My Apology to Readers, And A New Plan
Dear Readers:
I’m unconfortable with how exclusively focused I’ve been lately in this journal with the horrors of war. I say “exclusively focused” rather than the more apologetic-sounding “obsessed” because, in a sense, I make no apology for the grief I feel over the victims of war. This seems to be something over which I have no control. Grief seems entirely appropriate when confronted with, for example, today’s most searing story out of Gaza … about the Fajr massacre:
“The Fajr massacre: Every 70 kg bag of human remains is considered a martyr”
The most horrific detail of this massacre is that no dead persons could be found. None. Only masses of body parts. Grieving families were given 70-kilogram bags with body parts for burial. I assume that 70 kilograms is about the average weight of a person. So, calculating the approximate number of dead in this massacre would be equivalent to counting the number of bags of body parts. Some reports suggest that about one hundred people died.
I read this and I think of the living who remain, both the families and the ones filling the bags.
My mind reels.
I feel the need to reconnect with the world of sanity. The world in which love and joy still exist, along with unavoidable pain and loss. (Israel’s genocidal extermination campaign in Palestine is avoidable).
I feel the need to pause and remember the occasional joy I’ve felt in reprinting human, hopeful stories here in Sierra Voices.
I’ve decided that the only way I can continue to produce Sierra Voices is to find some sort of balance between — damn, I hate this phrase — “good and evil.”
So, here’s my plan: From now on, for every terrible story I print, I pledge to print a hopeful one, either in the same issue or in the next issue. I consider this an experiment, because I’m not sure it’s do-able. If not, I might give it up altogether.
And since I printed a link to Israel’s daily horror above in this issue, here — to keep my pledge — is a link to a beautiful story about the wisdom of bees (followed by a brief excerpt, from Yes! Magazine, a journal of unrelenting optimism) :
EXCERPT:
Huaxin always took pride in telling people she met her partner while doing tai chi in the park. Every other young person nowadays found their relationships through AI matchmaking services or VR mixers. But Huaxin was old-fashioned.
She’d joined the crew of elders practicing, their moves fluid as the stream that ran by the village. She’d spotted him then, the only other face as young as hers: a thin man with glasses, thick curls of hair, and a gentle smile. Naturally, they’d felt drawn to each other, and Huaxin struck up a conversation.
After that, they met up for tea following each tai chi session. He was a lot like Huaxin: opinionated, particular, averse to vulnerability. He was also impulsive. He picked up new topics easily, researched them with relish, constantly talked to her about how the world was changing.
One day he led her back to the park and removed a ring from his pocket. It was no diamond, but Huaxin still gasped when she saw it: a smooth stone, well-worn like a comforting friend. “The world may be changing,” he said with a cheeky grin, “but I want you to be my constant.”
He moved in with her and she introduced him to her livelihood: beehousing. They shared bowls of noodles, talked about having children, and continued to practice tai chi, nurturing their slowly aging bodies.
And then, nine years later, he left her.
READ THE COMPLETE STORY HERE:
https://www.yesmagazine.org/environment/2024/04/05/flood-bees-climate-fiction
