Being Other In Times Of Pain

I’ve mentioned before that I have aspects of my personality that are very likely due to some degree of Asperger’s syndrome. For many things, especially knowledge-based things, these quirks are actually kind of nifty. But there’s a flip-side that rears its head that puts me separate from what I see in others: I have an emotional disconnect—a lack of empathy.

It’s not that I don’t have emotions or a moral compass, but the ability to share the feelings of others, to be a part of the social community that bands together in times of crisis…that’s missing. That’s not to say that I don’t join in, do the right things, say the right words…but it’s an intellectual exercise, not an emotional one.

The emotions of the events of 9/11 are something I’ve never been able to understand viscerally. I see so many people affected by the events of that September morning of 2001, but for me it might as well be something from the pages of a history book—and that was the case even while it was happening ten years ago.

People are surprised that I wasn’t shocked, stunned, and “OMG” when watching the towers being struck and then falling. I don’t understand these things in that way. What I saw was a coordinated and bold random attack. While larger than I’d supposed, it wasn’t unexpected. To me, it had always been a matter of time. When it was revealed that the attackers were Muslim, I knew then and there that it was going to be tough being a Muslim in America for a while.

But the panic? The fear? The sorrow? That never touched me. It’s easy to suppose that because I’m not a New Yorker, I was able to distance myself—and that could be part of it—but it doesn’t explain everything. Even when I was working in an office a year before and we were told that there was gunfire in the immediate vicinity, I kept working instead of worrying and ducking for cover. A stray bullet doesn’t much care if you are worried, or hiding, or whatever. So I stayed at my computer wondering why others weren’t doing the same.

So when in the aftermath of 9/11 I saw fear take over an up-until-then proud and confident nation, I got confused and a bit annoyed at how that fear manifested itself. The Patriot Act has long had my ire. It was the first step down a historically slippery and dangerous slope. More than a few people avoid air travel now (me included) not because of potential terrorism but because of the TSA. But beyond this—people panic very quickly now. If you accidentally walk off and leave your backpack unattended, don’t be surprised to find the area cordoned off and the bomb squad blowing up your laptop. It’s insane. I don’t understand this depth of fear.

You see, not only do I have the lack-of-empathy liability, but I was raised in an America where silly little terrorists weren’t given the time of day. They weren’t made more important than they needed to be. They were simply “dealt with”. Yes, there has always been some innocent collateral damage, but no one, after all, kills more Americans than Americans do. In 2007, more than 42,000 died of motor vehicle related injuries; over 31,000 died as a result of firearms. You’d think we’d be used to it.

Apparently not.

And that’s the aspect I don’t get that, it seems, everyone else does. Sure, I miss seeing the towers in the NYC skyline, but it might as well have been in a movie to me. It’s not from being callous, it’s simply a hole in me—one that apparently makes me less than whole in these matters from a societal point of view. Still, when I see the pain others carry with them and share, I’m not certain which of us is more fortunate.