Natasha Badhwar
Grief, rage and compassion — these are the keywords that emerged as I spent hours this week thinking about how and what to write. The first two are emotions, the third is an action. Each of these is a choice we can make. Choices we must make.
If we bottle them up or suppress them to pretend that we feel nothing, then sadness and anger will metamorphose to affect our own mental and physical health adversely. Our attempts to numb ourselves to the pain now will estrange us from ourselves in the future. It will create cracks in our most intimate relationships. It is not a sign of weakness to express deep emotions. In fact, it needs strength of conviction to be able to allow oneself to break away from the boundaries imposed by social etiquette that equates the expression of feelings with loss of control.
As we come face to face with mass deaths, suffering and helplessness every day, we must find ways to sublimate the grief that is weighing down on our body and soul. Some days the brush with bad news is so close that we find ourselves overwhelmed. We need all the defence mechanisms that help us to remain functional in these times of relentless loss.
Along with grief, we need to make space for rage. “I have had years stolen from me,” a friend writes about the death of her father, who died from Covid-related complications and secondary infections. “I have rightful anger against a system that caused harm to the vulnerable who it was supposed to protect.”
A mismanaged pandemic is not the only callous reality we are dealing with. As cremation grounds continue to overflow, we are discovering bodies rotting on riverbanks, being torn apart by dogs and crows as they flow from one state into another along our holy rivers. Every day we contend with the news of governance that is choosing this time to suppress criticism, use the law against peaceful dissenters, and quash the rights of minorities, prisoners, and others on the margins with unimaginable cruelty. Healthcare workers are exhausted from neglect. Citizen volunteers creating networks of support are being hounded as if it is a crime to offer help to those in distress.
Our role in the tattered democratic fabric of our country right now needs us to react with fury. Our outrage has the power to push back those who have become complacent from access to unchecked power. We must speak for each other and find ways to amplify each other’s voices. There is no other way to defend human rights.
Finally, we must foreground compassion as a response to the times we live in. We are living through the toughest, most brutal times most of us will witness in our lifetimes. I hope it doesn’t get worse than this. All these experiences — this grief, these losses and this rage — will have long-term consequences in our lives. Despite everything, we must go on. We must try to have normal days. Hours. Interludes.
In the last few weeks, I have had grim conversations with my children that are strangely uplifting. “Our country is not at war,” I say, sharing with them the news from Palestine and other war-torn countries. “We are not trapped in refugee camps. We are together. Our home is still a haven for us. Our communities and extended families are being able to support each other.”
When the news cycle is inducing trauma every day, we need to develop the capacity to acknowledge the truth of the suffering of others. Our personal brush with pain helps us imagine what others are experiencing. It shines a light on what other people’s needs might be and what role we can play in offering solace, however limited it may feel in the moment.
We must acknowledge that nothing else matters right now more than reaching out to each other. Slowing down and being gentle. Extending ourselves to our children, parents, neighbours, staff, colleagues and strangers. We are human, this is our superpower. Let nothing defeat our ability to love, to console, to break down and to heal. To eventually demolish the systems that victimise us.
— The writer is a filmmaker & author