Violence and Silence
by Jeffrey Feldman
In the face of great tragedy, what often distinguishes Americans from
other national cultures is our incredible ability to talk about our
pain in public as a way of healing.When horror strikes, we do not buckle over alone and stay silent,
but walk into the public square, reach out to one another and chew our
way through the pain. It is in these moments that Americans--all too
often self-absorbed with the day-to-day of making ends meet--find each
other again, share the details of the people we have lost, and remember
that we are not alone.As I watched the public response to the tragic violence in
Blacksburg, I was filled with sorrow in the face of all the death, but
my sorrow quickly found a place with the outpouring of voices that has
risen up in response. Due to the tireless voices, I now know the names
and faces of many of the people killed as their stories fan out across
the media and take root in our hearts.But in the midst of all the past 48 hours of talking, crying and
slow healing, I have also been left--as have many--with a question
almost too painful to ask: Why have we not been able, neither as a as
a nation nor as individuals, to talk about the violence and pain
suffered by Americans and by Iraqis? Why does the violence in
Blacksburg bring out the very best in our American character--our
ability to join together and heal--while the recurring violence in
Baghdad--experienced by Americans and Iraqis alike--has left us sitting
alone?
