Francis Meyrick

Diary, July 27th, 2011 “The Norwegian Massacre “

Posted on July 27, 2011

Diary Entry

Wednesday, July 27, 2011 “The Norwegian Massacre “

Just surfing the news of our little planet, and I find myself falling back on some of my core, basic beliefs. That have sustained me, kept me going, and keep me… sharp.

The Norwegian massacre, with a lone gunman bombing and killing his way to everlasting notoriety, brings back memories of the bombs and the sectarian assassinations in Northern Ireland. I nearly lost my life there, as a young man, and how much Life I would have missed. I found myself thinking back to the fierce political arguments we had, fists slamming the table, and the hate filled eyes of the fanatics. The smoke filled bars, with danger lurking in the shadows.

I’m fascinated with the rush to describe the gunman as a “madman”. Many are perhaps more comfortable with that. The thought that a fellow human being could consciously plummet such depths of hatred, is disturbing for us. That a fellow traveler on our small planet could clinically kill, with no shred of compassion evident, is something we would rather not face. It is consoling to dismiss him as a crank. But the photo of that smiling face, looking out of the Police vehicle after his arrest, seemingly enjoying the buzz and attention, makes me suspect a different truth.

We little, short-lived humans, traveling, just for a while, on our small, insignificant planet, ARE capable of great kindness and compassion on the one hand, and extraordinary bigotry and cruelty, on the other. So often we see people collectively going to extraordinary lengths to help others. People dedicate their whole lives to careers in caring, teaching, nursing, tutoring, raising, supporting, and simply honoring their fellow pilgrims. If I had not seen evidence of that, over and over again, I would be an embittered alcoholic somewhere, playing mind warping, violent computer games, endlessly spinning the chambers of a loaded Magnum 357, enjoying the suggestive, ratcheting hiss of a well oiled mechanism, whispering crazily to me inches from my ear.

And I have not merely observed such goodness, but I have actively received warmth and support from surprising sources, even total strangers, at hard and difficult times of my little life, when despair or bitterness were viable options, tugging convincingly at my sleeve. I have tasted bitterness, the sense of deep injustice, and I have been angry to a dangerous point. But always there were good people, wise people, patient people. To whom I could vent my fears, my anger, my seething frustrations. Together, as fellow humans, we would spread the evil on the table, pour it out, look at it, analyze it, and come to terms with it. And always, I soon could see there were some things I could change, and some things I could seemingly not, ever, influence, affect, or prevent.

He is no madman. He is a calculating, cunning, methodical, intelligent, killer. He planned it, carefully, and now he is proud of what he did. He will spend the rest of his life without remorse for what he did.
In his small cell, he will occasionally stare into the mirror, and grin at himself. If they remove the mirror, he will simply find a reflective surface. He will draw himself up to his full height, study his profile, and reflect on the satisfying fact that the last thing they, the unworthy ones, ever saw in Life, was his resolute expression. He will half snicker to himself, and think:

“I showed ’em…”

He is not alone in his mindset, and for that we need only to remind ourselves of Hitler’s gas chambers and his widespread terror apparatus. Pol Pot and the Kmer Rouge. Without the catalyst of Mein Kampf and Nazi Socialist indoctrination, it is unlikely that tens of thousands of German youths would have become sadistic thugs. But the potential was always there, waiting for a Hitler. Without Pol Pot, it is unlikely that rural Cambodians would have turned so remorselessly on their city dwelling countrymen. But the potential was always there. Is… always there.

Today, in our troubled world, there are many weak ones. Waiting for a seemingly convincing message, a seemingly worthwhile cause. All that stands between them and a new Adolf Hitler, a new Pol Pot, is the force of you and I.
Writers Harbor, as an organized outlet for creativity, as a harbor for gentleness and compassion, as well as a resolute bastion against inhumanity and humbug, seems an insignificant obstacle in the path of killers and psychopaths, false prophets and selfish politicians.

But appearances are deceiving.
It is precisely the force of ten thousand Writers Harbors, with hundreds of thousands of thinking, feeling, thoughtful, caring, compassionate, industrious types, that DOES stand in the way of an inexorable slide into the abyss.

So dust off your Artistic, creative, feeling side. Get writing.

There is good work to be done.

Francis Meyrick

Last edited by Francis Meyrick on July 27, 2011, 4:22 pm

0 votes, average: 0.00 out of 50 votes, average: 0.00 out of 50 votes, average: 0.00 out of 50 votes, average: 0.00 out of 50 votes, average: 0.00 out of 5 (0 votes, average: 0.00 out of 5)
You need to be a registered member to rate this.

Leave a Reply