1/7/22

By Josh Rubin

There, but for the roll of the dice, go I. I could have been born in extreme poverty, outside the borders and gates that protect my privilege. My skin could have been another color. Despite the science fictionny paradoxes presented by these me-not-me scenarios, they are nothing but an extension of the fair measure of the capacity for empathy we are all born with. Empathy that is ignited when we let ourselves look into the faces of others and imagine their plight.

This is why we witness. To keep that sense of shared humanity alive, as an ember at the very least, even in these cold times, as our own world lurches toward apocalypses of every variety, and there seems to be so little we can do to turn other eyes to the plight of those in the global south, lands and livelihoods wrecked and threatened. Borders are all many see, built to keep the suffering out of sight, away from our hearts.

But we can do this: We can keep looking, even as it pains us. And we can see ourselves in the eyes of those others, but for the roll of the dice. We can keep the fire alive.