Staying human in inhumane times
The world is on fire.
And I don’t mean that metaphorically. Gaza is burning. Congo. Sudan. Yemen.
Children are dying. Cities are disappearing. Lives are being erased.
Far-right ideologies are gaining ground. Refugees vanish from view.
And I feel everything. Grief. Rage. Helplessness.
But more than anything, I feel disbelief.
Disbelief at the silence.
At the looking away.
At how collective discomfort seems to weigh heavier than human lives.
How people would rather stay quiet than say the wrong thing.
Would rather analyze than feel.
But that’s exactly where responsibility begins.
Not with the perfect answer, but with the choice to keep looking.
To not shut down.
To allow yourself to be moved, even when you don’t know what to do with what you feel.
How is this happening?
How can people cause, or allow, so much suffering and still carry on as if nothing’s wrong?
How deeply disconnected must you be from your own body, your own heart, your own history?
I truly believe this only becomes possible when we’ve lost touch with ourselves.
When we no longer inhabit our bodies and avoid what we feel.
Because when you truly feel, this becomes impossible to ignore.
That’s why we have to stay with it.
Not to stay stuck in pain, but to not lose ourselves.
Connection requires presence, even when it’s uncomfortable.
Because when you push away the suffering of others, you push away parts of yourself.
Our inner world and the world out there are not separate.
What we refuse to face within, we repeat collectively.
And the way we see the world shapes who we become.
From the Ubuntu wisdom of Southern Africa we know: “I am because we are.”
We are who we are through the relationships we hold — with ourselves and with the world.
Who you are doesn’t form in isolation, but in relation.
So the question isn’t just: what do I think about all this?
But: what do I do with it? How do I live with it? What does it show me about myself?
And yes, I still see hope.
But not the kind that sits around waiting for better times.
This is not a comforting promise, it’s a choice.
The kind of hope I mean lives in people who refuse to harden.
Who keep moving, speaking, seeking ways to contribute.
And that’s what I trust: that our humanity, when taken seriously, will always find a way.
We may not all be activists.
Not everyone walks at the front, organizes, publishes.
But staying absent is not a neutral position.
Silence, inaction, shutting down; it may feel like nothing,
but they silently affirm exactly what makes you uncomfortable.
You let the system keep running because you place yourself outside of it.
As if it’s something you have no influence over.
But that’s how power works: it thrives when people believe they’re powerless.
Every time you look away, you give a part of your own strength away.
Showing up, especially when it’s uncomfortable, is also a form of resistance.
Because you refuse to normalize the unacceptable.
Because you choose not to disappear.
And what can you do? Heal. Listen. Ask questions.
Let yourself be affected. Connect with community. Share. Donate.
These are not small acts.
What seems small might be exactly what holds the web of humanity together.
Every time you choose to stay, when it would be easier to turn away, something shifts.
In you. In another. In the field between us.
Responsibility doesn’t start with grand action…it starts with not walking away.
And maybe, in a world on fire, that’s already revolutionary.
This moment asks something else.
This week, I’m intentionally not including a scientific framework.
Not because it doesn’t exist… There’s plenty to say about mirror neurons, projection, behavioral patterns.
But I don’t want to intellectualize this message.
Sometimes we just need to get out of our heads.
Not explain, but feel.
Not analyze, but be present.
Just be a bit more human.