My Selfish Gene

My Selfish Gene

            Biologist Richard Dawkins named the selfish gene in 1976, a gene that, contrary to the traditional concept of serving as a vehicle of inheritance, rather, exploits the organism in which it occurs as a vehicle for its self-perpetuation. This view also explains altruism at the individual level in nature, especially in kin relationships: when an organism sacrifices its own life to protect the lives of its relatives, it is essentially acting in the interest of its own genes. Thus, this self-sacrifice is for the genetic well-being of the remaining species, and the perpetuation of the gene itself.

            To borrow Jane Austen’s words, I have been a selfish being all my life, in practice, though not in principle. This selfish gene certainly sheds light on my assumption of selflessness, in sacrificing my interests in some occasions, for the sake of others. Dawkins tells me that all the while, I have been acting for my sake alone. The times I gave the last slice of my favorite cake to my sister, or helped a stranger, or given my time in service of others – all of these I (un)consciously did for myself.

            But nowhere is my selfishness more evident than in my reluctance to talk about my place, or help in its development. As a writing neophyte, but writing still, I definitely have the opportunity to make known what I want to be known, especially politically, to help my place progress from being a 5^th class town to something a little better. But out of selfishness, I don’t. In the words of US writer Henry David Thoreau in Walden, or Life in the Woods, my argument was that, “By avarice and selfishness, and a groveling habit, from which none of us is free, of regarding the soil as property...the landscape is deformed.” Our town was now in danger of exploitation by foreigners starting a gold mine in the island across us even without being known to the outside world, how much more exploitation would happen if the road connecting our town to the national highway would already be constructed and finished, when everyone could reach us in just a matter of minutes?

            You see, the main problem with our town is that we don’t have a road connecting us to the other towns in Samar, and therefore, to the national highway. That’s why people often mistake our place as an island, because the only means of transportation is through motorboats when in fact, we are just next to Sta. Rita on the map, just a few hundred kilometres away from the national highway. By writing about our town, and this crippling lack of land transportation, I could make things better for my fellowmen.

Again, I reasoned out that the availability of land transportation would mean not just development and progress for us in the long run, but also destruction and corruption of our natural resources. Even though this reluctance to write is essentially denying myself the benefits of a better and faster transportation going home and back, and that I am depriving myself of the comforts of going home after a busy week at school, I argued that this was for the best, especially for the future generations, to still be able to enjoy the clear blue skies, green mountains and blue seas in our place. Honestly, though, I didn’t want to have that road made so that I’d still be able to enjoy the wind and the sea breeze on the trip going home and back. And this selfishness was denying my fellowmen the chance to a better life.

But a very close friend once reasoned with me, did I think my sentiments were the same as the sentiments of my people? Good for me that I was studying in the city, that I wouldn’t be living in my place forever. But what about those who will build their homes there? What about my classmates who weren’t able to go to college and were left with no choice but to stay? Was I helping to perpetuate my kind of people by leaving my fellowmen in my town while the more privileged of us get out and live in the city? More importantly, of what worth am I as a struggling writer if I don’t help my place, of all things?

            I used to rationalize that I wouldn’t write about my town just to smooth things further for the politicians and businessmen to grab the opportunity of big money through the road construction and the prospective businesses that will be set up in my place. But I realize I am hindering my fellowmen more; because it is they who are most affected. I know I wouldn’t live in our town forever; it is my duty to at least make it better to live in for the people who will stay there.

            My selfish gene has to be mutated so that I will now be selfish, but according to the definition of US writer and journalist Ambrose Bierce, ”devoid of consideration for the selfishness of others” (in this case, the people who will take advantage of this road). With apologies to Celtic Woman, Talalora, you’re calling me, soon I will write about you, soon I will go home.