Disturbed

I remember it well. I was a freshman in college and we were covering the holocaust in one of my core history classes. None of the information was new; I had heard it all before. But this time, as I sat in a darkened classroom watching slide after slide of horrific pictures glide across the projection screen, it was different. I was thrown into a state of numb melancholy. For days I wandered through life and around campus in a distressed daze. The gnawing reality of the world’s darkness, the evil, the barbarity, the hopelessness of it all was suffocating. One afternoon I stopped by my professor’s office to drop off an assignment and he asked me how I was doing. He had noticed a change in my demeanor and was concerned. I confided my feelings with him and we talked for a while. My memory fails me concerning the particulars of our conversation, but I remember the overall point he made, and I left strangely comforted and forever changed. Yes, we were covering some very disturbing material and I should be upset about it. In fact, his purpose had been to startle his students into “feeling” something. If we were not moved by the human experience, even its darkest chapters, how could we ever attempt to understand it, or more importantly, make the world a better place? In essence, if we turn a blind eye to the darkness in our world, our denial allows its tenacious survival and growth. One might recall the viral and ever changeable quotation attributed to Sir Edmund Burke:

“The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing.”

This invariably sparks a number of questions; how can a good man do anything to stop what he knows or feels nothing about? How can you fight an enemy you do not believe in or refuse to acknowledge? In the years since my young heart and mind first grasped the principle of what my wonderful history professor attempted to teach me, I have been true to the precepts I learned that day and have never shied away from the morose aspects of reality, regardless of how unpleasant they may be. Every ounce of human sensitivity I possess recoils at the thought of ignoring or forgetting the travesties of our world. The historical cliché “history repeats itself” is blaringly true, and I refuse to sit back and inadvertently be swept up into the constituency of evil because I refuse to acknowledge it. 

This brings me to the present. Last night I was thrown directly into the middle of a hurricane of emotion, and I was horrified by the reality of what that actually felt like. Before this sentiment is misunderstood, l must briefly revisit what the middle of a hurricane is like.  The epicenter of a hurricane is known as “The eye.” Curiously, the eye of a hurricane is a haven from the violence of the storm that rages all around it. It is reported that when one is in the eye of the storm it is almost hard to believe the active devastation that surrounds you. It must be very surreal to feel relatively light winds and look upwards to blue skies when reason reminds you of what rages on the outskirts of your position.

Last night I came across a number of articles divulging the terrors that are occurring in Northern Iraq. These articles were filled with reports of children being beheaded, women be subjected to the horrors of carnal abuse, people being buried alive, the list of atrocities goes on and on.  It is all truly mortifying, almost too terrible to believe.  And yet, I felt numb. My mind reeled at the reign of blood and horror taking place at that very moment, seemingly right before my eyes. However, despite the wrenching truths that my mind struggled to grasp, I was caught in the eye of the storm, looking at a picture of the limp and lifeless bodies of children who had been ravaged and conquered by dehydration and hunger, while my children slept peacefully in the next room. Was this really happening, and if it was, why did I feel so little about it? It is difficult when you spend your whole life studying the past ages of barbarism to realize that the figurative “dark ages” never really ended.  The horrors of the here and now equal those of any previous age. Yet, it is so easy to sit in the eye of the storm and push all of that unpleasantness to the perimeter. It is much easier to ignore the fierce storms of tragedy if we numb our brains in the familiar comforts of Facebook or Pinterest and post another selfie while catching up on our favorite TV series. 

Last night I was abruptly awakened to my position in the eye of the storm and I was filled with spine tingling fear. Not fear of any tangible danger but fear of the emptiness and apathy that danced around the edges of my soul. Internally I knew that the brutal realities of our world are completely out of my hands and that I cannot do much of anything to alleviate the pains of the innocent victims. What scared me was recognizing that the knowledge of our helplessness tends to prompt the construction of a luxury vacation home in the eye of the storm.  It is much easier to hide our heads in the sand than face the ugly truths that knock on our door. Like Queen Elsa, when things get difficult we tend to dash up the mountain and selfishly “Let it go,” regardless of the consequences.  

Last night I found myself on my knees praying to feel the full power of the horrible things taking place. I wanted to be disturbed, because if I was not disturbed then I was past feeling, and that was more horrifying than anything else I could imagine.  My mental ice castle in the eye of the storm was a pretty nice place, but I took a bulldozer to it last night and jumped into the hurricane.

When I woke up this morning I was still just as powerless as I was the night before to change the course of what is taking place 7000 miles away. And yet, I felt better having figuratively visited the nightmarish reality. It always feels redeeming when you reclaim your heart and soul from the grasp of apathy. After all, a heart filled with empathy, compassion, and prayer is far better than a heart filled with cold indifference.

It was liberating and strangely comforting to have acknowledged and imagined the dreadful pain of my brothers and sisters on the other side of the world; by allowing myself to be disturbed and deeply moved by their plight, the bitter sacrifice of their innocence was somehow hallowed and they were transformed from nameless victims into beloved martyrs.  The journey from apathy to empathy is unpleasant, but it is essential in the quest to reclaim our collective humanity.

I am not proposing that we wallow in the darkness and negativity of the world or that we pour over gory photos. Quite the contrary, we must cling to the light, but it is vital that we acknowledge the darkness before we are unwittingly enveloped in it.  We are in a war far greater than our comfort level in the eye of the storm would like to acknowledge.

“For we wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this world, against spiritual wickedness in high places.”  Ephesians 6:12

In order to fight the evils that threaten to destroy all that is good in this world we must be aware of it and its methods. We must also be completely conscious of ourselves, our feelings, and our beliefs.  I think that Sun Tzu was onto something in his ancient treatise “The Art of War.”

"If you know the enemy and know yourself, you need not fear the result of a hundred battles.

If you know yourself but not the enemy, for every victory gained you will also suffer a defeat.

If you now neither the enemy nor yourself, you will succumb in every battle."

Many would argue that it is better to view the world in apathetic denial. Some might proclaim that they “don’t need to be disturbed in order to feel something.” I would have to disagree, for I question the depth of feeling provided by simply dipping your toes in momentary unpleasantness. Furthermore, I question the resolve or ability to make positive changes in the world of a person too afraid to face or discuss the disturbing issues. 

Allowing myself to face the full realm of human emotion, welcoming the onslaught of the disturbing does not separate me from hope or faith. Rather, it is in when I am in the depths of the storm that I find God. It is when adversity presents hopelessness that I cling to hope. I believe that occasionally we must face the ugly in order to recognize, protect, and create the beautiful.

Our civilization raised the battle cry of “never again!” after the horrors of the holocaust were brought to light.  My fear is that our indifference and sensitivity to anything disturbing will soon render us as insensitive and apathetic as those who ignored the smoke rising from the chimney of a death camp crematorium. It is time to face the enemy. It is time to be disturbed, before we lose our ability to be so. Never again?

The links to the photos of the Yazidi refugees used in this post are posted below.

http://mashable.com/2014/08/11/eyewitness-iraq-yazidis-rescue/#gallery/yazidi-aid-mt-sinjar/53e9095eb589e44a11001e25

http://3daysforyazidi.wordpress.com/

Copyright 2014. All rights reserved by Kristin E. Perez