Do you remember the news story about a 2 year-old boy
snatched by an alligator in front of his parents at Disney World? I do.
I still cannot imagine the horror those parents must have felt as they
watched their precious son disappear beneath the surface of the pond in the
death grip of an alligator. That kind of
real horror grabs me by the guts. I feel
my stomach twist. I feel a shot of
stomach acid. I feel a shiver in my
spine. I feel a sharp pain in my
chest. I feel heartbreak. I feel horrible. I am in horror. I so wish I could not picture the event, that
somehow I could turn off my brain and erase that projection from my mind’s
eye. But I cannot. It plays and replays. Horror.
I escape shaken and changed, full of a renewed awareness of the
fragility of life and the unfairness of life, and the random ways in which the
universe reminds us that strange coincidences happen often to our horror. And I think of those I love the most, hold
most dearly in my heart’s esteem. I am
oh so grateful that my horror is vicarious.
Is there a way to relieve this horror by finding someone to
blame? Can we say the parents should not
have been walking by that pond and they somehow got what they deserved? Can we say that alligators hunt small mammals
and the alligator was just doing his thing?
Can we say that life is tough, it is unfair, it is cruel just get over
it? None of those strategies work for me
though I hear they work for others. I am
still in the shoes of the parents, watching my two year-old. No rationalization, no blame of others will
ever relieve that pain, that horror. The
pain I share is sympathy and imagined empathy.
I believe it is an essential element of the human condition. I believe to lack sympathy and empathy is dysfunctional. Anyone who found the death of that young boy
funny, or just, or somehow simply fate lacks those human attributes. Sympathy and empathy are prerequisites for
vicarious horror. I am horrified by the
ability of some to avoid empathy by blaming the victims
And so I find new horrors.
Children taken from their parents, separated, scared, unable to speak
the language, crowded together, hungry, no water, no soap, no way to get
clean. And they cry all night. What a horror. I imagine the parents, grief stricken and
confused, separated from the humans they love the most. Also crowded, also without food, etc. What a horror. How can I be a human and not feel their
pain? I only can if I can find a way to
blame them, fear them as they suffer at our hands. There is no other way. If I can only think of them as somehow less
human than me, then I am OK. But, I
cannot think that way. I think all human
life is precious.
We did the same thing to the Japanese residents during World
War II. Hitler did the same thing to the
Jews and Gypsies in Germany. Terrorists
groups do the same things to people who think differently than they do. Others are doing the same to Syrian refuges and
Nigerian refugees, Afghan refugees, Venezuelan refugees, and on and on. We did the same thing to Black
Americans. Some have always found a way
to justify their disdain for other humans allowing them to be isolated,
tortured, deprived of necessities, and even killed. I can’t do that. Every suffering human is a 2 year old boy in
the grips of an alligator. I would do
all that I could to save him. Save them.
Yes, I am a bleeding heart.
Yes, it haunts me as I slip into bed at night that others are sleeping
in cardboard boxes or in sleeping bags under bridges. Yes, it haunts me that so many go without
food, water, shelter, health care. I
believe as our Declaration of Independence declares, that all men are created
equal and have certain rights that are simply an inherent attribute of being
human. Our glorious gift from France
standing on Ellis Island simply says, “Give me your tired, your poor, Your
huddled masses yearning to breathe free, The wretched refuse of your teeming
shore. Send these, the homeless,
tempest-tossed to me, I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”
We have not always been a nation of acceptance and tolerance
and support and opportunity. But when we
drifted from that path we would right ourselves and resume leadership of humanitarian
efforts on this planet. In that we were
noble. We are no longer noble. In fact, if we point that out we are asked to
leave.
Now, we create horrors.