When terror hits home, suddenly nothing is safe, and in that realization, we must move forward.
TUMBLRIn 2015, I scoured every news stand on La Rambla for a copy of Charlie Hebdo. I am a history buff and I wanted a piece of “history.” Unfortunately for me, I got back to Barcelona almost a full week late and every news stand was telling me the same thing. “Spain had a limited number of copies.” “We sold out of them in minutes.” “No one has any left.” I walked from the top of La Rambla and back up again, filing through magazines to no avail. At the very last news stand on the right hand side, I found a copy shoved in a bin behind other magazines. It was ripped down the center and crumpled. With little hope, I brought it to the counter where a Muslim man was reading his own newspaper. “Sir, do you have any more of these?” I asked, not confident that my American accent would convey my eagerness. “I’ve been searching for one and I’ll still buy this copy but I would prefer one that’s not torn.” He nudged his glasses down his nose and looked at me. I will never forget the way he looked at me: directly into my eyes as if he was searching for something. After a minute, he pushed his glasses back up and ducked behind the counter, reemerging with a brand new copy, delicately laminated and pressed to crease-less perfection. “I’ll make you a trade,” he said, grinning, “just promise me that you’ll take care of it.” I skipped to the end of La Rambla and it was only once I reached my apartment that I realized the copy I was holding was the one he had been saving for himself.
Unfortunately for all of us, the Charlie Hebdo attacks were not “history” but the beginning of a bleak present and a horrifying future. Though terror and hatred have no place in our world, they are spreading, and it is up to us to spread love even faster.
We can all agree that there is a certain protocol to each of these terror attacks. The initial shock and subsequent numbness. The scavenging for snippets of emerging news and information. The refreshing of pages as the victim’s names are released. We mourn and we reject and we wonder what can be done…and then we do it all again the next time around. But what about when “the next time around” hits too close to home? What about when the “next time around” has your coffee spots, your flags, your street names, your languages, your people making headlines around the world? After the phone calls and check-ins, the confirmations that loved ones are safe, what remains is a very empty place of unfairness – a tear-sparking degree of unity and pride. It instigates a faith in humanity that permeates through the parameters of the very evil in front of you. When terror hits home, suddenly nothing is safe, and in that realization, we must move forward.
Barcelona is a city that became mine by choice, not by inheritance. It is a community that I embraced and that, in turn, embraced me. It is so near and dear to my heart because it is harder for a city to become a home than for a city to be a home. Like any relationship, my relationship with Barcelona took time and effort to cultivate. It took several trips, commitments, sacrifices. It took building memories and the slow indulgence of falling in love with a new place. And after the initial honeymoon stage, it took intimacy. It took community building.
It took heart.
Because of the relationships that I have developed within the city and with the city, the terror attacks on Thursday truly did hit home. Unlike with any other terrorist attack before, while I was thankful and praying that I was not there, I suddenly longed to be in Placa Catalunya, sharing the moment of silence with 130,000 others. I watched interviews and wished I had some type of EMT training so if I had been there, like I had been several Thursdays prior, I could have somehow made a difference.
And then, of course, through the blanket of thankfulness, there are the what ifs. The what if I had been there? What if I couldn’t reach my family? What if….what if….what if…and we know that until these atrocities stop, neither will the what ifs because these attacks are random and spontaneous and unforgiving and evil.
But we move forward. We are not afraid. We forge paths and lead lives and we love. We love with a fervent, desperate passion. We love better and deeper and harder. Because love is the only thing worth living for and the only thing that can save any of us.
When terror hits home, suddenly nothing is safe, and in that realization, we must move forward.
