Witness to horror
22/08/13 05:18
I remember learning about slavery in America when I was a child. One of my elementary school teachers read Uncle Tom’s Cabin to us. There were plenty of questions in my mind and I got more books from the library and learned more about this dark chapter in the story of our country. Of course, most of the things that I read simplified the situation, but the basic facts were accurate. Africans were forcibly removed from their home country, transported in slave ships in miserable conditions, sold at auction, and forced into labor. They were not treated as human beings. Families were often broken up. Living conditions were often substandard. I learned about the Emancipation Proclamation and the bloodiness of the Civil War. I read about the assassination of Abraham Lincoln.
As I read about these things, I would imagine what I might have done, were these events occurring in my life. I imagined that I would have been compassionate and helped the slaves. I imagined that I would be willing to take big risks to shelter slaves and participate in the Underground Railroad. I never imagined that I would be a silent bystander. In my imagination, I was always willing to become directly involved in hands on action.
I remember reading about the Nazi holocaust. I read “The Diary of Anne Frank” and later Elie Wiesel’s “Night.” I wondered what I would do if our religion was targeted for special persecution. It wasn’t easy, because I am a member of the majority and I have never experienced much that might be called religious discrimination. But I imagined what I might have done, were my family threatened. I also imagined what I might have done to shelter and save the lives of Jewish people had I been living in Germany at that time. As I read and learned about the holocaust, I never imagined that I would have stood by and ignored such atrocities. When we visited Dachau Concentration Camp, I was mystified that the people of the town could have allowed such horror to occur so close to their homes and done nothing, not even questioning the guards and executioners that were their neighbors.
These events, however, were largely theoretical in my mind because they occurred before my birth. Thinking about the past and imagining how I might have responded was an exercise in imagination. I was in my twenties and a student when the news of the killing fields of the Khmer Rouge party, under the leadership of Pol Pot in Cambodia, became known by the world. I read the stories of the genocide with horror, but I didn’t become directly involved.
It seems that since those days, gross examples of human inhumanity towards other humans, systematized terror and genocide continue to occur on a fairly regular basis. I don’t think I can even name them all. There have been mass killings in Bosnia, Ivory Coast, Darfur, Democratic Republic of the Congo, North Korea, Rwanda, Somalia, Sri Lanka, and Sudan. In each case I have tried to become educated, though the details are horrifying and difficult to digest. I have contributed to humanitarian relief efforts, but I have remained detached and uninvolved.
I read the stories. I am shocked by the horrors. And I do not know what to do.
And the horrors continue. The details are not yet clear, but it does appear that the Syrian government has killed as many as a thousand or more rockets loaded with toxic agents blasted in to the suburbs of Damascus. The Syrian Government is denying the allegations, but the photographs and reports clearly indicate that something terrible has occurred and that there are many victims. Counts are not yet accurate, details are unknown, but there is no doubt that Syria already had created too many innocent victims and now the situation has grown worse.
I read the stories. I am shocked by the horrors. And I do not know what to do.
In Egypt the hope of democracy seems to have been dashed as the country slides back into a military republic. The Muslim Brotherhood is all but banned and its members are being slaughtered in the streets. There have been brutal reprisals by armed militants and churches have been bombed and burned to the ground. The violence seems to be escalating and the number of innocent victims continues to rise.
I read the stories. I am shocked by the horrors. And I do not know what to do.
These days I question my childhood fantasies about what I might have done had I been a living witness to African slaves in the United States or the out-of-control hatred of the Nazi holocaust against Jews. I like to imagine that I might have been a hero, willing to risk everything to save a life and help the struggle toward freedom. But I know that it is possible that I would have been a silent bystander, uncertain of what to do and unable to take the risk for the sake of others.
I fear that I am becoming calloused and insensitive to the suffering of others. There is so much death and grief in this world that I sometimes do not imagine how it could be different. I might rail in my conversation about failures of leadership and ineffective responses by world leaders, but I know that I do not have a solution for the problem. I wonder if I am even able to imagine a world where no innocents die, where grief is not the constant companion of so many widows, where children are fed and treasured and nurtured in every place, where conflicts are resolved with peaceful means. I fear that my passivity is part of the problem when it is so clerar that the world needs solutions.
