Paris, Beirut, and Humanity at the Quick Lube

This afternoon I brought my car to a Quick Lube to get inspected and get an oil change. In the waiting room I scrolled through my Facebook newsfeed, consuming statuses, headlines, images, and articles about recent violent attacks suspected to be carried out by ISIS in Beirut, Lebanon, and Paris, France. I often struggle in the shadow of emotionally charged news stories about violence, hate crimes, acts of terror, high profile court cases with potentially devastating effects, and protests, deciding whether or not to post on social media.

"Should I repost this article? Should I make a Facebook status or change my profile photo to show solidarity? "

I often opt to stay quiet. To me, in my life, I don’t feel a Facebook status determines my level of compassion, commitment, or solidarity to a cause. I typically (though not always) feel this type of action is not “productive” or meaningful coming from me. Often I avoid posting because I feel the only real objective it would achieve is to make me appear committed. There are days I hang my head in shame, alone in my room, knowing that I can and should do more in my daily life to work towards a more just world. Posting, it seems, would only serve to take the pressure off myself to live, in the real world, in service to justice for as many people as possible.

But, still, sitting in the Quick Lube today, I wanted to do something. My head was buzzing, making links to terror on US soil to these foreign attacks, making links to acts of terror in my own community, and what we even identify as an act of terror. As I was wrestling with these ideas I began reading an article about the bombing in Beirut that had occurred the day before the Paris attacks. The article not only chronicled the events, but addressed discrepancies between how media covered that event and the events in Paris the following day. One woman wondered, “Dear Facebook: Nice French flag overlay. But how do I change my profile picture to show solidarity with the people of Beirut?”

I sat in the Quick Lube, deep in thought about my role in addressing anti-Islamic prejudice, about Adel Termos who threw himself of the second suicide bomber in the Beirut attack, losing his life and saving the lives of dozens, making connections to issues in my own immediate community when I was interrupted. I was alone in the waiting room with one other man waiting for his car. All of the staff was in the garage working on our cars. He asked if I was ready for Thanksgiving.

I will be honest: at first I was annoyed. I really wanted to finish that article. Couldn’t he see I was reading? Another voice in my head chimed in and I quickly softened. I am a sucker for talking to strangers and am often the person starting the conversation in public-ish places like this. As we discussed our family’s Thanksgiving traditions I naturally catalogued his physical appearance. He was older, donning messy salt and pepper hair and dirty work clothes. He was missing many teeth, and had grease or dirt around his finger nails. I imagined many people, particularly young women like myself, dismissing this man and going along with silently attending to their phone. But I didn’t.

        

            I explained we often take in many strays on Thanksgiving while he described the dozens of loaves of bread he would be making for his family. We sat, chatting, smiling, and acknowledging each other’s humanity.

               We live in a time of action, a time of instant gratification, a time of public display. We live in a time where even radical activism can get caught up in the search for the next new thing, the search for notoriety and “likes.” I often find myself trapped and tricked by these ideals, for example, in my anxiety around how to respond best to Paris and Beirut. Part of me thought, I don’t have time for small talk. I need to consume as much information as possible and determine my next move. But I was operating with an overly narrow definition of “action.” There are few things more radical than acknowledging another person’s humanity. Terror necessitates the removal of someone’s humanity, whether it is in Paris, Beirut, Mizzou, Ferguson, New York, Newtown, college campuses, movie   theaters, churches, or the systemic discrimination against low income, homeless, and drug using individuals in my own community of Hyannis, Massachusetts.           

The internet, on this day, had me feeding into it, of ignoring the humanity of the man sitting right next to me. I still don’t know what the best way for me to respond to Paris and Beirut is. I still am, and probably forever will be, working out my relationship to social media. I still need to solidify my role in necessary systemic changes. I still believe I could be doing more in my daily life to work towards a more just world. And for me, on this day, this small act of two people acknowledging each other’s humanity seems like a good place to start.


Kara Blake | 11.14.2015
Kara Blake is a licensed social worker, advocate and writer living and working in Hyannis, Massachusetts. She currently works in the field of Harm Reduction, specifically working with individuals who are HIV+ or at risk for becoming HIV+, as well as providing some outpatient therapy to a wide variety of individuals. She is a graduate of the Columbia University School of Social of Social Work and returned to Cape Cod, where she was raised, to give back to that community.