Life after tragedy

Deah had a beautiful smile. And he dedicated himself, professionally and personally, to making others smile. I remember when we first met—we had a pseudo-philosophical conversation about evolution. His words were incisive. He respected what I said even when it was nonsense. The next time we met, he introduced me to a friend of his, a stranger who promptly hugged me based solely upon his introduction. Every interaction was filled with this same unquestioning love. We had a vague plan of hanging out at some point in the future. I can only hope that we can still do so, in another plane of existence.

I did not know Deah as well as many of my friends. I never met Razan or Yusor. Yet I am struck by the senselessness and suddenness of the loss. I feel powerless as friends cry and I am unable to find the words to comfort them.

In the week since this tragedy, which was so close to home, many others have occurred further away. Trigger warning. A Muslim center building was burned down. Hundreds of tombs at a Jewish cemetery in France were vandalized. A 20-year old Turkish student, Özgecan Aslan, fought off a rape, was killed and burned. Coptic Christians were killed in Libya. A Charlie Hebdo-style shooting occurred in Copenhagen. Within the past few months, school children were slaughtered in Pakistan, people were massacred in Baga, drone strikes annihilated innocents, missiles bloodied Gaza and a police man shot and killed an unarmed 17-year old. And this is only a small sampling of the ugliness around the world.

The haunting question is “why?” Theologians ask why God allows evil. Social scientists ask why people hurt one another. Friends and family ask why us. Answers, when they are offered, vary. We are sometimes evil and decadent by nature and at other times there is a divine plan that we do not see. The follow up question, “Is there any meaning to our lives?”, has similarly diverse and often pained answers. Sometimes there is a heaven, sometimes there is absolutely nothing and at other times we philosophize about absurdity. For me, life is a test, with good and bad both, and God is there, somewhere. Regardless of our faith or philosophy, the fact remains that we all experience tragedy near and far and we choose how we contend with it.

I believe we should not ignore tragedies, even when they seem distant. Cat memes and inspiring HONY posts should not drown out darker realities. Happiness may decrease when we choose to stare at violence, but if everyone pushes dirt under the rug, it will only accumulate. I understand that some people may avoid discussions of tragedy because of their own traumatic experiences, and that is perfectly reasonable. Likewise, I don’t know if anyone has the emotional strength or time to focus on every loss, but at least those able should make an effort. Once we face tragedy, we should allow ourselves to grieve. Sadness is not weakness, but rather a potential means to catharsis. In the midst of this grief, community is of tantamount importance. Whether this takes the form of protests, prayers, or vigils depends on the situation. The solidarity of strangers even can help bring peace to those affected. We humans are social beings. We need others to share in our feelings and to affirm them.

We should look at the root causes of each tragedy. “Never again” has become a slogan of supposed comfort. Analysis and subsequent prevention is needed for it to become a reality. This entails focusing on systems and institutions and not just individuals. It also includes looking at the wider sociopolitical environment. Furthermore, proper analysis differentiates between tragedies. For example, #blacklivesmatter and #justiceformuslims are related in root causes—and there are several black Muslims experiencing the difficulty of both—but the two should not be equated. They should help each other, but not co-opt one another. On the other hand, analysis should not drown out grief. Getting terminology right is not as important as giving comfort to other human beings.

In the midst of tragedy, it is important to allow love extinguish hate. People who cause tragedies should face justice, but not hatred. They are not worth hatred. The Quba institute which dealt with arson last week responded to malicious facebook posts beautifully. This won them wider support, and in their view, made them closer to their creator. Bishop Angelos prayed for the people who killed his people. And as Deah Barakat’s mother said, “you don’t respond back by hating.”

Two weeks ago, I was going through an English reading with a Syrian student who had escaped the war. We read through a sentence on life in Liberia. It said that though many were still dying from Ebola, most people continued their daily routines. The student said quietly, “That is something we know well. Life goes on.” After the dust settles, most people continue moving. Humans are adaptive creatures. Nevertheless, we have a responsibility to remember those who will always have lasting holes in their lives. Furthermore, we should let the legacy of each victim shape our actions. Deah, Yusor and Razan reminded us to feed the homeless and care for refugee populations. The school children in Nigeria and Pakistan affirmed the importance of promoting education. Özgecan demands that policies be reevaluated. Following through with these legacies may not make up for the loss of life, nor will they ever be an adequate reason for “why tragedy happens”, but they are something we can tangibly do to address the systems that perpetuate the tragedies that cause us pain and grief.