The burden of empathy.
In recent weeks, I’ve been covering the ongoing protests in the United Kingdom, sparked by the unexpected events of October 7th when Hamas launched a surprise attack on Israel. The assault targeted a music festival, a military post, and led to the kidnapping of 120 victims taken back to Gaza. This incident jolted the entire nation into high alert, making the international community acutely aware of the gravity of the situation.
Israel's response, initially marked by targeted bombings, quickly evolved into a broader, more indiscriminate onslaught, affecting not only military targets but also civilian infrastructure. The aftermath was devastating, leaving hospitals, schools, refugee camps, and residential buildings in ruins and resulting in the killing of thousands. Fear hung over the Gaza territory, rendering nowhere safe.
As a photographer, I felt compelled to document the unfolding chaos, standing among protestors demanding a ceasefire in Gaza. The passion and anger in the initial days were palpable, a resolute determination to be the voice for the voiceless. However, as the death toll rose, their morale dwindled. Tears and the struggle to articulate the magnitude of the tragedy became normal. In my dual role as a psychotherapist, I couldn't ignore the potential for second-hand PTSD, a silent repercussion of constant exposure to distressing images through social media and news outlets.
The toll on the younger generation in these protests raises questions about the psychological support they'll need afterward. Witnessing widespread suffering and violence leaves an indelible mark.
My concern deepened during a conversation with a close friend grappling with the emotional toll of the conflict. My impassioned critique, rooted in my experiences as a photojournalist in troubled communities, profoundly affected her. She confided in me, revealing the struggle to find meaning in her life amidst such suffering. This revelation prompted a lengthy conversation, as I tried to inspire her, emphasizing the profound purpose her creative work holds, even in these trying strange times.
In the midst of this chaos, a disconcerting reality emerges. The conflict's toll, not only on those directly affected but on the collective psyche of societies, is staggering. Over three weeks, the Palestinian people have witnessed a devastating loss of lives. According to figures from both Israeli and Palestinian officials, a staggering 12,000 lives have been claimed in this conflict. 1,400 Israeli lives and over 10,000 Palestinians, among them, 4,500 are children, their lives cut short in the most horrific manner imaginable.
Antonio Guterres, the UN Secretary-General, aptly captures the gravity of the situation, declaring in his words that “The nightmare in Gaza is more than a humanitarian crisis; it is a crisis of humanity itself.”
As a photographer and psychotherapist, my work goes beyond documenting events. I recognize the interconnected web of human experiences and the echoing of trauma across diverse landscapes. In my work with vulnerable communities globally, I've witnessed the resilience of the human spirit in the face of adversity. Now, as the world grapples with the repercussions of conflict, my mission remains loyal—to capture these moments, shed light on the suffering, and provide the necessary support and guidance the groups that I work to help us to navigate these tumultuous times as long as long as we can.
As a coping mechanism, I find solace in my work during personal adversities. I immerse myself in the closest conflict or political affair, channeling my energy into writing, reading, capturing photographs, and contributing to movements aligned with just causes. It's a coping mechanism method that helps me keep moving forward, a way to divert my thoughts from personal struggles.
Yet, for many people, when the reverse situation unfolds, when the violence and brutality of war encroach upon the personal aspects of life, the need for mental health support becomes glaringly apparent. Depression looms, and the specter of suicide becomes an alarming reality. The overwhelming influx of information on social media regarding the war further exacerbates the situation, potentially leading to second-degree trauma for many.
War, a perennial presence in human history, has undergone a transformation in the digital age. The way we perceive and engage with conflict has changed dramatically. We used to catch glimpses of war on the news at designated times or stumble upon a tabloid on a corner newspaper shop, momentarily reminding us of our capacity for cruelty. A radio bulletin might interrupt the melody of our favorite song, shedding light on the suffering of someone thousands of miles away.
However, we now find ourselves in a vastly different landscape. Information flows at an unprecedented speed, and our attention spans are stretched thin. A photojournalist risks their life to capture an image that flickers on our screens for mere seconds, quickly overshadowed by the latest remarks of a celebrity. We are bombarded with an incessant overload of information on social media, a barrage of sounds, visuals, ideas, rhythms, and concepts that assault our senses.
Our brains, capable as they are, struggle to process this constant deluge. While we scroll through our social media feeds, we are bombarded with so many different stimuli that, after a while, our brains have to adopt a protective mechanism—they stop retaining all that information to shield themselves from overload. This raises a pertinent question: as we witness the war unfold before our eyes on our social media channels, are we gradually becoming desensitized to these images? Or do we, consciously or subconsciously, divert our gaze because we comprehend the futility of our actions in such overwhelming circumstances?
The images we collect in our minds and hearts as witnesses to these horrors are not mere snapshots; they are imprints that linger, shaping the very fabric of our lives. How will these images manifest in our relationships, our work, or the dreams we have at night? The trauma we accumulate, this second-hand trauma will find its way to the surface soon enough, and I fear that our society is ill-prepared to deal with its consequences.
As I reflect on the state of the world, the interconnectedness of global issues, and the profound impact of conflict on the human psyche, I am reminded of the words of Pastor Niemöller that remind us how important is to be united by humanity in moments like this,
“First they came for the Jews and I did not speak out because I was not a Jew. Then they came for the Communists and I did not speak out because I was not a Communist. Then they came for the trade unionists and I did not speak out because I was not a trade unionist. Then they came for me and there was no one left to speak out for me.”
This is a clear reminder that the location of a conflict, the religion, beliefs, or race of those affected, is inconsequential compared to the humanity lost in the process. In the face of such profound suffering, is important to remember that we possess one of the most powerful weapons at our disposal: our freedom of speech, and it can easily be amplified through the simple devices that are breaking us and that we carry everywhere in our pockets but is also the only way to get our voice heard. Yet, too often, we fail to utilize this tool to denounce the crimes transpiring before our very eyes.
Sometimes, amongst all the chaos, is easy to remember those who proclaim ignorance as a blessing might find a semblance of peace in their blindness. Yet, I, for one, do not wish for such blessings. Instead, I place my faith in the power of knowledge, empathy, and the unwavering courage to speak out against the injustices that plague our world. I still believe in us, even through all this mist that surrounds us and turns us blind and as it was written on the walls of a broken house in a poor neighborhood in Bogota, “Let’s leave pessimism for better times.”
Miguel Angel Amortegui
