The shock factor is a guaranteed means of generating readership. In talking and writing, there is the responsibility of relaying information to develop an informed choice, decision or stance.
A personal account for the Nepali populace is the oft recited “13,000” dead in our decade long insurgency. We say, write and refer to them through numbers, not as individuals. Instead, we see them as a collective. Images flash across our eyes as we recall television footage of widows crying and newspaper photos of bloodied young men. To a large extent, the 13,000 have become faceless. They are not people with families and lives and stories, but a figure we cite in papers and conferences.
In conversation with friends from Uganda I find myself a little surprised to hear myself admit we in Nepal “only” lost 13,000. Indeed, compared to the 100,000 Acholis killed in Uganda 13,000 is not a very, dare I say it, impressive figure. And yet, just as quickly I have to be further embarrassed by my poor choice of words as I think of a speaker who arrived at my alma mater some six years earlier.
Already distracted during introductions, I simply remember he was an activist who worked in Africa, on AIDS. Unfortunately I do not remember this speaker’s name or his affiliation, but I do recall him ratting off large figures and daunting stats.
Initially, I thought he wanted to frighten us into donating money and sponsoring a child. His topic of choice, “AIDS” and “Africa” was fitting. It was one social justice issue that had been embraced by popular culture across colleges in America. T-shirts were sold and petitions were signed in the name of “doing something” for those “poor kids suffering from AIDS, in Africa.”
As a citizen of a country that was falling apart faster than the continent of Africa, the numbers startled me, but did not really affect me. Yes, 22.5 million people are living with HIV in the Sub-Saharan region. 14.8 million children have lost one or both their parents to HIV/AIDs since the beginning of the epidemic. And, each day 6,000 Africans die from it while 11,000 infect it.
The numbers always got in the way of the story.
It is not that numbers lie but the very fact that they tell the truth in the saddest of ways makes us reconsider their usage. Numbers are used to grab our attention – from newspaper headlines to poverty stats. The shock factor is a guaranteed means of generating readership.
May 2011 has reminded me of the speaker’s request. As he ended the rambling of facts and stats, he abruptly shouted - “These are numbers, numbers, numbers! Don’t get overwhelmed by the thousands and the millions.” He paused as he looked around, he had all of our attention with his cry, “Meet one child, one family and remember them,” he pleaded.
As Osama Bin Laden was killed early in May and Ratko Mladic was extradited to The Hague on the 31st, we are reading one newspaper after another on the two men. “Villains,” for certain in a mainstream Hollywood flick, if ever made, I find myself pitying these masterminds. Strange because not only were they responsible for killing innocent lives, but also for instilling fear in society and pain across communities.
Guilty by fifteen counts, including that of genocide, crimes against humanity and violation of the laws of war, the hefty charges (with evident and witness) stacked against Mladic leaves little wiggle room for the 69-year-old. Also dubbed the founder of “ethnic cleansing” as we have come to call it, it seems the man is evil through and through.
However, skimming past the headlines, journalists start revealing the man. Mladic lost his father to the Nazis on his 2nd birthday as a child. His 23-year-old daughter committed suicide – some say because of his military, shall we call it, activities.
In addition, having suffered two strokes in the sixteen years he has been a fugitive, his son today claims he is too sick to journey and face trial.
While the objective of all, save for a few fanatics who declare him a hero, is to portray the man as “the bad guy,” it seems the more we read about him, the more we feel for him. His childhood, his grief and his health are not enough to excuse him of the atrocities he committed, but to make him less of a monster and more of a human.
In this odd way, as we become more and more desensitized as one catastrophe after another hits mankind, getting to know Mladic is a gentle reminder that we cannot leave the 7,500 12- to 77-year-old Muslin boys and men as faceless individuals.
It is a call for us to get to know one, get to know two, and remember them as people, not as numbers.
sradda.thapa@gmail.com
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