I pray for peace with earnestness. I seek guidance from God. I do trust God to be the author of justice in the big picture and to bring peace in God’s way and in God’s time. But I also pray that I might never lose my shock and horror when I hear of genocide and murder of innocents. I pray that I might discover a path to meaningful action rather than silent passivity.
And I read carefully what I can and try to learn as much of the real facts as possible. At a bare minimum, the world needs those who witness and refuse to forget. I could be a witness.
As I read about these things, I would imagine what I might have done, were these events occurring in my life. I imagined that I would have been compassionate and helped the slaves. I imagined that I would be willing to take big risks to shelter slaves and participate in the Underground Railroad. I never imagined that I would be a silent bystander. In my imagination, I was always willing to become directly involved in hands on action.
I remember reading about the Nazi holocaust. I read “The Diary of Anne Frank” and later Elie Wiesel’s “Night.” I wondered what I would do if our religion was targeted for special persecution. It wasn’t easy, because I am a member of the majority and I have never experienced much that might be called religious discrimination. But I imagined what I might have done, were my family threatened. I also imagined what I might have done to shelter and save the lives of Jewish people had I been living in Germany at that time. As I read and learned about the holocaust, I never imagined that I would have stood by and ignored such atrocities. When we visited Dachau Concentration Camp, I was mystified that the people of the town could have allowed such horror to occur so close to their homes and done nothing, not even questioning the guards and executioners that were their neighbors.
These events, however, were largely theoretical in my mind because they occurred before my birth. Thinking about the past and imagining how I might have responded was an exercise in imagination. I was in my twenties and a student when the news of the killing fields of the Khmer Rouge party, under the leadership of Pol Pot in Cambodia, became known by the world. I read the stories of the genocide with horror, but I didn’t become directly involved.
It seems that since those days, gross examples of human inhumanity towards other humans, systematized terror and genocide continue to occur on a fairly regular basis. I don’t think I can even name them all. There have been mass killings in Bosnia, Ivory Coast, Darfur, Democratic Republic of the Congo, North Korea, Rwanda, Somalia, Sri Lanka, and Sudan. In each case I have tried to become educated, though the details are horrifying and difficult to digest. I have contributed to humanitarian relief efforts, but I have remained detached and uninvolved.
I read the stories. I am shocked by the horrors. And I do not know what to do.
And the horrors continue. The details are not yet clear, but it does appear that the Syrian government has killed as many as a thousand or more rockets loaded with toxic agents blasted in to the suburbs of Damascus. The Syrian Government is denying the allegations, but the photographs and reports clearly indicate that something terrible has occurred and that there are many victims. Counts are not yet accurate, details are unknown, but there is no doubt that Syria already had created too many innocent victims and now the situation has grown worse.
I read the stories. I am shocked by the horrors. And I do not know what to do.
In Egypt the hope of democracy seems to have been dashed as the country slides back into a military republic. The Muslim Brotherhood is all but banned and its members are being slaughtered in the streets. There have been brutal reprisals by armed militants and churches have been bombed and burned to the ground. The violence seems to be escalating and the number of innocent victims continues to rise.
I read the stories. I am shocked by the horrors. And I do not know what to do.
These days I question my childhood fantasies about what I might have done had I been a living witness to African slaves in the United States or the out-of-control hatred of the Nazi holocaust against Jews. I like to imagine that I might have been a hero, willing to risk everything to save a life and help the struggle toward freedom. But I know that it is possible that I would have been a silent bystander, uncertain of what to do and unable to take the risk for the sake of others.
I fear that I am becoming calloused and insensitive to the suffering of others. There is so much death and grief in this world that I sometimes do not imagine how it could be different. I might rail in my conversation about failures of leadership and ineffective responses by world leaders, but I know that I do not have a solution for the problem. I wonder if I am even able to imagine a world where no innocents die, where grief is not the constant companion of so many widows, where children are fed and treasured and nurtured in every place, where conflicts are resolved with peaceful means. I fear that my passivity is part of the problem when it is so clerar that the world needs solutions.
I pray for peace with earnestness. I seek guidance from God. I do trust God to be the author of justice in the big picture and to bring peace in God’s way and in God’s time. But I also pray that I might never lose my shock and horror when I hear of genocide and murder of innocents. I pray that I might discover a path to meaningful action rather than silent passivity.
And I read carefully what I can and try to learn as much of the real facts as possible. At a bare minimum, the world needs those who witness and refuse to forget. I could be a witness.