My colleagues from the campaign and political punditry universes often ask why I made the switch from domestic politics to full-time advocacy and foreign policy. Why am I concerned with development? Why global health? Isn't everyone anti-genocide? Why is ending sexual and gender-based violence that is happening thousands of miles away relevant? Why, why, why. The short version is that I am a survivor. The long version is that I am an American and with that comes responsibility. Also, hypocrites really tick me off.
When others affiliate themselves with a cause, take their selfies at $1,000 a plate dinners, and pretend that the occasional humanitarian impulse is enough, I am compelled to speak out. It would be better to not show up, to not be a hypocrite. These events are a staple in DC, New York, Los Angeles, Chicago, and beyond. The thing is, a couple of hours exposed to real human trauma is all most of us can stand.
Recognition of suffering is tough work, and sometimes it is best left to survivors, like myself, that found our way out of darkness and into purpose.
Victims are the dead. Survivors are the witnesses. Enter empathy: the poignant human connection we discover in news stories and fundraising emails from NGOs, think tanks, at award ceremonies in the White House, at the United Nations, hotel ballrooms and university auditoriums. The video rolls: gaunt faces, distended bellies, flies and mosquitoes landing on the faces of tiny children, mothers and sisters cradling babies in brightly colored wraps, families hiding in caves. Then come the images of scorched earth and devastation, which finally blur and give way to softer images. The music changes, signaling relief. Men and women arrive in matching logo emblazoned t-shirts or medical scrubs. Pallets of medicine and food aid are being unloaded and opened as the tents and temporary structures of refugee camps are assembled.
At last.
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It takes more than aid to keep people alive. Understanding the financial cost and the impact is relevant. Saving a life is the right thing to do. Lives matter. For the suffering, the aid for their souls that comes with a shared sense of humanity is priceless. For us too. It contributes to the prevention of new conflicts. That means justice. Being pro-life is about more than unborn children; it is about loving our fellow beings. It is about standing against moral relativism. It is about understanding the difference between good and evil, and selflessness when the lives that need saving are not just down the street, but are thousands of miles away. Exporting goodness, compassion, and individual liberty costs so very little compared to ignorance and war.
Justice is what comforts those who have been devastated by crime. There is no logo on a t-shirt that can mend a soul and body torn apart by evil. Only love, only redemption, only justice can repair the wrong. Whether in San Francisco, Congo, Ohio, Sudan, Cambodia or Paris, the horror human beings inflict on each other can only be stopped by a greater force of good.
In Sudan, war crimes rage beyond Darfur. In the Nuba Mountains, across Southern Kordofan, and the Blue Nile, criminals indicted by the International Criminal Court act with impunity. It is a grave reminder that justice, not revenge, must triumph. Too often, it is the language of revenge that prevails. This tactic exacerbates and exploits the pain of survivors. Religious, ethnic, and gender violence is never justified. Any advocate whose language incites retribution and revenge delays and denies justice.
The language of moral equivalence also empowers evil. Dr. Mukesh Kapila, a professor and former UK diplomat that blew the whistle about the genocide occurring in Darfur while he served as the United Nations Resident and Humanitarian Coordinator for Sudan, spoke earlier this year at the Sudan Emergency Action Summit, hosted by Act for Sudan at George Mason University's Arlington Campus. "So it is that Darfur burned while people fiddled with the different protocols." He knows, because he was there.
"When the premiere institution of the world, the United Nations system, created after all that happened in the Second World War, in the image of this country [the U.S.] subcontracts out its principle business then don't be surprised that what happens is not a legitimate outcome as far as the world is concerned or at least as far as some countries are concerned."
The freedom from fear is a blessing for so many in the West, particularly in the United States. We feel inherently safe. We are isolated from real suffering. We are also isolated from a violent, brooding, and calculating evil that flourishes when there is no system for accountability or justice. We view rape and murder almost casually because we trust the perpetrators will be caught, the victims or their families will see a conviction in a court, and we'll be able to go back to our daily lives. We view justice as entertainment. Courtroom dramas are a staple in our entertainment diet. We don't object to the desensitization of our children.
The truth is this: real heroes, real champions for virtue, love, forgiveness, redemption, and justice exist.
Americans and our international allies have moral responsibilities. After the Holocaust, we vowed to never enable evil to commit genocide again. The time for moral equivalence is over. The time for complaining about the financial cost is over. It is more economical to convince people to live, to embrace justice. Allowing a genocide to occur, then complaining about the cost of cleaning it up is heartlessly selfish. Ending systematic rapes and genocide is the right thing to do. Americans must call on President Barack Obama to contribute to fighting the scourge of rape and genocide, just as we called President George W. Bush to end the genocide in Darfur, Sudan. Who can forget the stain of the Rwandan genocide on President Clinton's watch?
As human beings, we must remember those images on the screen. The babies, the kids, the young women and men, the fathers and brothers, the colleagues who love and stand by the women scarred by rape deserve our empathy -- but also our action. The salve to the soul is kindness. The soft touch of a champion, the acknowledgement that rape and violence do not define a survivor compels healing, compels action. It inspires faith. We become whole again. Americans have long lit the path towards freedom and self-determination because we understand all the costs, all the sacrifices are worth giving of ourselves.
Wearing couture, taking selfies, and congratulating ourselves on our isolation from such sadness seems beneath the dignity we afford the Constitution and the fields of our dead from Arlington National Cemetery to Normandy. Let us begin to right the ship of state so that we may inspire others to do more, do better, and find their own way towards justice and a culture of life.