The Guilt of Being Alive When They Are Not
Experiencing human-inflicted suffering from the shelter of my living room
I wake up each day, hearing the news — seeing pictures of little children losing their homes, their families, and their lives. I wake up each day, seeing little children showing more courage than I have ever had in my life, standing in front of authority and asking not to be killed.
How could people be this cruel?
Whenever we had history lessons and learned about gruesome events like occupations, war crimes, and genocides I had a hard time fully grasping them. Even though, of course, we all knew that they did, my mind could not wrap itself around the fact that things like that actually happened. Even now, when I watch the news, listen to podcasts, or read about vile modern day events, everywhere in the world, it seldom feels real to me. How could people be this cruel?
Ever since the 7th of October, 2023, and ever since we started watching events in the Gaza strip and other occupied areas unfold in front of our eyes, I have had no difficulties feeling the reality of it anymore. I am now physically and emotionally very aware of the fact that humans can be indeed this cruel and that humans are indeed very capable of creating such sorrow.
Ever since the 7th of October, 2023, I wake up to one atrocity after the other. I watch innocent civilians being called “collateral damage,” fighting their way through rubble, if they have not already been bombed to shreds. I watch schools, mosques, and hospitals being specifically targeted. I watch people being de-humanised, forced to live under inhumane conditions and starved to death. And I watch the world standing by and letting it happen.
How can we watch these images in real time and say nothing?
How is it possible that so many people are bombarded with explicit imagery of missing libs, innocent people grieving their loved ones, pleading for the worlds attention and still, nothing?
Over the course of the past months I have tried to talk to people and soon realised that a lot of them do not want to concern themselves with this. For many different reasons people have quickly changed the subject, taken a very factual, systematic stance or refused to talk about it all-together (this, of course, does not apply to everyone, but sadly way too many).
I have heard a lot of different sentences all in one way or another coming down to the following:
It is too hard to understand. There is nothing we can do to change this situation. People die in wars, Melissa. You are too sensitive.
And I feel sick. I feel ashamed. I feel hopeless. Both, for something so drastic having to happen for me to wake up and “feel the reality of it,” and for realising that there are still so many people who do not feel it. If we live in a world where it is considered normal for people to be bombed by the minute, I ask myself what the real “emotional default” is — crying over immense suffering or shutting yourself off from it?
I wrote this piece in a moment of outrage, months ago:
If you’ve been following the news without ever losing a word about what is happening right now, I just want you to know that your silence is speaking volumes.
I just want you to know that your silence will forever remain on my mind.
I just want you to know that your silence is compliance.
I just want you to know that your silence is fueling the suffering of innocent people.
I just want you to know that your silence is contributing to the normalisation of killing children.
I just want you to know that your silence is contributing to the normalisation of the world watching and doing nothing as one of us is dying.
If you’re silent, I just want you to know that one day, when it is our turn to be the subject of human-inflicted violence and never ending grief, the world will absolutely do the same to us.
And when this happens, I just want you to know that you have contributed to making it okay.
I felt absolutely isolated
I know it might seem hateful to some at first glance, and maybe it is, but at this point in time I felt absolutely isolated. I could not understand how everyone just continued to live their lives and went on as if the world was not falling to pieces. For me, it felt absolutely detaching and senseless to go about my day as usual, while innocent civilians, children, people with dreams and ambitions, feared for and lost their lives — and I couldn’t understand why people around me did not seem to feel the same.
I soon started noticing nuances in the ways of my thinking that could be classified as spiteful. When people complained about minor things they encountered that day, I realised I did not really care. I usually consider myself an empathetic person who concerns herself a lot with the welfare of the people in her close proximity, but somehow people’s indifference concerning the Gaza Strip turned into indifference I felt for them. When people cried about scenes from movies or books, I had no understanding for why they were crying about fictional situations and not about real people dying not so far from us. None of this made sense to me, and I soon realised that I had become a bitter and numb version of myself.
Objectively, I knew that this is not the way to treat this situation. That burying myself in grief and sorrow for Bisan, Motaz, Plestia and so many more was not going to help their situations — and surely growing distant to those who did not do the same wasn’t either. But still, I had a hard time giving meaning to the things I used to enjoy. My privileges of waking up in a warm bed, taking warm showers, going to university and so much more felt unjust to me. I immersed myself in the fates of those currently living in this open air prison to the point that I cried for them every day, I could not fall asleep for hours and if I did, I had terrible dreams of people being blown to pieces.
I learned a lot about myself during that time
Firstly, I learned that I need to work in the public health sector in one way or the other, dealing with collective trauma or reporting on war zones. I realised that there is no way for me to go about my life without helping people in some way.
Secondly, I learned that I need to come up with healthier ways of consuming media and reacting to the gruesome events we are confronted with on a daily — not only for myself, but also to become more proactive. In the end, I truly believe that we all want the same. Nobody wants to stand for immense human-inflicted suffering. Everyone wants innocent lives to be protected — or at least I would hope so. That is why speaking about those things seems so important to me. Being silent will only rot our minds and enhance our cognitive dissonance more. A small contribution is always better than no contribution.
I understand that it can be hard to speak up when you don’t feel like you have the right amount of knowledge and/or legitimacy, but we don’t have to know everything to be against injustices. We are all evolving and learning on the go, but I would much rather say something false sometimes and correct myself when I know better, than let uncertainty silence myself. Mistakes are human, indifference is not.
People are still dying and have nowhere to go
Instead of detaching ourselves, I hope we can educate ourselves more. This is not the world we want to live in. It’s not about picking a side, it’s about humanity. Listen more actively and speak up. Be patient with people who don’t have the same resources. Join the conversation; join your local protests and advocate for an immediate ceasefire.
Book recommendations:
- The Hundred Years’ War on Palestine: A History of Settler-Colonial Conquest and Resistance, 1917–2017 by Rashid Khalidi
- The Biggest Prison on Earth: A History of the Occupied Territories by Ilan Pappé
- On Palestine by Noam Chomsky, Ilan Pappé & Frank Barat
- Minor Detail by Adania Shibli
For more stories about protesting war and suffering, follow Fourth Wave. Have you got a story or poem that focuses on women or other disempowered groups? Submit to the Wave!
