Last term, I had my writing class listen to a speech given by Elie Wiesel called The Perils of Indifference, which he gave as part of the Millennium Lecture series at the White House. While some students nodded off to the hypnotic sound of Wiesel’s voice, he held me captive as he recounted what it felt like to lose hope as a victim of the Holocaust, to feel less than human, to feel God and the world had turned their back on his suffering.
In the speech, he speaks of his time in a concentration camp, saying,
“…we felt abandoned, forgotten. All of us did. And our only miserable consolation was that we believed that Auschwitz and Treblinka were closely guarded secrets; that the leaders of the free world did not know what was going on behind those black gates and barbed wire…”
He goes on to say that the Jews later discovered how many people in power and of privilege knew about the atrocities and did nothing. It was this doing nothing, this indifference to the pain of others, that helped perpetuate the wickedness of the Holocaust.
Wiesel says, “Indifference, after all, is more dangerous than anger and hatred…Even hatred at times may elicit a response. You fight it. You denounce it. You disarm it. Indifference elicits no response. Indifference is not a response.”
Indifference is not a response.
Indifference is evil’s accomplice: it dehumanizes and extinguishes hope when the suffering need it most.
Sitting in a stuffy classroom filled with sleepy-eyed students, this speech acted as a mirror to my own half-hearted approach to suffering. When I held it up to myself, I saw that I am guilty of indifference in so many areas of my life. It’s easy to abhor the evil present in the obvious–in the Holocaust or the Rohingyan genocide or any number of vile and violent crimes we see on our tv screens daily. I’ve convinced myself I would never be an active participant in obvious evil.
And yet, after listening to Wiesel’s speech, I had to ask myself, what am I supporting through my indifference? How am I allowing racism to take root or misogyny to flourish? Where am I lacking in compassion to the other, the immigrant, the poor? How am I hurting rather than helping?
Compassion is the antidote to indifference. It compels us to take action.
I’ve taken a hard look at my own lack of action and wondered where to begin. Over the last year, I’ve felt a sense of increasing urgency to resist the systems and places of power that perpetuate anything that is antithetical to the life of Jesus. This has been an uncomfortable unveiling of my own soul and also my illusions about the western church and my own country.
Where to begin?
I am tired of the pervasive evil I see on the news. I am tired of the endless debates on social media. I am tired of my own indifference. And yet, I’m not a natural crusader or eloquent speaker or political powerhouse. I’m a mom, a writer, a teacher, an introvert. I am, at times, timid. Can you relate? I don’t think I’m alone in wondering where I can make a difference.
I don’t have the “right” answers, but I do have a few steps that may help you take your first steps out of timidity and silence and into action.
Recognize our indifference
Listen to Wiesel’s speech. Hold it up like a mirror, and ask yourself hard questions about who stares back at you.
Lead with compassion
Compassion compels us to action. We need only look at the life of Jesus to know this is true.
Identify one area in which you’d like to move from indifference to action
What stirs you to tears? What makes anger rise up like a flame? Let these lead you. You can’t and won’t change the world overnight. What is one area of injustice you would like to see change? Take a step in the direction of your tears and anger. Like arrows, they will point you.
Start with small steps towards change
The weight of other’s suffering can keep us in a state of inertia. It feels overwhelming when faced with the magnitude of the problem. Rather than focusing on the problem as a whole, focus on what you can do. What small step can you take this month to invite change? Could you make a phone call? Sign a petition? Donate your pocket change? Could you tell a like-minded friend and ask them to help you discern your next small step? Could you have a difficult conversation? Write a letter? Create?
For those of us who won’t hold political office or stand in a pulpit or write a newspaper expose, let’s value the quiet, consistent work of compassion. We make a difference when we recognize the structure of systemic injustice, and we set about to dismantle it pebble by pebble, brick by brick.
