Light amongst us

In a world that may seem to be shaped and coloured by violence, sometimes the moral clarity and hope come not from those who are in front of the microphone or on the social media feed. It may be those who show up, and step up, not because they are seeking glory, posturing for a future position, satisfying an unsettled political base, but working for something else - something simpler but far more essential. I am talking about those who volunteer without any compensation, work across lines that divide us, and heal the wounds that may not be visible to many. We may never get to know their names or see them ever again in our lives, but in a short instant, their dignity reaffirms the most foundational values of our humanity.

School shootings have become a near-permanent part of the news in the US. In the vicious progression of violence and the spread of hate, many on the outside may only see the news as one more episode of a cycle that seems to be spiralling out of control. It may feel inexplicable, sad, unfair, unjust, but also distant, and the connection of those who are not directly impacted may be transient or temporary. But to those who see this up close and feel it raw because it touches a loved one, the reality is something else. It hits differently on day zero than it does on the day after, and the weeks ahead are characterised by a tremendous weight of agony, anxiety, frustration and loss.

I have, in the recent past, seen the tragedy of a school shooting up close. I have seen pain and experienced gratitude. Like so many others, I too have many questions about the direction of society: its inability to solve problems, and its unwillingness to protect its own citizens. I have seen adults with decades of experience disappoint, and young folks demonstrate extraordinary courage and wisdom that so many of us lack. I have felt a sense of loss about who we are as a people, and seen light in places we often don't look.

In these moments, when few things make sense, it is not just the comforting words of loved ones but also the kindness of strangers that matters. The workers at the dining hall, who work tirelessly well into the night to make sure everyone is fed, the volunteers who greet the anxious parents, listen to them patiently and get them settled as they as seek answers, the janitors who show up early after putting in a late shift the night before to make sure that the health centre is ready to receive those who are struggling with pain in the heart and the soul, are not your typical first responders, they are not trained to be at the frontline of a tragedy, yet they hold and repair the threads that stitch the fabric of the community and society at large. They get us all ready to face the ugly realities. Without them, there will be many ruptures in the fabric of our community, and perhaps many of those rips will lead to unfathomable loss.

Not all actions can be explained by the shallow metrics of incentives or investments. We know how much a dining hall worker is paid, and the salary of a janitor remains shamefully low. They don't have to rush, and risk their lives, to help in a lockdown, or hold your hand with warmth of decency when that is exactly what you need. They do it not because it gets them clicks on their TikTok video that they can monetise, or helps them become a celebrity, or because they would be quoted endlessly in news stories behind a paywall that they can afford. They do it for the simplest, but profoundest of reasons: because that is what humans are supposed to do. That light of dignity, to me, remains the eternal spring of hope.