Friday, July 07, 2006
2 minutes of silence
We just had the 2 minutes. It wasn't as quiet as last year and not so many people took part but then the emotions aren't so raw as they were. Time happens.
It was, however, moving to see that those people who did take part took it seriously and were silent, stopped their cars, got off their bikes and stood in silent reflection.
I was moved by that reverence this year more than anything else. I didn't rage. I looked inside for it but it wasn't there. Nor was I sad for the people who had died. I had a moment of sadness this morning on the lead up to the time of the first bomb: 8:51am. I thought about all the people who had more closely affected by the bombs than myself: those that had died, had lost people, had been injured and I was deeply sad for them then.
I normally find respect and reverence difficult. Unless there is a connection to the people I am to respect, the feelings are abstract and empathy strained. So if someone famous dies, I find it odd when people say they are upset about it. Unless they know the person, really know them and not just their public face, I don't feel they have a right to be upset. The person's family, yes, their close friends, yes, but not the general public.
Today, however, there was a connection, albeit indirect and somewhat tenuous. People died nearby one year ago. I knew none of them but they were ordinary people, just the same as me, on their way to work using familiar buses and tube-trains. Someone stole their lives for a senseless reason.
So respect and reverence were the order of the day and it was good to feel it.
It was, however, moving to see that those people who did take part took it seriously and were silent, stopped their cars, got off their bikes and stood in silent reflection.
I was moved by that reverence this year more than anything else. I didn't rage. I looked inside for it but it wasn't there. Nor was I sad for the people who had died. I had a moment of sadness this morning on the lead up to the time of the first bomb: 8:51am. I thought about all the people who had more closely affected by the bombs than myself: those that had died, had lost people, had been injured and I was deeply sad for them then.
I normally find respect and reverence difficult. Unless there is a connection to the people I am to respect, the feelings are abstract and empathy strained. So if someone famous dies, I find it odd when people say they are upset about it. Unless they know the person, really know them and not just their public face, I don't feel they have a right to be upset. The person's family, yes, their close friends, yes, but not the general public.
Today, however, there was a connection, albeit indirect and somewhat tenuous. People died nearby one year ago. I knew none of them but they were ordinary people, just the same as me, on their way to work using familiar buses and tube-trains. Someone stole their lives for a senseless reason.
So respect and reverence were the order of the day and it was good to feel it.
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