I will always remember where I was when I heard about the attacks in Brussels.
I can’t say the same about the countless other acts of violence in the last few years. While I could tell you there was a terrorist attack in Egypt (to name just one example) I would not be able to tell you exactly when it was, and I certainly wouldn’t remember what I was doing when I received what should have been earth-shaking news.
Why did Brussels catch my attention?
While driving, I heard there had been a terrorist attack in Brussels. I began what had become my routine whenever I hear of a terrorist attack. I feel a sense of loss, shake my head in condemnation of the violence, and hope (half-heartedly by this point) that surely this will be the last time. However, I stopped short, feeling as though the world had dropped out from under me. I suddenly remembered one of my best friends had been visiting the city, and missed the attacks by only a matter of days. Shock, horror, and devastation crashed into each other, choking me up as I absorbed this realization.
Grief came next as I realized all 31 people who so unjustly lost their lives that day were someone’s best friends. They were someone’s children. They might have been parents, siblings, guardians, or beloved caretakers. I didn’t personally know them, but that didn’t make their deaths any less of an injustice against humanity.
Americans are generous. We care about the rest of the world. But few young Americans are truly connected to the rest of the world. We read headlines of terrorist attacks around the world, and many of us are momentarily saddened by the suffering. Some Americans, however, have become so desensitized to the violence they matter-of-factly read from the news headline that more people have been killed, and continue scrolling through their newsfeed. It almost doesn’t seem real. Most of us don’t know these people, and some just brush away the names as strangers on the other side of the globe, with no bearing on us.
When something begins to seem commonplace, it can seem normal, maybe even tolerable. I see that happening all around me. Life goes on after hearing about violence elsewhere in the world. We still go to school, to work, to the gym. We laugh with our friends about the latest ridiculous thing a politician said, and we complain about our upcoming test. To a certain extent, this must occur. The alternative would be falling and drowning under the fear, or the grief.
But I’m here to advocate that we never lose our ability to be horrified.
When you read a report of violence, take a moment to let the shock and sadness sink in. Recognize someone just lost a family member, a friend. Reach out to your family and friends, and let them know just how much you love them.
Every single loss or injury of human life is an unspeakable tragedy, regardless of whether we personally knew the victim or not.
Because someone knew that person.
Someone will spend the rest of his or her life missing that person.
The least we can do is acknowledge their pain.
