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.
Copyright 2014. All rights reserved by Kristin E. Perez
