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| David Guttenfelder | AP Photo + Nathan Sharratt |
I have difficulty processing tragedy. My initial reaction is taciturn acceptance. My rational, cognitive mind understands that the event occurred and there is no undo button to make it not have happened. There is nothing I could possibly say that could turn back the clock or make everything better. All words are at the very best inadequate and at the worst serve to trivialize the event and its consequences by attempting to express the inexpressible. In my mind—at least initially—speaking about it is an attempt to capture the event, to define it, categorize it, make it smaller and more digestible, easily processed. This can't be done. There is no way to effectively represent the enormity, complexity and magnitude of the disaster in Japan, or any number of other equally devastating world events. Running to Facebook or Twitter to let the world know that I think tragedies are tragic just seems so disingenuous. I scream oh how awful, fulfilling my role as a compassionate human being; and then I finish my dinner. It makes me feel better, but does nothing to alleviate the victims' suffering. It becomes a way to claim the power and authenticity of the event as my own, and to focus the lens of empathy on me, where it doesn't belong. So I don't say anything.
This is not to say that those who do post to social media after a tragic event are bad or wrong in any way, not at all. Quite the opposite. Everyone processes grief differently, and any method that works for you is the correct method. Some people internalize, some externalize, some find comfort in between. Some people donate to relief charities. Some people encourage others to donate to relief charities. Some process it by not processing it, giving the event no more thought than is necessary. All of it, any of it, none of it, is all correct. Though we are increasingly more a global society, the only reality we can know for certain exists is our own. I can empathize with the victims and their families by imagining myself in their place as an abstract concept, but I cannot truly understand. How would I feel if my world was destroyed? I don't know. I can't know, until it happens to me. The only way I can come anywhere near relating to those affected by the Japanese earthquake is by narrowing the field of vision to my own experiences. Anything else becomes too immense to deal with. One of those experiences was living in New York during the 9/11 attacks.
