Solidarity shouldn’t be reserved for times of crisis

I’ve never been to Paris.

At best, my most personal connection to the city is rooted in the romanticized image I formed at a young age watching Disney movies. I have a feeling I’m not the only one — the City of Light has always carried a certain magical quality to those of us in the U.S. who haven’t yet had the privilege to see the world outside of our own borders.

Paris is a world city, one that to many represents romance and adventure. It seems as though these very qualities have caused Friday’s events to resonate with the world as a whole. How could this happen to a place that symbolizes all the good things life has to offer? How can hate grow to be so fierce and so real?

Particularly the areas affected — a concert, a sporting event and a restaurant — bring this tragedy home in a way that others don’t, and I’m not saying that’s the way it should be. The people of Beirut need our love and support right now as much as Paris does. It saddens me that in some parts of the world, killing and terror are just accepted as the norm and stay under our collective radar. It takes someplace unexpected and dear to our hearts for us to change our profile pictures and feel a genuine sadness for lives lost.

But even acknowledging this flaw, something in me hurts for Paris specifically. It had me sitting alone in my apartment Friday night unable to fathom how this could ever happen, or why it was hitting me so hard. Like I said, I don’t have a real personal connection with Paris, except that I know there are people right now mourning the loss of loved ones. People who never thought anything of this magnitude could happen to their beloved city. People whom I have never met, but who I still feel for because on some level, they’re just like me.

Maybe it’s that I’ve recently been to a concert, and had the opportunity to enjoy it without fear. Maybe it’s that I’ve been going to live sporting events since I was a kid, and it pains me to think that for the foreseeable future, fans in stadiums across the globe will be unable to escape the nagging feeling that they could be in danger.

Maybe it just hurts to see that only under awful circumstances are people willing to set aside differences and stand with each other. So many wonderful things have been said on social media this weekend — themes of solidarity, unity and loyalty abound. But why does it take a crisis for people to remember their humanity? Is it really that hard for us to be kind?

I don’t say this to be needlessly negative. In a way, it fills me with immense pride to see nations the world over light up their national monuments with French colors, fly the French flag, and in many meaningful ways let the people of France know they have their backs. Even the Facebook profile picture thing, which I took a shot at earlier in this very column, is actually kind of a sweet gesture.

I guess I find myself wishing we could have the good that comes from adversity without the actual adversity. I know that’s not how it works, but maybe that’s how it could work if we all note how much good happens when solidarity is the world’s top priority.

— Logan Jones is a junior majoring in journalism. Contact him at logantjones@aggiemail.usu.edu or on Twitter @Logantj.