Throughout my life, I have learned that people are neither “evil” nor “good.” It’s not that simple. Morality is not black or white, but often grey. And two particular experiences taught me a great deal about how I view morality.

When I was five, I spent a lot of time with my dad in Uzbekistan. I remember we often drew together. Once, he told me to “draw a circle and put two dots,” for a face, demonstrating on his piece of paper. I recall his picture of a happy family made of stick figures. I thought his drawing was no better than a five year old’s, but I smiled and drew as he did anyway.

I remember the times I rode on his shoulders, drew with him, and played with him. There were those happy moments. And those moments that we shared together showed me all the good in my father.

But little did I know at the time that my mom spent those moments in tears.

She had told me of his abusive tendenciesーhow she would stand up for herself and escape him. She became a symbol of strength and resilience to me as I grew older, while the good image of my father slowly disintegrated. I ended up resenting him.

The second experience occurred when I arrived in America. I became a target for bullies who tormented me incessantly. Yet, I neither surrendered my dignity nor submitted to weakness. As they insulted me, I stood up. They accused me of being naive, I smiled. I learned to persevere. But anger and frustration consumed me.  

It would only be later that I learned the truth about my father and the bullies. I discovered that my father struggled with substance abuse all his life. His blurred vision of reality led him to react in the most repulsive ways. My mother later spoke to me about his regrets and sincerest apologies.

While that did not change what he had done, it made the idea of him being defined as entirely good or bad much more complicated.

A few years later, I learned those bullies that tormented me struggled with their own insecurities. In an environment consumed by poverty, they had all suffered in their own way. I pondered if they had projected those hardships and insecurities onto me, and I began to think that perhaps not everything is what it appears to be. Perhaps there is a little more to it, maybe there is another story; another side to people. Slowly, the simple dichotomous thinking that people are either good or evil washed away.

I no longer thought of people in either one of the two dimensions, but recognized there will forever be a grey area; a nuance of evil and good. I grew up learning its complexity; notions of what is right and what is wrong is a shallow dichotomy condensed for the sake of simplicity. In the end, my father and those bullies were neither completely good nor completely evil.

Soon after, I began to sympathize with people in novels, movies, and, most importantly, in life. Those experiences led me to believe there is good in even the most villainous characters. While I remember others enraged and furious, I felt sorrow and empathy towards them.

I began to trying to find the tiniest drop of good in everyone.  

In my junior year of high school. I visited a youth court in the Tri Valley. I remember going through the responsibilities of a juror in my head, but could nevertheless understand my role. “Would I decide her verdict or merely witness other jurors in action?” I wondered. I decided to go in blind; I could not surrender an experience teeming with mystery. Feelings of excitement and curiosity flared within. We were seated and a pretty girl walked to the front. She began to describe her crime: theft. I then understood I would be one among many volunteers who decided her verdict.

When she finished her story, we were directed to another room for discussion. I recall our heated conversation over her future. Some believed she did not regret her actions, and therefore considered her arrogant. But, in reality, she had neither played ignorant nor pushed blame. Indeed she displayed a facade of strength, but anxiety and fear hid under. Her voice shook with nervousness, her fingers tugged on each other furiously, and she drowned in tears. I strongly believed these actions conveyed her deep remorse. She deserved sympathy in my opinion.

This was one of the many times I had sympathized with people while no one else did. Thinking of my past, of my father, I knew there was more to her story. When my friends and family discussed comic villains, I would again be the only one defending them.

While I argued that their villany is a byproduct of a cruel environment, the debate would always end with a flat out point: “these characters are simply evil.”

But, perhaps there is a little good and a little evil in everyone. Perhaps they deserve a second chance. Clarence Darrow, one of the most prominent defense attorneys, once said, “[he is] pleading for the future….When we can learn by, reason and judgment and understanding and faith that all life is worth saving, and that mercy is the highest attribute of man.”

I decided there is value in every person, in the girl, in the bullies, and in my father.