The year was 1989, and I was working in the emergency department of one of the busiest county hospitals in the country. I had just graduated from medical school and was beginning my medical residency. I heard the words “Gun, gun!” and then the sharp sound of a pistol discharging twice, followed by screams. Chaos ensues as the man with the gun is wrestled to the ground, and we’re racing to check for potential victims. The ward we worked in was large with gurneys closely placed to manage a patient load that far exceeded its original design.
A woman screamed, “I’ve been shot, I’ve been shot!” She was immediately surrounded by upper-level residents and an attending doctor. The shooter is on the ground as the security officers surround him. I paused in the moment, paralyzed with fear.
Two decades later, I ran into a fight that others were running away from, as someone shouted, “Knife!” Dressed in ski clothes, relaxing at the base of the mountain, bystanders couldn’t have imagined the violence unfolding before their eyes.
I remember the fear I felt in my chest during the first event, and the lack of it in the second. Years of working in the medical field exposed me to the tragedy of violence and its aftermath. To do nothing was unacceptable in the setting of trauma, violence, and life-threatening acts.
The violence of one act of terror isn’t just a moment in history stored in our memory; it becomes a horror story that reveals the depth of depravity that exists in a human’s heart. Most of us felt an exclamation point in our minds as video images of Charlie Kirk’s assassination went viral moments after this horrific crime. The trauma continues as we recognize that our world is not only unsafe but teetering on the abyss.
This imprint of violence was reinforced in the brutal stabbing of Iryna Zarutska, who was also a victim of failed judicial policies. Her August death, captured on camera, was made more extraordinary by the apathy of bystanders present at the time. She may have survived if those on the bus riding with her had intervened. They stood by and did nothing, including a woman who sat across the aisle from her, witnessed the attack, and then turned her back and got off at the next stop.
How is it possible that one death is celebrated, and one person dying does not create an innate desire to help?
Death most commonly approaches like a steam engine. The whistle blows and is followed by the low rumble of the engine, and we can sense the friction of the wheels upon the track. When it finally rounds that last corner, we are prepared as it approaches. Death has arrived.
But sometimes death arrives like a semi-truck that’s run a stop sign. Death has arrived without warning. This happened for Charlie Kirk and Iryna Zarutska. It could happen to us on a sunny day on campus or a dark night home on the train. We know not when death will arrive, but it will come.
This unexpected death arrives by planes, trains, automobiles, accidents, drownings, guns, knives, and an assortment of violence too numerous to list. We hold our breath and cannot imagine what we are hearing or seeing when someone dies suddenly. We even feel the randomness of death and the fragility of life when we watch our iPhone, computer screens, and television. In ways that are not fully known, we are scarred. Permanently.
When it happens to someone we know or love, our world stops. Death has arrived, and no one is prepared for the incapacitating shock of it all.
Our family was devastated to learn about Charlie’s violent death. He was someone we knew, loved, and admired for his big vision. He was revered by the youth and also hated by them. And yet, he didn’t allow the hate to prevent him from doing what he was anointed to do.
When asked how he would like to be remembered, he stated, “I would like to be known for my courage for my faith.” He was an evangelist at heart, uniquely disguised as a political activist.
His memory will live on in those who carry the torch of his vision. Charlie Kirk was killed, and a million more will rise up. His name will be remembered by the young people changed by his vision.
But we also must remember people like Iryna, taken too soon by a violent act. Iryna died politely, her horror quietly evident despite the savageness of the attack. She bled to death as other commuters watched — quietly and alone. The first person to help her was too late. He bent down while another rider jumped over her body as he exited the train.
I reflect on Charlie and Iryna with a pit in my stomach, an ache that yearns for a different world. Words hurt. Disordered mental health hurts. Humans sitting behind screens typing slurs and vile commentary about a man shot on a sunny day in front of his wife and children hurts. A young girl escaping violence in her country dies by violence, alone, and that also hurts.
Everybody matters, or nobody matters.
So, what do we do? In the words of my mentor, Dr. Charles Mugisha, founder of Africa New Life Ministries, “We may not be able to change the world, but we can change the world for one.” Charlie lived his life for the one — and for the many. Iryna was the one. Perhaps if his life had not been cut short, one day Iryna would hear his message of hope, his message of the gospel.
Let us be the people who find the one who needs kindness and a little hope today. Let us be the one to listen to differing opinions and have a civil discussion. Let us be the ones to have courage in the moment of crisis and intervene when someone else is in distress.
Maybe together we can change the world, one person at a time.
This article first appeared here.
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