Naïveté

Naïveté was penned after late-night conversations with my closest friends—the kind where we’d contemplate our sanity in a world that is devoid of sensitivity. As outrageous as the latter part of that statement may sound, I do sense a shift in the world, and it pains me to think of how society has regressed despite being so advanced.

Genocide and war are treated flippantly, and human lives are reduced to mere numbers time after time, with some going so far as to say that the loss of life is inevitable. People are encouraged to turn a blind eye to destruction if it makes them uncomfortable, but being able to experience normalcy while ignoring the realities that others endure is an undeniable privilege.

Because the very people subjected to genocide, slavery, and abuse cannot ignore their reality. The dawn of a new day signals hope for us, but for them, it’s a never-ending struggle of uncertainty and dread.

While adults sometimes find justifications for these realities, children grasp the problem with ease. Concepts like racism, prejudice, and misogyny have yet to shape their minds, unless acquired through exposure. Perhaps that is why they are able to extend more sympathy to others. Working with them has taught me that their worlds are simpler than ours, but richer in ways that can’t possibly be described.

But I digress.

Many of us are born privileged with a roof above our heads, food on the table, and access to education, yet we avert our eyes from someone else’s misery because it unsettles us. We choose to ignore their suffering simply because we can.

But I consider it our duty to educate ourselves and fight for the rights of those whose voices cannot be heard.

Thus, Naïveté was born as a warning against blissful ignorance. Although it is quite rough around the edges, I hope it conveys my sincerity and my desire to take action—not only for ourselves, but for those who come after.