Originally posted at joshuastairhime.com
I couldn’t bring myself to write yesterday.
It isn’t because I didn’t have anything I wanted to write about, but rather because I didn’t know how to write it. I suppose in a way, I still don’t how to write what I want to write.
My newsfeed was full of the news that yesterday, the rebels in the city of Aleppo were nearly wiped out. The conflict in Syria is incredibly difficult for me to figure out. Rebels and Pro-government forces have been fighting for so long, and so bitterly that neither side is necessarily better than the other. While it is true that Pro-government forces have used chemical weapons, guided munitions, and artillery bombardments in an attempt to destroy those who are rebelling, those who are rebelling don’t have clean hands either. Many rebel groups are known for their direct links to organizations we would consider terrorist organizations. Pro-government forces regularly bomb hospitals and schools. Rebel forces hide in those places…drawing the fire upon the innocent.
The conflict in Syria is hard to unravel, especially after nearly 5 years of fighting.
No one has clean hands.
My thoughts are filled with what-ifs…what if the UN had found a way to effectively intervene and de-escalate this conflict early in the first year? What if our own government had enforced the red-line it set to keep chemical weapons off of the battle field? What if the Russians had not joined the fighting? What would have happened if Russia and China had not blocked a security council resolution with their invincible vetoes?
What if I had started writing about this sooner?
What if I had found my way there as I feel called to do?
There is plenty of blame for all sides, including myself.
As I watched videos of those who were in the rebel areas say goodbye to anyone who would listen, as they told us they honestly did not expect to live through the next few hours, I can’t even describe what was going on in my heart and in my head. How could this be? What could I have done?
I tried to write for a while, but I couldn’t.
I lay down in my bed, safe from harm, and fought back an overwhelming sense of depression. A feeling of total failure. A feeling of loss. I couldn’t speak. It was too much.
Yesterday was my moment of silence.