Some of us have not yet had the courage or the understanding to even perceive it, that reality of those darn eight minutes and forty-seven seconds. All we know is: “I cannot breathe” will stay, and every time we hear those words we’ll feel that familiar lump-in-our-throat. “I cannot breathe” will not be forgotten easily, no. “I cannot breathe” will perhaps go with us to our graves, sleep with us like a corpse, stay with us beyond life and meaning. Alongside #nirbhaya, alongside nameless faceless stories of unsung everybody who, at some point, some other point, sometime, have felt that familiar lump. And you’d say these cases were fortunate in that they became movements, became a means, even as they’d perfectly be happy to stay normal and stay alive. Go back home with the grocery he came to buy, after the movie she went to watch.
But this is not about despair, alone. Because you can only despair till despairs end; and beyond that, you sit up or move on. This, therefore – let this be about sit up, then?
Let’s sit up to our familiar mistakes: blind spots and oversights.
When we talk hate crimes we focus on victims and abusers, oppressed and perpetrators, the nature of crime and its very atrocity often unspeakable in its gruesomeness – and a lot of that is essential. However here are two things that we often miss out on, in the discourse:
1. The Bystanders:
For every one victim and one, often a group, of those who wouldn’t let breathe, how many bystanders do we overlook? How many bystanders are we, ourselves? Are we sensitised enough as bystanders? Are we aware, brave, strong, resourceful enough to do what needs to done, make quick judgments, take quick actions, do the next right thing? Sensitive?
2. Iceberg Under Its Tip:
We can talk about this to the end of earth and more. The fairness cream, the “boys don’t cry” and “girl, cover your legs”, the fair skin bride 6 figure groom matches made in heaven, the Disney-ed damsels in distress and princes on horsebacks, the barbies with thick hair and batting eyelashes and caped superheroes, the cricket set for boys and kitchen set for girls boxed gifts. Those many stairs on the Pyramid of Hate. For Hate isn’t created in a vacuum. For Hate is bred, fed, reared in every drawing-room.
There is no end, really, and yet it is about time we start walking the long path. One step, then one step. One breath, and one more breath. One phone call to the helpline as bystander, rather than speeding up the car One girl in a cape, one boy with a ladle. One by one. One breath by one breath.
He could not breathe a full eight minutes and forty-seven seconds, remember.
In the same breath, remember it could be you. It could be me. It could be any of us who’s reading it. With our next breath, let us breathe in that fact.
That loss, that hope. That gratitude, that we can still breathe.
Let us help us, then, in every which way we can?
To protect the right to breathe.
Everyone!