Do not use your newfound knowledge of the world to shame those who stand with France.

This was also posted on Medium, here.

On Monday, I spoke to a good friend who grew up in the 16^th arrondissement of Paris. Like me, she has worked in international humanitarianism throughout the world. On the night of November 13^th, she also joined me in the set of people who have been personally touched by a tragedy that the mass media deemed of international proportions. In my case, the tragedy was the Virginia Tech Massacre of 2007, in which I lost a few friends and knew several others who were killed. In the algorithmic world of social media, both of us had seemingly whittled down our Facebook news feeds to those with whom we more or less agree on major social issues. Strangely, a sad phenomenon crept up in both of our feeds following the attacks in Paris – some people thought it was appropriate and necessary to shame those who mourned for Paris with articles, images and status updates about other, less heard tragedies.

Being in a field that is often defined by massive and heartbreaking losses of life, I had a visceral reaction to the sudden outpouring of “care” for other international tragedies. At least in part, this is because of the hypocritical superficiality of this so-called alternative narrative. The fact that so many people posted in an effort to “call out privilege” or to “put mourning for Paris in check” made me sick.

Is there privilege inherent to an American posting a picture of their vacation to Paris to show solidarity with France? Yes, absolutely. Is there a media bias that favors coverage of 130+ people dying in Paris over Beirut or Kenya or Burundi or Somalia or another economically developing country with people of color? Of course. But this is neither the place nor time to use these as weapons to demonize those who are trying to find an outlet for their pain, to stand with their French friends or to simply support a foreign country.

Privilege comes in all forms and, in fact, social media is largely designed to showcase that privilege. When my straight friends post pictures of their anniversary and talk about how they married their high school sweetheart, they are mired in privilege, because as a gay woman, I never had the luxury of dating someone I was attracted to when I was that young. When I post a status update about my upcoming work trip to Africa, that is mired in privilege, because I had the economic means to study and make a career out of what I love doing. As someone who has devoted considerable time and energy to correcting those imbalances, as my colleagues distribute food in war-torn countries, or set up a new public health system, or as local activists empower their own people to speak freely for the first time, we know there is a way, a time and a place to call out privilege. We also know that if a person chooses to acknowledge the pain and suffering of an event that that does not mean this person does not care about others.

Paris is one of the most visited cities in the world. It is one of the most socioeconomically diverse cities in the world. It is one of the most vibrant cities in the world. Paris is a city that has offered a lot of people a piece of itself, and for this reason, an attack on Paris is something that resonates globally. Yes, there are vicious and heinous attacks on many parts of the world. The media needs to do a better job of covering these issues, but people need to do a better job of caring. This means not just passively caring or caring when it’s in vogue. This means caring in a way that is productive, helpful and acknowledges that one person’s fight may not be same for the next person.

The semester of the Virginia Tech Massacre, the people I knew best that died worked tirelessly with me to help raise campus awareness of what was happening Darfur, Sudan. After the Massacre happened, the support online, through the phone and in-person was such a valuable lifeline when I most needed the help. That support told me it was okay to break down crying in the street, or question why such amazing people were killed or that the events would forever alter who I am. Our capacity to love and support is not limited; my capacity to care about Darfur and mourn for my friends was not mutually exclusive. Our capacity to mourn Paris and Beirut and Somalia and Burundi and the other tragedies of the world in a healthy, pro-active way is not limited.

Do not use your newfound knowledge of the world to shame those who stand with France.

The Lack of Progress Since The Shooting, The Virginia Tech Massacre

Over the last two weeks, a good friend of mine was in town from France. As it often goes, over a year without seeing each other meant that the life reflections we had were much deeper than with what usually comes in more frequent catch-ups. Zooming the life lens out means only things that are truly important are discussed. Being in the midst of promoting my upcoming novel, The Paths of Marriage, which is on a completely different set of subjects, the one single most impactful event of my life has been phased out of nearly every important conversation in the past few months. It wasn't until last Thursday did it dawn on me why I have barely written about this event, this event being what the media dubbed as "The Virginia Tech Massacre." 

For those of us who were there, we simply call it "the shooting".

If the Virginia Tech Massacre had happened in nearly any of the United States' fellow economically developed countries, a reference as generic as "the shooting" would be enough to distinguished the event. It is deeply unfortunate that America cannot claim that same statement. In America, we so often have a mass shooting in which random civilians die en masse that we actually need to title each shooting with a proper noun for it to be identified. I realized last Thursday that this is at the core of why I have found it so hard to write about the subject:  

In the almost seven years since the shooting, I feel nearly no progress on the issue.

Before I go any further, I would like qualify the above. There are some absolutely fantastic initiatives out there to better gun control, increase dialogue, and fight against the extreme lobby interests of the NRA. To name a few, Mayors Against Illegal Guns and Demand Action Against Gun Violence are doing great work.

Rather, what I mean by the above is that in contrast to some of the issues I address in my upcoming book, the progress seen on gun control is a fraction of what it needs to be to both make a difference and to allow those directly impacted by shootings to freely speak their mind. As a minority and as an ally to causes that have been severely demonized in the past, I know how critical this can be.

When I was doing my bachelors degree at Virginia Tech, the issue of LGBT rights was still a largely taboo subject for much of the student body. In order to have a discussion on what LGBT rights actually means - practically, emotionally, economically, historically - one would first have to thoroughly vet out whether the person sitting on the other side of the conversation was an extremist. Otherwise, what should be a civil argument could quickly dissolve into batting away ridiculous, offensive, completely illogical statements about incest, polygamy, abomination, the apocalypse, whatever. 

It is exhausting constantly having to argue points that should not be points; it is exhausting constantly having to argue against people who are uninformed and biased, yet unyielding in their views. Over time, it can be destructive, as nothing is ever achieved, nothing really progresses despite so much time, energy and effort. Over the past seven years, that is how I have felt about the issue of gun control, about preventing future events like the Virginia Tech Massacre, and therefore about publicly reflecting on what happened. Fortunately, I have spent the majority of the time since the shooting in places where I feel comfortable talking about what happened, though attempts to speak beyond those borders are exhausting given the potential backlash.

I could enumerate the many arguments to better gun control across the country. I could even take it a step further and argue why I think the Constitutional argument is flawed. But I'm not going to. I'm not going to because every time I try, points that should not be points are somehow still points. The conversation is still so polarized that nothing short of another shooting changes opinions. Worse, even when people do shift in their opinions in support of gun control, lobbying groups and Congress metaphorically, and sometimes literally, hold voters hostage.

There are a number of aspects of the Virginia Tech Massacre about which I can write without delving into the highly contentious political arena. Indeed, I suppose this is as good a place as any to announce the shooting is the subject of my next planned novel. Still, as a constant contextualizer, as an intellectually curious person, as simply me, it is both painful and heartbreaking to know how little has changed since I laid the first flower bouquet of many over the memorial stones of the three friends I lost on April 16, 2007.