What it cost then to watch from a distance—and what it may cost us today
There Are Moments in history That Do Not Fade
There are moments in history that don’t disappear when the headlines move on.
They linger.
They echo.
They press themselves into the conscience of every generation and ask:
Who will you be when comfort conflicts with courage?
I’ve been thinking about that question a lot lately.
Because we live in a time where we see everything.
In real time.
Pain.
Fear.
Violence.
Injustice.
Division.
Grief.
All of it, right in our hands.
And it would be easy to treat it like distant news.
Like someone else’s problem.
Like something happening “over there.”
But I can’t.
I don’t know how.
I Don’t See “Them.” I See “Us.”
When I see a face in tears, I see myself. I see my children. I see my grandchildren. I see my friends, and neighbors.
When I hear fear in someone’s voice, I recognize it.
When I see chaos in the streets, I imagine it in my own neighborhood.
When I see a man lose his life unjustly, I see my husband.
I see my sons.
I see my grandsons.
How could I not?
These are not strangers on a screen.
These are families.
These are mothers and fathers.
These are children.
These are us.
And because I see myself in them, I refuse to look away.
Feeling Deeply in a Heavy World
When I feel, I feel deeply.
I don’t just have sympathy.
I have empathy.
I absorb it.
I carry it.
I sit with it.
I bear witness to it.
Not because I enjoy pain,
but because it is real life.
This is what people are living every day.
Twenty-four hours a day.
Seven days a week.
And their reality matters.
Just as much as mine.
When It Becomes Too Much
There are moments when the weight of it all becomes overwhelming.
Moments when I have to put my phone down.
When I have to pray.
When I have to breathe.
When I have to hold my grandchildren.
When I have to remind myself that light still exists.
And sometimes, I feel guilty for that.
Because others don’t get to step away.
They don’t get to turn it off.
They don’t get to rest from it.
They don’t get to escape it.
They are living inside it.
And I think,
“Who am I to breathe when they can’t?”
But I am learning this:
Stepping back to gather strength is not abandonment.
It is preparation.
It is how I stay human.
It is how I keep loving.
It is how I keep standing.
So I can return with clarity and courage.
I Refuse to Sort People Before I Love Them
I want to say this plainly.
I do not care what color someone is.
I do not care what their gender is.
I do not care what their faith is.
I do not care what their politics are.
I do not care about labels.
A person is a person.
A human being is a human being.
We all bleed the same.
We all cry the same.
We all grieve the same.
We all love our children the same.
We all want safety.
We all want dignity.
We all want to matter.
I refuse to sort people into categories before I love them.
If you are breathing, you matter.
If you are hurting, I care.
If your life is in danger, I will stand with you.
Because no one deserves to suffer alone.
The Division That Is Breaking Us
One of the most painful things I see when I scroll is how divided we have become.
Citizens against immigrants.
“Legal” against “illegal.”
Culture against culture.
Faith against faith.
Politics against politics.
Everyone sorted into boxes.
And behind every label is a human being.
A mother trying to protect her children.
A father trying to work.
A family trying to survive.
Divided people do not unite.
Divided people do not protect each other.
Divided people are easier to control.
We are not each other’s enemy.
We are each other’s responsibility.
History Has Asked Us This Before
We have read the books.
We have studied the photographs.
We have read Anne Frank’s diary.
And we asked:
“How did this happen?”
“Why did people allow it?”
And now, here we are.
Not in textbooks.
Not in black-and-white images.
But in our lifetime.
On our watch.
And the question is no longer:
“How did they let that happen?”
The question is:
Why are we allowing it now?
The Lie of Distance
“It’s not in my neighborhood.”
“It won’t come here.”
Until it does.
Pain does not stay contained.
Fear does not stay polite.
Injustice does not respect boundaries.
It spreads.
It grows.
It waits for silence.
We Were Made for More
We were made for more than spectatorship.
We were made to care.
We were made to protect.
We were made to stand.
Not with rage.
Not with violence.
But with conscience.
With courage.
With compassion.
History does not need more spectators.
It needs protectors.
A Personal Reflection
As I close this, my mind goes back to 1938.
To shattered glass.
To families hiding.
To whispered prayers.
To children silenced by fear.
To people rounded up.
Separated.
Dehumanized.
And later, the world asked:
“How did this happen?”
We know the answer.
It happened slowly.
It happened quietly.
It happened because people stayed comfortable.
And now, here we are again.
Watching fear used as a weapon.
Watching dignity stripped away.
Watching lives reduced to categories.
And we are still asking:
“How could this happen?”
The better question is:
Why are we allowing it?
My Promise
History does not have to repeat itself. PLEASE—read that again. As many times as it takes to sink in…read it again.
It only does when we refuse to learn.
I refuse that.
I refuse to look back one day and say,
“I knew better, but I stayed comfortable.”
I want to be able to say:
I spoke.
I stood.
I loved.
I protected.
I did not look away.
That is my prayer.
That is my promise.
And that is the future I am still hoping we choose—together.
A Call to Discernment and Stewardship
We are called to be discerners.
We are called to be good stewards of truth, of conscience, and of one another.
Not driven by fear.
Not blinded by comfort.
Not silenced by convenience.
But guided by wisdom.
By compassion.
By courage.
In our lifetime, veils have been lifted.
Things once hidden—about power, exploitation, and abuse—are being brought into the light.
And that should sober us.
Because when truth is revealed and still tolerated,
when injustice is exposed and still excused,
it does not disappear.
It multiplies.
We have already seen what happens when cruelty is allowed to grow.
And if we allow it again,
it will not be smaller.
It will be worse.
Because this time, we know.
Discernment without action is denial.
And stewardship without integrity is neglect.
May we have the humility to listen,
the wisdom to judge rightly,
and the courage to respond faithfully.
Love, Grace, and Discernment,
Tina N. Campbell
Scribed in Light
Scribed In Light 
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