I have nothing eloquent to say.
I just watched a video of the Palestinian people thanking and praising God for a bag of flour.
I don’t know what to feel anymore.
What to do.
What to say.
I’m not shocked, sad, surprised…
In my cool spring room as I watch YouTube with a stable internet connection I can feel the boil of rage start to simmer.
So many outspoken individuals, many leagues more qualified than me, speak out against this violation of human rights.
Nothing changes.
Soldiers kill children.
Aid kills children.
And I think “maybe this is just for shock value, maybe things aren’t that bad.”
But a friend told me if it weren’t that shocking, it wouldn’t be talked about.
I’m tired of fighting.
I think about the scene in Ruroni Kenshin, where Kenshin almost loses to Shishio and then revives because the voices of his friends are calling him.
But my friends are different.
If they aren’t already sharing on the ground information, they don’t want to share it, they don’t want to see it, or they don’t care at all.
I know, I’m not one for marching and protests I know. But I do my part!
I write to politicians!
I can share on social media!
In my own way I can at least spread awareness!
But the crushing pestle of indifference grinding me into the mortar of American life until I’m some soft, malleable salve, spread thing across movements, politics and policies I could never hope to solve on my own seems to be working effectively.
Should I too, avert my eyes?
Should I too, shut out their suffering, to focus on my own bliss?
Numbed by media and junk foods?
Selfishly pursuing self-improvement?
Constantly turning the wheel of an economy that everyone seems to think is on the brink of collapse?
Can I really summon the spirit of my 13 year old youth, thinking that I knew everything there was to know but too young to own their own ignorance while they reveled in it?!
It’s madness, where we are in this world.
We have so much power together, potential, purpose, and yet it’s as if we can touch that source and never grasp.
The French seem to know what they’re doing, but there’s is a culture of revolution.
You’d think Americans would remember their culture…
But maybe they do, and maybe that’s why I too, crave violence.