My dad wrote me an email this morning about my blog, telling me how much he enjoys reading it because I am "so refreshingly honest & willing to bare [my] soul." He went on to write that he "admire[s my] journey to find the 'truths' in life."
I would say that accurately sums up my blog in a nutshell.
But his words did more than make me smile, a little embarrassed about my dad being my main reader (ha). His words made me decide to REALLY bare soul, for good or for bad:
I've being trying to desperately avoid thinking about it and, certainly, avoid writing about it. But it's just bothering me too much, and while I tried to write my best friend about it and see if he could help, his response, though sweet and nonjudgmental, didn't make it go away. It was only after I read an article on The Boston Globe's website today and realized I wasnt the only one did I decide to risk it and write today's blog about what it has been that's out me in such a dark place the past few days:
I feel an ALARMING amount of empathy for the younger brother of the Boston bombings.
I know I shouldn't. I know I should hate him. I know I should see him as a murderer and as evil. I know I should have nothing but disgust for him. I know I should think about the four people who died because of his actions and the hundred plus severely injured by it. I know I should think about how he made one of my best friend's life turn upside down because of it all. I know I should be enraged by his stupidity and complete lack of respect for humanity and for a country (my country) that had taken him in and given him and his family a wonderful chance at a life they could only dream of in their native country.
But for some reason... For some stupid and incomprehensible reason... I have this voice in my head that keeps saying, "Yeah, but..." It started after I had a dream about him while my roomie and I had a live feed on while we were sleeping. But ever since then, no matter how much I try to ignore it or how unpatriotic it makes me feel or how hard it is to be in the same room as my Bostonian roomie when it starts up again or how sick to my stomach it has made me all week... It just keeps whispering, "Yeah, but..."
"Yeah, but... Maybe it was just his brother's effed up ideas and he was brainwashed into doing it. We don't usually persecute the brainwashed, but instead pity them. Maybe the reasons the brother gave seemed logical, coming from somebody he respected, even though they were clearly not. The fact that after his brother was dead he didn't hurt anyone else and instead hid in a boat could show he really wasn't wanting to hurt people. The fact that he's been cooperating and answering all of the questions the police have must show that he's not a crazy evil person."
And I can't help but wonder what he was thinking as he hid in that boat. And what he's thinking now as he lies in that guarded hospital room with a hole in is throat and the knowledge that he's just lost his entire life. Does he wake up and hope for a second he was dreaming? Does he replay agreeing to it all in his head and ask himself why he did? Does he feel remorseful for the people he hurt and killed? Would he do it again if given the opportunity? Does he feel it was worth it?
With most criminals, there is a distinct sense of removing them from humanity. The Aurora theater shooter is clinically insane. Al Qaida terrorists are brainwashed and have long ago lost touch with reality. They are not people - they are shells of people. We need not have empathy for them, because they lost their humanity long ago.
But this guy? He doesn't fit the image. He doesn't come across as utterly soulless. It'a much harder just to write him off as evil, because (and this is the worst part), there are aspects of ourselves we can see in him - whether were conscious of it or not. And that's both nauseating and petrifying.
I remember when I was 14 my parents read a book about the "Gay Agenda" and how homosexual people were trying to take over America and corrupt it. They were going to start with gay marriage, and then who knows what they would do next to ruin the moral fabric of our country! Inch by inch they would turn it into filth.
I remember them telling me about the book. I remember them agreeing with it. I remember being afraid by the unknown implications it implied, because they were. I would go to school and debate people on gay marriage - little by little becoming disgusted with people who were in favor of it.
Of course, it was all irrational, and it was only because my parents had told me about it and I believed their opinions to be absolute and correct. But I would defend it no matter what.
Five years later I would fall in love with a girl, become part of the gay community for half a decade, and quickly realized how ridiculous and homophobic the whole thing had been - but it took me a little while to not feel like my personal choices weren't possibly weakening my country in some imperceivable way...
I'm not saying I would have blatantly murdered people over what they told me, but I am saying it really altered my perception of the truth for a good long time. But given the right warped logic, the right affinity and respect for someone I looked up to and a hint of xenophobia*... I'm not so sure convincing me that making a scene to terrorize or raise awareness would be impossible.
I, myself, have never had the inexplicable urge to harm or kill anyone. Along with a healthy dose of respect for humanity, I never see others potential demise as outweighing my own future. I have, however, had two second "What if I..." thoughts, that seem to fade from my mind just as quickly as they randomly got there. I think them when I see a metro go past: "What if I just 'accidentally' hopped off the platform?" I think them when I get really irrationally angry at somebody close to me: "What if I just 'accidentally' said this awful thing to them?" I think them at random and after the pass, I always take a few more seconds to imagine the result.
Anyway, the point is, the fact that I can imagine putting myself in his place for even two seconds makes me feel empathy. And feeling empathy makes me feel... ashamed. It's almost worse that there's humanity in him than had he just been insane or beyond brainwashed; it adds a whole new dimension of dissonance.
As if my inner confusion and guilt weren't enough, sharing a room with one of my good friends who was freaking out and crying all week as pictures came up on her Facebook of friends with bullet holes in their bedrooms from the gunfights and as she talked to friends and family who were feet away when the explosions happened... That really adds to it.
I, more than most perhaps, know what it feels like to have an awful tragedy happen minutes from your home, and you be far away and unable to do anything. I remember how deeply it affected me for quite awhile. And I can't imagine how I would have felt if I'd been living with someone who was secretly feeling empathy for the perpetrator and irrationally thinking to herself, "Well this guy wasn't as blatantly mentally ill and didn't kill a quarter as many people as he killed in the tragedy where I lived..."
So on top of feeling utterly nuts for not just hating the guy, I feel even worse because I live with my good friend who was obviously quite affected by it all, and I still can't bring myself to stop feeling the way I do.
And that is why I have been in such a funk all week. That is why I have been completely avoiding her since Saturday. That is why I've felt so sick to my stomach all week. And after spending two and a half hours writing this, I still don't feel much better, nor know what to make of my perspective. I keep checking the news, hoping either he has released a heartfelt apology to the victims so that I can feel a little less insane about it all... Or hoping he has come out saying he would do it again and he's not sorry, just so that I can finally stop feeling this way.
But without more information, I'm stuck in this place of wanting to believe even people who do horrible, horrible things can still merge from their awful decision and act, still having a soul. I can't tell you why that feels like it would be so important to me, but it does. Perhaps, in a strange way, if somebody who did something that awful could somehow still have their humanity intact on the other side of it all, it would make me feel like all the things I have done wrong in my life - no matter how awful they were - do not have to define who I am today. Perhaps, I can see too much of myself and Conor and J in it all to be able to just turn off my hope, even if it turns out to be based in nothing but idiotic naivety.
I've never felt so ashamed and like I was betraying a friend so acutely as I feel now because of nothing but a feeling in the back of my mind that logic can't expunge. I hope I can forgive myself sooner rather than later for my judgement being uncharacteristically clouded by innocence. The voice inside hopes that innocence turns out to be based on something real, but the logical part of me hopes it turns out to be based on nothing but ridiculous naivety that will soon be squashed.
:-/
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