8 years ago I wrote a blog entry after seeing a picture of a baby boy, washed up on the shores of the Mediterranean. His family were fleeing a war so brutal they took their chances crossing the sea on a small raft. 2,000 miles away, Europe seemed like their only hope.
The soles of his tiny baby shoes looked like a toy cartoon as he lay there, frozen in his innocent, precious baby death. He will be etched in my memory forever. His name was Alan.In Alan, I saw my own son.
“That could be my son.” I thought. “My little curly-haired hobbit baby. That could be him.”
I internalized the tragedy and felt a potent outrage. My outrage felt powerful and insignificant at the same time. You know the feeling, I’m sure of it.
That day, I used an analogy: I cannot control everything in this world, but I still have agency. I still need to buckle my seatbelt to survive a car crash (it’s what saved my son’s life in 2013).
Tragically, the war in Syria seemed to slip away from the public consciousness. It checked all the boxes as one of, if not the worst wars in our time – a war so dangerous the media would not dare venture into the battlefield to show you. But it brought no marches, no rallies for a ceasefire. Chances are most Americans felt little agency to impact this conflict. Maybe they weren't sure who to blame.
All the same, my country’s government sent millions worth of weapons to help fight the Assad army that was dropping barrel bombs and Chlorine gas on Alan’s homeland.
But justice felt far away and arbitrary. I was furious at how feckless the world can seem in the face of such historic destruction.
"If that could happen there, it could happen anywhere. I thought to myself. “The world will not protect us.”
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Years later, once again the world feels like it’s ripping itself apart, gently rapping demise at our doorstep.
Last year I saw a video of Anna, a young beautiful Ukrainian woman with long brown hair. Her mother, too weak to bury her daughter, covered her unburied ruin with a broken door – anything she could find to keep the feral dogs from eating her. Her petite legs in yoga pants and sneakers were poking out from under the ground, smothered in the mud.
I recognized Anna’s sneakers. I once had a darling girlfriend that wore the same ones.
Again, I internalized the tragedy.
“That could be my gentle sweetheart, her soft legs, unburied, unwept, and unsung. That could be her.” I said.
Within weeks, Anna’s city, Mariupol, was raised to the ground.
And again, my country’s government sent millions worth of weapons to fight back the Russian army that invaded Anna’s homeland.
But still, the justice for Anna’s death felt ephemeral.
Again, I internalized the tragedy.
“That could be my gentle sweetheart, her soft legs, unburied, unwept, and unsung. That could be her.” I said.
Within weeks, Anna’s city, Mariupol, was raised to the ground.
And again, my country’s government sent millions worth of weapons to fight back the Russian army that invaded Anna’s homeland.
But still, the justice for Anna’s death felt ephemeral.
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Fast forward to today and again, the rapping, tapping of demise hammers closer.
Once again, my country’s government sent millions in weapons to help a country fight for their homeland against a people trying to fight off those people trying to take their homeland.
Does that sound fucked? That’s cuz it is.
We’ve all seen the horrific videos coming out of Gaza and Israel. The scenes were not different from the ones in Syria, but this time the media was there to report back and show us the horror. And once again, fucking NBC sensationalized their reporting with a soundtrack that elicited O Fortuna.
Finally, this conflict hit a nerve for many of my community friends. Scores of them mobilized for rallies and marches. Pick a side, my social media feed is flooded with their reposts, evoking a familiar tone: "If you're not with us, then you're against us"
The conflict scrapes on sensitive topics ranging from anti-colonialism, ethnic cleansing, civilian deaths, occupation resistance, the whole gamut. Again, not exceptional from the war in Syria, but it somehow resonated more with them – perhaps a couple shades less opaque of who to blame – perhaps ourselves this time. Maybe it was O Fortuna.
Either way, this time I internalized something that felt distinctly different.
I saw a video of a father gently wiping dust from his daughter’s lifeless face. He loved her. Even in her death he tended to her cuteness. The father wept with a forsaken sorrow and agony for which I can only bear to damn God.
And my thoughts raced back to the men of these wars. The ones doing the fighting, the ones dropping bombs, shooting rockets, killing and murdering, the calloused and vengeful, the ones that hate.
I internalized that too and for the briefest of moments, I saw it. The Red.
“Holy shit, that could be ... me”.
The Red flashed into my mind and sank me with a hard truth: I’m hardwired to become like them, to become merciless.
“You don’t want me as your enemy.” I brooded.
I know that my fighting spirit is bestowed upon me to protect those I love, but it can easily become a path toward utter destruction.
“If I had that kind of agony, I wouldn’t stop. From the dry depths of my sorrow, I’d damn myself and fuckin eat your dead and go mad. Cuz fuck you all.” I said to myself, internalizing what it must feel like to endure such hatred and fury.
