An atlas of hurt

Facebook, GoFundMe, UpWorthy, capital campaigns, celebrity endorsements, water cooler chatter—all of these things spread the word, but whose word?

It depends.

Last night my Twitter stream morphed from twitter parties and updates about Missouri, to a non-stop rush of words about Paris. It was abrupt and total.

I have curated the people I follow. I follow some because I like what they teach me or how they make me feel; I have followed accounts as thanks for them having followed mine, others still I’ve followed because I want to have a broader view on issues. All that being said, both my online and real life experiences are only as diverse as the exploring and discovering I initiate.

The time I clicked on the account of a guy I didn’t know, after he replied to a tweet I sent, telling me that I was a “dumb cunt not worth his seed” showed me how much I don’t see. Mostly I can avoid these things and these people, which is a part of my privilege.

Last night my stomach twisted, imagining how the massive ship of public opinion and outrage would turn. What about those left behind? Are there expirations on our license to feel or grieve?

Thinking back to how my grandparents would pore over stories in newsletters from all over the world, I have a not insignificant amount of shame that I don’t have their same intense pursuit of knowledge and justice. They would have known about all of the deaths that happened yesterday.

I don’t think about global terrorism very often, not because it doesn’t matter, but it hasn’t been immediate for me, again, not something that fills me with pride. I‘ve believed I could have more impact with the issues that feel closer to me. I’ve thrown in my two cents more and more on issues related to rape culture, feminism, and online bullying. Slowly, tentatively I’ve joined conversations about racial issues in schools and towns far from where I live.

I tried to contribute to change, but when we appear to ignore or not know about what is important to someone, it can hurt. It creates a scenario that increasingly pits tragedies and voices against one another. How on earth can we learn it all or say it all? One person says #BlackLivesMatter and another screams back #AllLivesMatter . Words of support are sent out for one disaster and replies come back asking about tens of others that aren’t mentioned.

There was a time when I sought out hurt, devoured stories of devastation, but then I hit a kind of overload. I carried the weight of other people’s hurt in ways that made it impossible for me to function effectively at home and at work. When I hear of tragedy in places that are foreign to me, I still mourn and wish for better.

When I think about this from the perspective of someone who has not been seen or heard, I can imagine the anger. This post from a woman connected to Beirut and Paris is incredibly powerful:

We can ask for the world to think Beirut is as important as Paris, or for Facebook to add a “safety check” button for us to use daily, or for people to care about us. But the truth of the matter is, we are a people that doesn’t care about itself to begin. We call it habituation, but it’s really not. We call it the new normal, but if this is normality then let it go to hell.

The thing that I remember about my grandparents is that while they were well read, they were also opinionated. I remember thinking that they were on the right side of everything, from believing in the abolishment of segregation to supporting gay rights. I also remember the day my grandfather said to me on the phone during the months I lived with my boyfriend, “You know, when someone drinks milk for free, they have no need to buy the cow.” It took me a minute to realize he was telling me I needed to get married. Wait a minute…

Where do we go next? How do personal experience, awareness, and compassion coexist? Is it possible to moderate your intake without hurting others? How do we manage our hurt and our priorities with those of others?

My plan is to try and move forward holding on a little more tightly to the idea that we are all hurting. When we lash out at one another, it is hurt taking the shape of words. We ought to consider the hurt behind the words and move forward more focused on how our words might hit someone else, because that is something we should be able to do.

“later that night
i held an atlas in my lap
ran my fingers across the whole world
and whispered
where does it hurt?

it answered
everywhere
everywhere
everywhere.”

-Warsan Shire