Dystopian movies have long been a genre in which we get lost in the hypothetical depictions of a not so beautiful world, where divides prove so strong we build connections with the repressed and will for them to fight back and turn the tables. The Hunger Games, the popular series in which the lower classes are forced into a draft to compete in a fight to the death. The rich are clad in extravagant outfits filled with bright colors; the poor are dressed plainly and humbly, in nothing but grays, dull blues, and potato sack brown.

On the bright side of the fence, there is a multitude of technology, anything and everything one could wish for, all at arm's reach. But not so far away in the same world, with the same air, lies a community forced to hustle, forced to labor, day in, day out, to provide the necessities for survival.

At once we watch with disgust; just how could the rich live so happily, knowing that mass suffering is part and parcel of everyday life just a few miles away? How, we ask, could the rich sleep at night, knowing that in order for their lives to be so lavish and plentiful, fellow humans have to balance the scales of consumption and production?

In light of the recent exposure, that the news dubbed “Migrant Crisis,” I say we are living in a dystopian movie every bit as real as the ones we are so entertained by, just without the Hollywood touch.

There are two sides of the fence all over the world, in every country, in every city, in every town, in every village. But we are not talking about “the other side of town." We are talking about the rich and powerful nations, with their prison-like borders, on one side, and the poor, repressed nations on the other.

Floods of immigrants from Syria have been migrating to Europe in a last-ditch attempt to avoid war and suffering. The media being the media in the interconnected world of today, means the migrant crisis is on every phone, tablet, computer and TV screen around the world. Why? Because a Syrian infant’s cold, dead body lying on a Turkish vacation beach is not okay, and sums up perfectly how extreme the divide between the rich and poor is in this world.

In countries like Syria, whose war-torn environment is partly a product of Western involvement, it seems logical that our involvement does not stop with politics and economics, but must extend to human rights. Conservatives in many countries are quick to blame many things, and even quicker to suggest accepting migrants is most definitely the wrong thing to do, and that the rights of millions to a better life do not outweigh the possible effects on the economy.

Staying within the two-sides-of-the-fence metaphor, the modern, post-hunter and gatherer world, has always had a rich and a poor divide. But never before has the world been so globalized and interconnected. Now, the days of TV are dwindling, and platforms like Facebook and Twitter exist as a mechanism for exposure.

It is these platforms — combined with the competition between news outlets for the best news — that are bringing to light the other side of the fence. The grey, war-torn suffering is now front page news, and we cannot ignore it. And to some of humanity's credit, we haven’t, as more stories of migrant deaths are breaking, another, of a helpful European coming to the aid of migrants, providing shelter, food and resources, consequently breaks.

It seems despite politicians, conservatives, and institutions like the EU managing to shrug off the magnitude of the current crisis, compassionate humans are saving the reputation of the human race and providing media outlets with yet more stories to tell, forcing the people in power to act.

So the scene is set: we have our two sides of the fence, one dark and hopeless, one rosy and bright. We have our supporters of the underdog, enthusiastically offering aid to the prospect of change. And our story is unfolding, and so it should. “Why should they come here? They shouldn’t be allowed here. Why should we pay because their country is inadequate? I work hard for my money, why should my taxes go to helping them?” Shut the f*ck up!

We as humans are supposed to be capable of sympathy and empathy, despite how some Scottish Enlightenment philosophers may be interpreted. Go ahead, attempt empathy:

Pull up the picture of the cold dead Syrian boy, and imagine where he came from. Now imagine staring through the holes in the fence, imagine glimpsing the world you don’t have. Imagine the white picket fences, the green, green grass and the all around luxury that you do not have. And now imagine facing a life-threatening decision, to attempt to escape to a relative utopia, but in order to do so, you have to put your life at risk, because that utopia has great big walls, and soldiers with guns whose purpose is to prevent your entry.

Now tell me that the world we live in today is not the script of a dystopian movie. Tell me that if you gave our world to Hollywood, they wouldn’t add in a draft for a fight to the death and make it into a profitable series.

The reality is that we currently do not have enough resources for an equal world, and at a closer look, a completely equal world may not even be one that we want to live in (watch 2081, the film adaptation of Kurt Vonnegut’s "Harrison Bergeron," a dystopian movie about what a completely equal utopian world could look like). Also, to think about how complex the logistics of this convoluted crisis actually are, is daunting; to try and consider what world leaders, and international institutions could actually do to solve the migrant crisis is even more daunting and far too complicated for us regular folk to address.

But what is possible is to think more, to question more. Consider that the world we live in is not dissimilar to the exaggerations of Hollywood dystopian movies. And that, despite how scary and depressing it might be, actually ponder the thoughts that the horrifying pictures and videos provoke, because it just might lead to an awakening that might contribute to the fight for a more equal world, where fewer humans die unnecessarily due to the greed and corruption of few.