And yes, I internalized both sides.
I’m lucidly aware that rage is a madness - a sickness. And I’m not immune. At times it is more bewitching and more entrancing than love or compassion, not stronger, but more potent and fast-flowing. I have seen The Red before – a place without peace, without forgiveness, and painfully, I admit I have hurt people because of it, even people I cared about. I’ve even seen it in some of you lately.
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Amidst this jumble of thoughts, it's important to remember where this writing began – without fear.
But this is the world we live in, the really real world. A world where the balance of order and chaos have not changed – a world that is brutal yet fragile, feckless and wild, gentle and precious, and disgustingly vile.
So where do we go from here?
Either way, this time I internalized something that felt distinctly different.
I saw a video of a father gently wiping dust from his daughter’s lifeless face. He loved her. Even in her death he tended to her cuteness. The father wept with a forsaken sorrow and agony for which I can only bear to damn God.
And my thoughts raced back to the men of these wars. The ones doing the fighting, the ones dropping bombs, shooting rockets, killing and murdering, the calloused and vengeful, the ones that hate.
I internalized that too and for the briefest of moments, I saw it. The Red.
“Holy shit, that could be ... me”.
The Red flashed into my mind and sank me with a hard truth: I’m hardwired to become like them, to become merciless.
“You don’t want me as your enemy.” I brooded.
I know that my fighting spirit is bestowed upon me to protect those I love, but it can easily become a path toward utter destruction.
“If I had that kind of agony, I wouldn’t stop. From the dry depths of my sorrow, I’d damn myself and fuckin eat your dead and go mad. Cuz fuck you all.” I said to myself, internalizing what it must feel like to endure such hatred and fury.
And yes, I internalized both sides.
I’m lucidly aware that rage is a madness - a sickness. And I’m not immune. At times it is more bewitching and more entrancing than love or compassion, not stronger, but more potent and fast-flowing. I have seen The Red before – a place without peace, without forgiveness, and painfully, I admit I have hurt people because of it, even people I cared about. I’ve even seen it in some of you lately.
__________________________________________________________
Amidst this jumble of thoughts, it's important to remember where this writing began – without fear.
But this is the world we live in, the really real world. A world where the balance of order and chaos have not changed – a world that is brutal yet fragile, feckless and wild, gentle and precious, and disgustingly vile.
So where do we go from here?
First off, take a deep breath.
I remain unafraid. And so should you.
Because here’s the kicker: our scourge may not be war and violence. We may never live to witness our country Balkanize itself – at least not yet. Our scourge could easily be … an earthquake.
Did you buckle your seatbelt?
We cannot control everything in this world and it’s not always clear what we should do about it. There’s so much to worry about. But there’s no transcendence in complacency. And we now inherit a world that our forefathers built, for better or for worse.
I know it’s a lot to take in – global war games, pandemics, your aging parents, goddamn credit card bills, climate change, fuckin microplastics... I get it. You’re dealing with a lot.
But one thing is for certain: We’ll need each other to get through any of it. You’re too important in this story.
I’ve accepted that although I may not be able to stop the calamity, I can damn sure help you survive it. And I remain steadfast to do my best to try. I will help you buckle your seatbelt too. There’s too much nebulous mind control that aims to turn us against one another, or worse, convince us that we’re powerless.
We can protect each other. We can save someone else’s hobbit baby. We can evacuate a gentle woman before it’s too late. And we can bring peace to a tortured soul trapped in The Red.
Stand together with me. Face it head on. Don’t look away.
I’m holding your hand right now. Together. Lucid and Unafraid.
I remain unafraid. And so should you.
Because here’s the kicker: our scourge may not be war and violence. We may never live to witness our country Balkanize itself – at least not yet. Our scourge could easily be … an earthquake.
Did you buckle your seatbelt?
We cannot control everything in this world and it’s not always clear what we should do about it. There’s so much to worry about. But there’s no transcendence in complacency. And we now inherit a world that our forefathers built, for better or for worse.
I know it’s a lot to take in – global war games, pandemics, your aging parents, goddamn credit card bills, climate change, fuckin microplastics... I get it. You’re dealing with a lot.
But one thing is for certain: We’ll need each other to get through any of it. You’re too important in this story.
I’ve accepted that although I may not be able to stop the calamity, I can damn sure help you survive it. And I remain steadfast to do my best to try. I will help you buckle your seatbelt too. There’s too much nebulous mind control that aims to turn us against one another, or worse, convince us that we’re powerless.
We can protect each other. We can save someone else’s hobbit baby. We can evacuate a gentle woman before it’s too late. And we can bring peace to a tortured soul trapped in The Red.
Stand together with me. Face it head on. Don’t look away.
I’m holding your hand right now. Together. Lucid and Unafraid.
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