented in media at one time or another. What I’m so impressed with is that the vatos in this episode are given so much dimension. Felipe drops his weapon at the behest of his abuela and tenderly delivers the inhaler to the patient, coaching him in a soothing voice. Squaring off with Rick, T-Dog and Merle, Guillermo claims there are dogs inside that he “picked up from Satan at a yard sale”, tearing Glenn to shreds. They’re purse dogs, settled in a cozy bed.
Guillermo later has a heart-to-heart with Rick in the kitchen.
“They just left them to die,” he says with a long stare, then talks about plans to get the residents out of the city and to a safer place. It appears to me that he knows it’s a lost cause, that all of it is a lost cause, but what else can he do? Something’s going to get them all eventually, be it virus, mortal wound, starvation, or just plain old age, just as something’s going to get us all eventually. All he and his crew can do is make life a little more comfortable for those who can’t defend themselves.
And, oh yes, without faith and the corresponding belief in an afterlife, I am terrified of death. I get panic attacks about it sometimes. But when I’m not panicking, I’m still here on Earth. And while I’m here, there’s absolutely nothing else I can do except make myself and others happy. And no matter what gets me in the end, I intend to do that until it comes for me.
And who knows? Maybe one day I’ll change my mind and turn to religion if people ever let me down. I’ve never had faith, but I will always have hope.
