Who Would You Like to Kill?

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Hotel Rwanda

I keep thinking about this scene from Hotel Rwanda (2004), about indifference to suffering and atrocity.

“How can they not intervene when they witness such atrocities?”

“I think if people see this footage they’ll say, ‘oh my God that’s horrible,’ and then go on eating their dinners.”

Becoming Monsters

The Long Reach of Famine in Gaza

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Replenishing Empathy: Gaza and Sudan

“Empathy is a finite resource. You can run out. As a normal, psychological response, you cannot give yourself of again and again and again without replenishing.” — Emmett Fitzgerald

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The Civilian Costs of the Soviet-Finnish Wars

The Civilian Costs of the Soviet-Finnish Wars

The Finnish-Soviet wars will seem like an esoteric topic and a slight departure from the things I usually write about. I am doing this because of my interests in war and health in a general sense, particularly how conflict-related stress and malnutrition may affect long-term health. It’s important to remember that not all places are affected by war equally, and local details are essential. This is just a place for me to make some notes about how Finnish civilians, especially food supplies, were affected by the different wars from 1939-45. The main source is Olli Vehviläinen’s 2002 book Finland in the Second World War: Between Germany and Russia, in particular Chapter 7, “A Society Under Stress.” I’m also including some relevant photos from Thérèse Bonney’s 1943 photo-essay book “Europe’s Children.”

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Killing Each Other’s Children

Jimmy Carter Nobel Lecture, Oslo, (December 10, 2002)

Quantifying Gaza

“From the individualistic point of view it matters not at all that a million people perish, what matters is that one person dies a million times.”

Lidiya Ginzburg (1902-90) siege of Leningrad survivor, “Notes from the Blockade”, p. 85

“I am not a number and I do not consent to my death being passing news. Say, too, that I love life, happiness, freedom, children’s laughter, the sea, coffee, writing, Fairouz, everything that is joyful—though these things will all disappear in the space of a moment.”

Nour al Din Hajjaj, Palestinian writer (2006 -2023)

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Palestinians mourning their relatives, killed in an overnight Israeli strike on the Al-Maghazi refugee camp, during a mass funeral at Al-Aqsa Hospital in Deir Al-Balah, in the central Gaza Strip, on Monday. Source: Mahmud Hams/Agence France-Presse — Getty Images

Numbers can be a double-edged sword.

They can help us perceive the scale of an issue, or the difference between two things. We can use them to detect how patterns may change over time. They can aid us in finding associations between variables. And they can allow us to see a pattern from above and help us gain some emotional distance from it. To quantify, wrote Carl Sagan, was one of our most important “scientific tools” (though he also left room for qualitative approaches). Similarly, in Errol Morris’ outstanding documentary “The Fog of War,” one of Robert McNamara’s eleven lessons was simply “Get the data.” In sum, numbers are essential.

Yet numbers also have some limitations, particularly when it comes to war and human suffering. Sometimes, numbers seem to numb our humanity. As psychologist Paul Slovic has written, we are more apt to empathize with individuals in a way that is difficult when thinking about a multitude, an effect he referred to as “psychic numbing” (Slovic, 2007). For example, people are more likely to donate to charity after being presented with the story of a single affected person than statistics from a humanitarian disaster.

By now, the numbers from Gaza and Israel are fairly well-known. Hamas’ heinous terrorist attacks in Israel on October 7, which killed 1,200 people (including 845 civilians), injured 5,431, kidnapped 239 more, and included multiple brutal acts of sexual assault. Following that horrible day, many organizations have sought to quantify the effects of Israel’s military actions in Gaza.[1]  

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Leaving Twitter

I deleted my Twitter/X account a couple of weeks ago. After being on the site for fourteen years, I admit that it was difficult to let go. Mine wasn’t a huge account, with only a few thousand followers, but Twitter had been good to me. It helped me forge professional contacts, share some writing, even get invited to conferences and be interviewed by journalists. And of course there was some time to follow news, goof off, and just interact with people around the world.

However, after the change of ownership to Elon Musk, the site seemed to change for the worse, with an increase in ethnic slurs and hate speech, and a decrease in oversight. There appears to be an exodus of academics from Twitter, as networks gradually deteriorated and the algorithm seemed to sideline old voices in favor of more sensational, even hate-filled tweets. The journal Nature mentioned one analysis which found that a handful of controversial, previously obscure, accounts that Musk personally recommended or interacted with had exploded in popularity after only a year.

I know there are many more important issues than this. Some friends suggested I stay there and “take up space,” make your voice known, etc. Knowing the old maxim about the Internet, “If you are not paying for it, you’re not the customer; you’re the product being sold,” ultimately I felt ethically torn by remaining there and being a product for a site that was going in a direction I disagreed with. So, I guess that’s that.

A Window in the Skies

Current events leave me searching for reasons for optimism, so I turn to one of my favorite videos. It’s raw energy, the editing is spot-on, and the sentiment behind it (the love can leave open better possibilities) is needed.