Is He Dead Yet?

There was a cartoon on Facebook (I don’t know by whom): Two characters sit side by side with their backs to the reader, as one asks, “Is he dead yet?” The other says no. Then the first cusses. Or something like that. Most readers have an idea of an infamous oligarch who might be the one to whom the cartoon refers. I’m sure more than one influential person on earth fits the situation for those who feel victimized.

What must it feel like to know millions of people worldwide are wishing you dead? I read that narcissists can conceivably find being the object of hatred stimulating as a badge of power. If inspiring love and forgiveness is too difficult, how about causing someone to be miserable? How about causing whole populations to be miserable? Remember the bullies in school who delighted in beating up the vulnerable? Someone else’s physical and emotional pain was thrilling. There are many people who use their influence to dominate the less fortunate, carelessly using resources the less fortunate need desperately. I imagine someone climbing into a conspicuously expensive bed, then lying staring at the ceiling knowing he or she has left untold numbers of people—men, women, children, families– exquisitely miserable that day. Prices are up; help is down. He or she has effectively replaced peace with war, cooperation with hate, nature with toxins. Are such people capable of recognizing facts or predicting outcomes? Does it feel good to ignore planetary alarms? Is it stimulating to be capable of causing pointless pain? Or do the political gains make the risk worthwhile?

Of course, the person in the bed assumes he or she deserves the distinction of conspicuous consumption. I’ve met people who are comfortable believing they have a divine right that establishes them as superior to others they don’t appreciate. Some can cite words from a recent edition of a book still accepted as holy after many distinctly human edits over the years—carefully extracted words—to prove them right. Such opinions have been passed down as indoctrination through the generations. Divisions are easy to sow. It’s seductive to accept that you’re special instead of connected to living beings and people you don’t understand or like. Who doesn’t want to be special? Certain opinions are fresh, cultivated by a crack in social civility.

Does it feel good to be able to wreck icons and countries that millions love and cherish, even fought and lost loved ones defending? None of those spiteful, destructive activities are original, sadly enough. Those who still know history can tell vivid tales of museums or libraries smashed and burned, innocent people slaughtered in cultures all over the globe. “Absolute power corrupts absolutely,” according to an English historian. But honest history doesn’t flatter, so who needs history if there’s no point in learning anything?

And now we humans have the ability to destroy our own earth in a last grand gesture of not caring about anything but profit. We can assume our inventions will sort out the population in time, or maybe we can’t conceive of having the earth itself kill us. Perhaps the saddest perspective is knowing so many have lost all values that aren’t material. They may deserve empathy, not hate. What if a person has to substitute force for consensual sex? What does it feel like when even the love relationships in your life have a price tag, meaning you have a price tag, too? When Stephen Miller’s wife joined him in denigrating the doctor who daily provided support to her without thanks to save her life and the life of her child, what did she lose? When, if ever, will she know?

Let a cheer go out for all the helpers. We wish for their numbers to continue growing. We need love and food more than stuff.