In 2008, during the war between Ethiopian troops and Mogadishu’s local resistance groups, I witnessed my first corpse of a murdered individual. He was a middle-aged man, brown-skinned, and he was bald. After the school break, my classmates and I decided to get snacks and drinks from a nearby restaurant when I saw the dead body.
He was covered with a plastic bag over the upper part of his body, with blood in his ears. I was so frightened upon seeing the murdered man, and a train of thoughts came to my mind. People were walking near the corpse; some of them were removing the plastic bag to see the face of the body. Some of the people in the area were shopping normally as if there were no dead body nearby. I could not eat or drink for hours that day.
Why did the people feel that nothing extraordinarily bad happened while the dead body lay on the street? Did they have the same feelings before the civil war and ensuing chaos? Or did the war, violence, and long period of lawlessness make their empathy fade? These questions lingered in my mind for a long time. Many of my friends and others often say that the people of Somalia, particularly those who live in violent cities, are resilient, as they are not broken by the frequent explosions, deaths, and destruction. They cite several examples, one of which is the aftermath of the October 14 tragedy, the deadliest explosion in Somalia’s history. They pointed out that life went on despite the tragedy, and people even forgot it in a very short span.
Why did the tragedies, deaths, murders, and violent acts become so mundane for the people? According to a paper on the long-term effects of war exposure on civic engagement by Joan Barceló et al, apart from the destruction of physical infrastructure, economic loss, and deaths, long-term warfare can have negative mental impacts, including trauma, psychological stress, and lack of empathy. Before the war, Somalis used to be kind to one another, collaborating on public affairs with enthusiasm. People were not overly concerned with their tribal affiliations. Communities were linked on a district, village, or neighborhood basis. When someone died, the whole village would gather, mourn, and support the family of the deceased.
All of these positive traits vanished as the war and violence progressed over decades. Kindness, a sense of community, love, and coexistence seemed absent. When extremists, starting with Itahad Al-islami, began their recruitment and forceful expansion, they brought a strong divisive force. Communities that had already begun to divide themselves based on clans now started to divide themselves based on sectarian affiliations. Some identified as Sufis, others as Islaah, Ictisam, Jadiidiyah, and many other groupings. These divisions caused people to care only for those within their group, making those outside unworthy of support or empathy.
In their study on the impact of war on civilian populations, Nirjan Sharan and Kishan Shiva pointed out that wars and violence not only impact physical infrastructure and human bodies through destruction, death, and maiming but also the mental well-being of the affected people. Drawing examples from Holocaust survivors, they showed that the mental impact of war and violence is profound in the long term. While there are many obvious cases of severe mental illness such as schizophrenia, bipolar disorder, and depression, there are also millions of Somalis who act in ways that can be regarded as violent, unkind, and non-empathetic. Existing poverty, unemployment, illiteracy, and the exposure to unregulated social media prompt many Somalis, especially youngsters, to consume mentally degrading videos and images, which can have a profound impact on their mental well-being.
On August 15, 2021, I was watching the US troop withdrawal from Afghanistan on a TV at a hotel. Suddenly, a mentally disturbed man entered the alleyway. He was visibly distressed but was not harming anyone. He seemed thirsty and hungry. He sat down in a nearby chair close to mine. The hotel manager, along with two other men, came to him and started beating him. I tried to talk to them to stop the beating, but they did not give me the opportunity. What angered me most was how other people in the hotel cheared while the poor man was being kicked and jumped upon. They could have simply given the man water to drink and convinced him to leave, yet they chose violence instead of peaceful engagement. If you observe the behavior of even children in the streets of Somali cities, you can notice that they harass and throw stones at mentally disturbed people.
It is a common human trait to exploit the naïve for personal gain, but there are always ways to curb that desire, whether through religious or moral reasons. The majority of people do not agree on deception and exploitation. However, when life becomes hard due to lawlessness and hunger, people revert to their primitive instincts: the strong survive while the weak perish. I was listening to a discussion where Professor Afyare was among the panelists. He was asked about the reasons for clan divisions. He said that “the strength of clan identity is due to its reliance on security and economic prosperity.” This means that to care for someone or show empathy, that person must be from your clan or tribe.
I have also observed that those I know who have empathy and universal care for humanity are often literate, read widely, and speak more than one language. The more you travel, learn about different cultures, and interact with diverse global communities, the greater your chances of acquiring traits of empathy. This does not mean that everyone with these qualities will possess empathy, but the likelihood increases among those who do.
I began forming the habit of reading around ten years ago. I read about general knowledge, history, memoirs, human behavior, and the impermanence of life, realizing how similar we all are. Life does not prioritize certain people. Everyone will eventually die, get sick, or experience family tragedies, whether it is the death of a loved one, a friend, or someone they know. If we are all the same and live under the conditions predestined for us, why would we think we are better than others?
I believe another reason for our lack of empathy is that we are not conscious enough of our thoughts, words, or actions. According to several studies on consciousness, around 47% of waking hours are spent on autopilot thinking. This means people think, talk, and act unconsciously for nearly half of their waking hours. I understand that discussing conscious awareness with people who are stressed about acquiring basic needs—food, water, and shelter—may seem misplaced, but managing stress by thinking consciously has proven effective.
There are certain ways to cultivate the art of noticing or conscious thinking; one of them is mindfulness meditation. This practice trains the brain to notice in the midst of unconscious thought patterns. It focuses on an anchor, whether it is the breath in the nostrils, the abdomen, or simply the surrounding sounds, smells, or sights. It is neither easy nor hard, but it requires consistency and practice, much like physical exercise, to reap the benefits.
Another way to cultivate awareness is to marvel at the miracles of the universe and recognize the limitations of our understanding of how the universe or the human body works. Acknowledging how powerless we are against the brutality and odds of life fosters humility, which in turn makes us more empathetic. You will be kinder towards others when you recognize your limitations and powerlessness.
Amin Jamal amiinjamal25@gmail.com
