A life is a life. The unbearable pain of losing someone you love is identical no matter how differently it is expressed. And yet the varying shades of the global reaction to tragedy based on location, nationality, ethnicity, culture and religion belie our humanity, a harsh reminder that our “global community” is an illusion, despite our seemingly desperate desire to cling to that notion.
In the wake of the terror attacks in Brussels on March 22, which claimed 35 lives, moments of silence for the victims were held in Washington and Madrid and across Britain, among other places. A sign was rolled out on a highway in France reading, “We are all Brussels.” The colors of the Belgian flag lighted monuments in Paris, Berlin, Rome, Amsterdam, New York and Dubai.
As a correspondent based in Turkey, which itself has been the victim of terrorism in recent months, I listened to some of the questions being raised in the wake of the tragedy in Belgium. Has violence become so routine in some countries that it simply doesn’t trigger a “global” outpouring of support? Is it physical distance or some sort of psychological chasm that can lead to a muted response when an individual of a different ethnicity, culture or religion is killed?
The response echoed the reaction to last year’s Charlie Hebdo attacks, when millions took to the streets of Paris and across France. Leaders from around the world attended a march, locking arms in what was hailed as an iconic moment of solidarity.
Back then, Twitter and social media erupted in #JeSuisCharlie messages of support. This past week, Brussels was the top trending word in dozens of languages, while messages such as “Pray for Brussels” and “Pray for Belgium” were widely shared.
But this outpouring of sympathy has also caused many to ask, why the resounding silence when it comes to violence elsewhere? As @KateLueck tweeted, “It’s also super sad that so many people forget about turkey and what happened there several times. #PrayForTheWorld”
Perhaps it is the shock of an attack in a stable and safe Western nation that generated 24-hour rolling coverage in the Western media, with blow-by-blow updates of manhunts, intelligence failures and other details. Or maybe it is the sobering realization that what happens “over there” is no longer foreign and strange. It is very real.
Turkey has been hit by at least six attacks since last summer, strikes that ripped through demonstrations, tourists in Istanbul’s historic district and its main vibrant pedestrian thoroughfare, and civilian and military targets in the capital of Ankara. The violence was in the headlines for a day or two, and then the news cycle and the social media spheres moved on. The question then too was raised: We prayed for Paris; what about Ankara?
Twitter user @RihannaXShe said, “Have you seen the world supporting Turkey??? Every life matters! No matter where they live! #PrayForOurWorld”
Yes, every life does matter. But judging by the reaction on social media, it seems to matter more the closer it is to you, the more one relates to what happened or perhaps based on the circumstances around the loss of life. This is something that works both ways; look at the response to the Brussels attacks in non-Western newspapers and outlets. Covered, yes, but not as extensively.
Indeed, the response can vary even within nations. Turks did not take to the streets en masse in October, in the aftermath of the deadliest attack in the nation’s modern history, when twin suicide bombers ripped through a peace rally in the capital of Ankara.
Perhaps the broader debate to be had, then, is how we relate to one another on a “global” level.
Violence in Iraq, Kenya, Nigeria, Syria, Yemen and beyond often barely makes the news, much less generates the level of social media outrage we saw last week. Citizens of those nations are confronted with the horrors of war, the bloodcurdling screams of the aftermath of attacks, with such frequency that it has forcibly become a part of their norm. There is a brief sigh of relief when they and those they love survive, the fear of stepping outside and becoming the next statistic continuously lurking in their psyche. But it is seen as something they have no choice but to live with.
After the Brussels attacks, refugees trapped in Greece lifted signs expressing solidarity, the pain of the aftermath of senseless violence all too familiar to them. One especially popular photograph is of a boy lifting a sign that reads “Sorry for Brussels.” In response, there is an especially touching response by a Belgian child: “We’re OK! It’s not your fault!”
Sadly, in today’s world, such empathy is all too often lost amidst the rise of the extreme right and anti-immigrant sentiment.
One refugee woman said shortly after the Brussels attacks, “What happened today in Belgium is so bad for us, maybe they will be more afraid of us.”
The sad reality is that she has already been proved correct.
Last week’s events crushed compassion, turned people against each other when they are considered to be the “other,” widened the abyss created by racism and other prejudice of various descriptions, and permeated political rhetoric in Europe and the United States.
The truth is, most of us do care more for our own, for those who we perceive to be “like us.” And while part of that is perhaps just human nature, it should not translate into indifference to the suffering of others. Nor, of course, should it result in shunning and fearing “the other.”
Sadly, though, it does. And as long as that remains the norm, terror will always be the winner.