I planned on posting something lighthearted I’d been working on this week but it doesn’t seem appropriate now.
I usually feel oddly disconnected to news about things (good or bad) happening in Pakistan. I’ve been there once and have no plans to go again. The Pakistan my parents grew up in, spoke so fondly of, is no longer a reality. I’m disappointed by it in so many ways. So, when I heard about the massacre of over a hundred children — I wasn’t sure how to articulate my feelings.
I usually find comfort in finding the right word to describe how I feel. It gives me a sense of closure. A way to encapsulate a swirling mass of thoughts and reactions. I can name it, acknowledge it, unpack it, process it, and put it way. But I’m coming up short now. In fact, I’ve been coming up short the past few weeks. I don’t want to become inured to injustice. I don’t want to expect every suspected terrorist act to have been committed by someone purporting to be Muslim. I don’t want to read about the killing of innocent children and know that their government failed to protect them, not because they couldn’t, but because they didn’t even try. I don’t want to feel burdened by the religion I grew up practicing. I don’t want to feel unsurprised and utterly hopeless at the same time.
I hope this is a wake-up call for the American criminal justice system. I hope this is a wake-up call to those who believe racism doesn’t exist. I hope this is a wake-up call to fight bigotry and prejudice in all forms. I hope this is a wake-up call for Pakistan’s government. I hope this is a wake-up call to all Muslims. I hope this is a wake-up call to humanity for humanity.
But I know better.