Some may think that this entry is "too soon" as it has been less than 24 hours since most of us here in the United States have heard about the attacks in Paris. However, I feel that it is precisely in these moments when, those of us who may not be so closely related to recent horrific events, need to have these conversations.
Scrolling through my social media feed, there are an overwhelming number of posts and notifications, not only of the attacks themselves, but of statements of solidarity people are showing for Paris. And it's beautiful. People are changing their profile pictures to show the colors of the French flag. Others are sharing photos of monuments and buildings around the world lit up in blue, white, and red. On and on, the message is: "We are with you. You are not alone in this." It's a wonderful sentiment, and it should not be entirely discarded.
And yet, where were the colors of the Beirut flag only a few days ago? Why weren't people en mass changing their profile pictures to those saying "Black Lives Matter" or posting numerous statuses about the actions of the students on the university campus in Missouri? Why is saying "Free Palestine" when Israeli attacks continue to occur, and Palestinian land is STILL being stolen, so controversial, but no one blinks an eye at "Pray for Paris"?
With the era we live in, where we are saturated with information, 24 hour "news" cycles, etc. it is easy to become overwhelmed. We cannot hold the pain of the world in a day. We need breaks. This is understandable. The human psyche can take only so much without completely unraveling.
Still, more often than not, there is the collective pattern here in the West to take a break from solidarity and compassion when brown people (or those perceived to be brown) are involved. When those from predominantly white countries experience the frailty and horror that so many others have already faced, the rest of the world seems to stand still. We give moments of silence. We send our prayers. We change our profile pictures and create hashtags. We stand with them. Because they're not "those other people." This is not to say that the latter is a thought that necessarily happens on a conscious level. Through decades and centuries of Western white supremacy, it has become ingrained into our dominant culture, and is now a subconsciously understood sentiment. And those who have it are not inherently "bad people" either. This is something I struggle with, too, as a white person from a Western country who has benefited from centuries of white supremacy. I turn my eyes away from the brown people suffering because "what else is new?" White country experiences terrorist attacks, and I'm glued to my newsfeed. This is not to detract from my own argument; on the contrary, I hope what I have just said will serve to validate it. We here in the West, especially us white folk, have a lot to work on when it comes to our solidarity with others. And this includes people in our own country that we have turned our backs on, time and again.
I currently work as an outpatient therapist in a community mental health organization. Being new to the field, one thing that I am working on, among many, is to allow for silence in my sessions with clients. Silence can be useful, and powerful, especially in the therapeutic relationship. Silence sometimes can, and often does, say more than words ever could. I am still learning this. In a similar vein, the silence we offer in solidarity with Western countries who experience tragedy speaks volumes, especially when compared to our silence of indifference toward the Global South. Our collective silence in either case is powerful. Our silence in either case can be used to solidify the barriers of awareness, compassion, and solidarity.
I often tell my clients that changing certain unhelpful cognitions in our brains is very much like trying to make a new path in a forest. Leveling the undergrowth enough to walk more easily takes time and effort, and must be constant. The same is true for our consciousness, both individually and collectively. We must work on ourselves to create new pathways of thinking, and in order to do this, we have to give pause and consider why we are choosing to pay attention to and validate the experience of one group more so than another. We have to challenge the media who barrage us with stories that reinforce Western white supremacy, but are then silent (or very near silent) when it comes to stories that don't fit into that narrative. We have to question why "All Lives Matter" can feel so comfortable and right to some of us, and why saying "Black Lives Matter" or "Trans Lives Matter" can feel as though we are participating in "discrimination." And in this instance, we must ask: "Why pray just for Paris?"
What happened in Paris last night was horrific and deplorable. No one should have to go through that. And the same can be said for a multitude of instances throughout the world, including some more recent events in Syria, Iraq, Palestine, and Beirut. No one should have to be a refugee and experience the constant terror of uncertainty.
By all means, pray for Paris. Give a moment of silence in solidarity. But let us remember, too, that there are many others who deserve our prayers, and who deserve more than our silent indifference.
