How Do We Live with Evil?
Dear friend,
I saw a clip today of Gary Lineker taking a moment to compose himself at a screening of a documentary about the killing of medical aid workers in Gaza.
If you don’t know Gary, he once captained the English football team and until recently worked for the BBC.
In the clip, we saw footage recovered from the mobile phone of one of the slaughtered medics. The automatic gunfire is savage and unrelenting. The young man knows he is to die and asks forgiveness from his mother for choosing a path of helping others.
Sitting on stage with Gary, I saw my friend Karim—one of the journalists who made the documentary. I did a double take. Zoomed in on his image just to make sure it was him.
Something collapsed inside me—where I’d been holding up some kind of distancing device. Some way of not seeing raw, naked, bloody evil.
How do we live with the knowledge of the unfathomable evil manifesting through our governments?
I was speaking with Dan this morning and this was his question. And all I can think of is: we do not turn away. We do not push away the grief of these crimes against humanity.
To feel desolation is not unhealthy. It is human.
I regret that I voted for David Lammy, the current Foreign Secretary. His face I have looked upon in the garden of our local community centre.
Remember that the people aiding and supporting these atrocities are human beings still—no matter how inhumane they have become.
To grieve and to feel is not weakness. It may be the only path open in this very moment—but we take it anyway.
To become numb means to become compliant.
If you are hurting now, then maybe that is the most humane response.
Do not fall into the dark imaginings the false self will construct, where there is no light and no hope.
There are millions upon millions of compassionate and kind people who want peace. And we can act—even if we are alone—by remembering this, and reflecting upon the goodness in the world, and connecting to the courage in our hearts to refuse to dehumanise anyone, even the ones who have lost sight of their own humanity.
I always admired Gary Lineker, even though I don’t go in much for football.
My Auntie Jean has a photo of my cousins with Gary in a bar he used to own in Spain. He chatted with them until the conversation ran out—which, being starstruck, didn’t take so long. At least, that’s how it was told to me.
I don’t know what to do in the face of so much suffering other than to open, and feel, and connect with others who are living from their heart space.
Resonating with peace in your own heart, and sharing that with others—we all can do.
Imperfectly.
Hesitatingly.
The power is within us.
Till tomorrow,
Love,
Mikey