Is killing part of my nature? All humans inherit biological tendencies towards aggression. Perhaps that’s why, under the right circumstances, I too could attempt to kill someone. But thankfully, we live in an era where our aggression has, to a great extent, been restrained. So, I don’t just go out and kill; I might never even get the chance to kill someone in my lifetime.
Does this “restraint” make me a moral person, someone who opposes killing? I want to say no. It feels like a mere facade. How else do I explain myself protesting for trees and animals while silently ignoring the hundreds of thousands killed in wars or everyday killings for “traditional” causes like power, lust, and greed? I am, of course, one among billions who stay silent where our voices can make a difference.
It seems to me that as a crowd—this collective of individuals, we are good at killing. And we can do it willingly, even happily, as long as there is a cause to hide behind.
Lately, I have been reading news about the Gaza and Ukraine wars, and I keep feeling that this world is capable of stopping them. Yet somehow, it does not. The same helpless ache hit me years ago when I learnt about the Sri Lankan civil war.
People killed, cities demolished, cultures destroyed. There is no point in pondering the reasons; we seem to have no trouble finding reasons for these acts throughout our history—for the countless wars and crimes. I know it: it is not worth fighting for things that are beyond my control or beyond human control. My inaction!
It is staggering to think that the world once endured 20 million deaths in World War I and 70 to 85 million in World War II. Those numbers are almost impossible to comprehend. What did that do to the minds of the people living through it? How did humanity carry that weight? That must have been a source of immense psychological turmoil for humans everywhere. In a strange way, we’re lucky to be living now; none of the recent wars have reached even a fraction of those totals. The killing is smaller in scale. The destruction happens faster. And perhaps future killings will be even quicker—minutes instead of years—so the shock will be sharp but brief.
I do not expect God’s intervention here. In fact, faith is the only consolation that helps me navigate these emotional disturbances. I have learnt to stop asking the “whys”, trusting that this is how God wants it to be, and that there is a reason. Perhaps it is an escape. Perhaps a coping mechanism. Perhaps it is the only way I can carry these contradictions and still move forward without being consumed by guilt.
Beyond your imagination
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