I’ve been meaning to write about this for a while, but didn’t really know how to I would begin to describe my observation.
It took me a while to gather my thoughts, and little bullet points that I’ve jotted down to fully come into formation about how I feel about the state of my surroundings.
In Psychology, Learned Helplessness refers to feelings of depression; the constant reminder that a patient is unwilling to get well and as such accept their state of being in constant sadness. A broader approach would be that one has been depressed for such a period of time that they’ve grown accustomed to it; maybe even immune to the thought of ever getting better — in search of self improvement and happiness.
It feels instantly defensive, and my guard goes up; when I’m called out for having been privileged — that I have a lot to be grateful for. For the most part that makes sense, and I do acknowledge that there’s children starving in Africa and that there’s a refugee crisis; so maybe I should suck it up because I have a roof over my head and meals available to me at my disposal.
In a recent encounter with the under-privileged, a realisation dawned on me; a thought that has stayed with me since and hinges on the constant feeling of sadness that I’ve encountered in life. The feeling of helplessness and the constant reminder that there’s no way out.
In my experience, I found it was a state of mind; a product of my environment, and as such the environment needed to change.
I needed to change.
People that grow up in low-income housing, ghettos or war-torn countries; lost families and no sense of morale to be found in sight — look around themselves and find examples of what they can strive towards.
Which is why, heroes, icons, and mentors are crucial.
What’s missing is the necessity to search for being better, the convincing needed from a helping hand that one can change their environment.
Radicalisation happens often towards impressionable young children struck with extreme PTDS, making them susceptible to outwardly influence; influence that may lead them down a darker path.
If applied correctly, the same feelings of trauma and PTSD can heal such an individual; who has encounter more pain and suffering than an average human begin such as myself would have — having grown in a privileged environment.
Of why often the greatest amongst us rise from trauma; the mental strength needed to persevere and push forward.
Recently, I see signs all around me; reminds of my skin, my religion, my culture — of how it has gone all so very wrong. I sink with feelings of a lack of self-worth; ashamed and sickened by the suffering caused by people who identify themselves ideals I’ve believed.
It doesn’t help much when the argument put forward, systematically reminds me of how far and wide hatred has spread; but also seeping within me a sorrow of the human condition.
The never ending circle of hatred.
I see examples of greatness, Muhammad Ali; in his prime — chanting for his people, all his people — human beings, one and all and all for one.
How we’ve come to this point, I fail to understand — and the term “Not all muslims are terrorists, but certainly all terrorists are muslims”, feels like a slogan for making me realise — it’s not worth arguing that not all of us are bad.
In isolation, I often wonder — if this cycle would end and we could come together to realise; hey man, I listen to the same music as you do.
I do like to sing in the shower, even though I sound like a broken record.
I like Formula 1 and MMA, and even deep-dish pizza — because who cares about cholesterol when you’ve got a healthy serving of being assumed a terrorist always reminding me; “maybe I’ll always be that to the outside world, and maybe no matter how much I try to prove that not all of us are bad — certainly someone somewhere will mess it”.