Reflections on Tragedy and Healing
The chain reaction of evil - hate begetting hate, wars producing more wars - must be broken, or we shall be plunged into the darkness... of annihilation. ~ Martin Luther King, Jr.
In one of the old Star Trek episodes, Spock remarks to Captain Kirk regarding the long and sorry chronicle of humanity's self-imposed suffering in murder and war that the "history of your race might have been less bloody" if humans could feel each other's pain. As a Vulcan he is sensitive enough to feel the agony of the death and injury of his kind.
Like Kirk and the other humans, I cannot feel that depth of pain and suffering of my fellow humans. I watch the endless footage of the World Trade Center collapsing. I see the heroic police and firefighters and others searching endlessly in the wreckage. My heart goes out in the abstract to the victims, but my own personal misery since the events of Tuesday morning has consisted of a rather low-grade "headache" of the soul.
It is like I carry around this lightweight buzzsaw that is slowly sawing away at some tendon of feeling in my consciousness, as if at some time the tendon will finally part and in a torrent of tears release my heartfelt compassion. But not just now: I am dry emotionally.
Where I work there is a television in the cafeteria. On Tuesday a hundred or more workers stood or sat near that television during lunch watching the news coverage above a banner of "America Under Attack." On Wednesday I noticed that dozens were sitting near it. By Thursday there were just a few coworkers following the TV news on their lunch hour.
Friday, like other Americans, my coworkers observed a few minutes of silence in honor of those who perished in the tragedy as well as their friends and relatives. I noticed the news banner now read, "America's New War."
Almost no one, self included, was watching the news on television at work. During lunch, I sat in a corner and lost myself in a novel for a few minutes before returning to work. I noticed that some coworkers had put up posters outside their cubicles bearing a rendition of our flag, impressed upon which were the words, "Proud to be an American." Though I am patriotic, I am unable to put up such a poster, as it smacks of jingoism, something I have carefully avoided since serving in the army during the Vietnam era.
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