#WhenThisIsOver: I Will Still Be Haunted By These Images
By Alex Belida J’71
In our shared isolation, I’m inspired by the work of our doctors and nurses. I try to think of the sick and the dying. But I find myself more beset with anger than empathy. Because I feel this will never be over.
“Never again” is always vowed. But it’s an empty promise.
I’ve seen a lot of death and disease. I just never expected to see it here. The symbolic path of victims that runs through my mind comes from years in Africa covering war, famine and disease. It’s a zig-zag path that ran from Somalia in the northeast, down through Rwanda and Congo in the continent’s center, into Angola and Namibia in the southwest and back over to Mozambique in the southeast.
Some were young men, their bodies torn by a bullet or a shell or a machete. But others were old men, thin beyond belief, weakened by hunger or disease. Many were women, their faces etched with silent agony, pleading for food or medicine. Some were children, sick and starving.
Some I met in battle-scarred streets, others in burned-out buildings. Some I saw sprawled in teeming refugee camps. Others were wandering by the hundreds along dusty roads, hoping for help somewhere, anywhere.
Now I’m retired. But I still can’t shake these images. Crises like this one trigger the memories and the anger. When this is over, I can only hope we’ll do better next time.
Alex Belida J’71, is a former senior news executive and correspondent for Voice of America. He received a Journalism School Alumni Award in 2006.
