Human Suffering

By an anonymous Chicago Firefighter

The Fire Department has taught me a lot about human suffering. There does exist a certain value in witnessing the suffering of others. If people can detach themselves enough from what they see everyday, they may come to the realization that the things they have in life are golden. I hope that is so in my case. By comparison, the struggles that the lucky ones endure appear to pale next to those of the unlucky ones. By unlucky, I mean the downtrodden, the homeless, the burned out, drug addicts, and dregs of society.

Today, I've seen a man squashed like a tomato under his car, a girl with bleach thrown into her eyes, a man burned out of his home from careless smoking, and about 9 other routine but miscellaneous emergencies. The people I've met and spoken with today have run the gamut from ghetto to blue collar to lily-white collar. It provides an arena for unprecedented understanding of human suffering, depending upon the person bearing witness and how hard they choose to look at the circumstance. People would probably pay lots of money to see this ugly side of life. For some, it's an irresistible draw.

I have to admit that I both cringe at and take interest in the various emergencies going on around me. The most potent memories, though, are always the ones that I recoil from in horror. I have reached a point where car accidents, blood, or drama do not upset me. What upsets me is the violence. The things that people do to one another shock me. For example, the girl with the bleach in her eyes was only 12, but her mom lets her run around the streets like she was 25. She wouldn't have been burned with bleach had she been home studying her 8th grade homework like she should have been. Someone threw it in her eyes when she mouthed off to them. She had the body of a 23 year old, the mouth of a seasoned trucker, and the future of an inmate. She had early pregnancy and drugs written all over her. So young and so mislead. She undoubtedly learned to talk like that at home. Does poverty do that to people or do they choose that life? If they choose it then why is violence so prevalent in the poorer areas and not in the rich suburbs like Winnetka? You might see the occasional whacko in the suburbs but not with the frequency of the ghetto.

Still, there is value in bearing witness when you think about it. I'm talking about more than just a naive mushy feeling you may get in the beginning that makes you feel like you helped some poor bum out. The value that I'm talking about has nothing to do with cataloguing war stories in our brains so that we seem leather-tough to all our friends and families. It has nothing to do with egos or dirty gear or the fact that I'm privy to secrets, suffering, and rip-roaring action. But the suffering of others does turn my eyes toward my home and my own life. All that I take for granted or waste is a shame when others have nothing. They don't even have decency. In witnessing the suffering of others, I've come to the conclusion that my problems are small compared with the unlucky millions who sleep in abandoned vans and flop houses. They populate the streets, the gangways, the alleys, and the dark corners as naturally as your family populates your clean home. Be thankful. Be very thankful. Celebrate that you even have a computer to read this essay. I know that if I can remember to be thankful, then nothing I see or do at work is in vain.

Copyright 2002 by author. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in whole or in part without written permission of the author.