Life is unbelievably fragile. It is an honour, a once off opportunity, and a period of love, smiles, laughter, anguish, pain and a host of other emotions. It is delicate and can be broken as easily as it can be formed.
In our lives we make choices that make us who we are. We choose our friends, our morals, our beliefs and try to make the best of the opportunities we are given. Emotions are fleeting and strong and our passions run deep into our souls. We fight for what we believe in and we fight to survive. Every day is a battle and every minute is an intricate dance to the music of life.
Some are born into wealth, others create it for themselves and others die trying.
Death is inevitable. It is the only thing in life that is 100% guaranteed. But the timing is unknown. This motivates some to live every moment as if it’s their last while motivating others to hide in fear and isolate themselves from anything that may be dangerous. But when it comes to that moment when you have to fight for what you believe in, you cast these fears aside and step up to the plate not knowing whether you’ll come out alive or in a body bag.
Sometimes our very beliefs are the things that get us killed; sometimes it’s just timing and other times it’s just about being in the wrong place at the wrong time.
This is why death truly saddens me. Death is always untimely. There are always people who are left behind in a shadow of mourning and a pain which envelopes even the strongest of souls.
Life is fragile.
This brings me to the horrific tragedies that unfolded last week at Marikana involving the Lonmin miners.
The justifications for these murders have been headlined in every newspaper, every twitter feed and have been broadcasted through every media. The excuses have flown in from every angle and the blame has been passed from person to person, however, politics aside, it comes down to this; a stand off between one miner and one policeman both wielding weapons and both terrified, each thinking about their families and friends and each knowing that only one will survive.
Who decides the fate of this pair? Who decides who shall live and who shall die? In those final moments each looks into their soul to find the courage to fight for what they believe or to fight for survival.
Men, men with families, men with responsibilities, men with hope, died. They died fighting for an idea, a concept, and a hope for a better future but the idea lives on. These people could surely not have died in vain?
“Remember, remember, the Fifth of November, the Gunpowder Treason and Plot. I know of no reason why the Gunpowder Treason should ever be forgot... But what of the man? I know his name was Guy Fawkes and I know, in 1605, he attempted to blow up the Houses of Parliament. But who was he really? What was he like? We are told to remember the idea, not the man, because a man can fail. He can be caught, he can be killed and forgotten, but 400 years later, an idea can still change the world. I've witnessed first hand the power of ideas, I've seen people kill in the name of them, and die defending them... but you cannot kiss an idea, cannot touch it, or hold it... ideas do not bleed, they do not feel pain, they do not love... And it is not an idea that I miss, it is a man... A man that made me remember the Fifth of November. A man that I will never forget.”
These men will be forgotten by the general public. They will be cast aside by newer tragedies. They will join the news that covers battered hake or starts a fire and eventually all they will be is a distant memory for those who knew them.
There is no way to bring back the dead. They are long gone. But their fight must be worth something. Somehow their deaths have to mean something. If they achieved what they set out to achieve then at least they did not die for nothing.
How can one group of people be so selfish as to care more about lining their own pockets than about saving the lives of innocent people?
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