Confronting Evil

What the Left Refuses To Do

David C. Stolinsky, MD
Jan. 7, 2010

Do you remember Daniel Pearl? Like many other victims of terrorism, he vanished down the media’s memory hole. The reporter was captured by Al Qaeda. He was tortured, his throat was slit, he was stabbed repeatedly, and then he was beheaded.

Similarly, images of the collapsing Twin Towers are rarely shown. And now, the Christmas Day underwear bomber is already fading from memory − as are the 289 innocent civilians he almost succeeded in murdering, had it not been for a courageous Dutch passenger.

Of course, it’s hard to remember something if you deny that it ever happened. Thus Secretary of Homeland Security Janet Napolitano initially claimed that “the system worked.” Meanwhile, President Obama referred to the bomber as an “isolated extremist.” And counter-terrorism czar John Brennan found nothing wrong with giving him a lawyer and telling him he could remain silent − rather than transferring him to Guantanamo and interrogating him about the terrorist network and future attacks. To some people, observing dubious legal niceties is more important than saving lives.

If you deny that the system failed, then you believe there is nothing to remember. If you see the bomber as a common criminal rather than another enemy combatant in an ongoing war, then you believe there is nothing more to do.

Meanwhile, TV and films are filled with images of phony violence, and “reality” shows display actual car crashes and other calamities. It isn’t images of violence and ugliness that we censor – it’s images of evil. The result is that we become used to violence and ugliness, but we remain unfamiliar with the appearance of evil. And if we don’t know what evil looks like, how can we avoid it, much less fight it?

What we should do, if we have the guts, is to look evil in the face. No, I don’t mean look death in the face – I mean evil. There’s a big difference, but one that many Americans have trouble recognizing.

I first saw death when I was in the second grade, and a classmate was run over near my home. Our class attended the funeral. I can’t recall if the coffin was open, but I think it was, because for years I associated death with satin cushions. My father died of a heart attack when I was 19, and I vividly remember his wax-like face as family and colleagues paid their respects at the funeral home.

Then I went to medical school, where we spent a semester dissecting a cadaver. Unlike the frail, elderly cadavers of most students, ours was muscular – he had died not of old age but of a gunshot wound to the head. I realized that our good fortune of having well-developed muscles to study resulted from his bad fortune of having been shot.

For the first time, I began to separate the tragedy of death from the evil of murder. The deaths of my father and my little classmate were tragedies. This man’s death resulted from evil. Of course, it was also tragic for his family and friends, if he had any. But the cause of death was a gunshot wound, resulting from murder, resulting from evil. Though I didn’t realize it at the time, I learned more than anatomy in that class.

When I was 26 I had a head-on collision with a wrong-way driver on a freeway. Both cars were estimated as going 50 miles per hour at impact. Death has many faces. To Daniel Pearl it looked like the blade of a knife. But to me that day, it looked like the front end of a Chevy. The elderly driver was killed, his wife was seriously injured, and both cars were demolished, but I got out of the hospital in one day. I figured that every day from then on was a gift.

Later I specialized in medical oncology. Today there are effective treatments for many kinds of cancer. But decades ago, what we did was mainly to try new treatments on patients for whom there was no other hope. All physicians know that their struggle against death must ultimately be lost, but oncologists know it better than most.

One day during my training, I developed fever and abdominal pain. I examined myself and found an enlarged spleen. My professor hospitalized me on my own ward, in a room that had been occupied by patients I knew – some of whom had died. There’s a weird feeling for you.

My professor showed me my blood smear under the microscope. He pointed out abnormal cells that might be signs of “mono.” But they were so abnormal that they might represent acute leukemia. I sensed that he was preparing me for the worst.

That day death looked like cells with bizarre nuclei. But everything subsided, and I went back to being a doctor, not a patient. This experience, as well as the car crash, helped to give me empathy for the unexpressed fears of my patients, and to enable me to pass on the empathy to the students I trained.

Later, my mother died, as did uncles, aunts and colleagues. Of course these deaths hit me hard. But by that time, death was no stranger. It always came as a shock, but not a surprise. It was always a tragedy.

But if I wanted to see the results of evil, I could visit the emergency room and observe gunshot wounds, stabbings, beatings and other evidence of man’s inhumanity. The difference between tragedy and evil was always clear to me.

Some time ago, I was treated for a health problem. The treatment was successful and I’ll probably be around for some time yet, which may (or may not) please my readers. But as I said, every day is a gift.

So I speak with some authority when I say that I have looked into the face of death. Believe me when I tell you that it is not the face of evil.

We worship health, youth and beauty, so we are terrified – even disgusted – by the thought of death, illness or disability. Worship of health, youth and beauty tends to produce fear of losing them, rather than empathy for those who have lost them.

Younger Americans have gotten so used to good health that they take it for granted. Often even middle-aged people have never had to endure the death of a family member or friend, and many have never seen a dead body. Death is even more frightening when it’s an unknown.

But when you have seen death face to face, as have soldiers, police officers, firefighters, paramedics, nurses and doctors, it’s a bit less frightening. What’s really frightening is evil, with its far-reaching effects and many varieties.

One reason for the fear is that reality shakes us out of our peaceful illusions. It shakes us out of the comfortable fantasy that human nature is exclusively good. Reality forces us to realize that although we may have good intentions, we aren’t going around with haloes that others can see. Our good intentions can’t protect us from evildoers. In fact, our good intentions are worthless unless they are translated into good deeds.

Another reason for the fear is that we are forced to recognize that evildoers don’t always attack someone else – someone in the “bad” part of town. If 9/11 taught us anything (and that’s a big if), it’s that the whole world is now the “bad” part of town. The oceans no longer protect us, nor do upscale suburbs or gated communities.

We can no longer afford the illusion that violence afflicts only those in the inner city, or in the Middle East. And these thoughts are frightening – especially to those who hold onto their peaceful illusions most strongly.

The first thing to do when we fear something is to understand it. The only way to understand evil is to look it in the face. The face is horribly ugly, but once we have the courage to look, it becomes a bit less frightening.

Equally important, it becomes recognizable. Once we can recognize evil, we can fight it. True, the fight will be difficult and dangerous. But if we have things in perspective, we realize that evil is to be feared even more than death itself.

Otherwise, we will continue to treat each attack as an “isolated incident.” In order to connect the dots, first we need the intellectual honesty to recognize that they are dots, and then we need the courage to connect them.

It’s unnerving to have your enemy stare unflinching into your face. We need to look evil in the face. Then we’ll know what to do.

Dr. Stolinsky writes on political and social issues. Contact: dstol@prodigy.net.

www.stolinsky.com