In a world where every life should hold intrinsic value, where suffering should elicit compassion, where pain should be met with support, there is an unsettling trend in Africa that challenges these basic human principles. We are witnessing a stark erosion of empathy, a world where the sight of another person's suffering becomes mere entertainment, a spectacle to be consumed and shared for likes, shares, and fleeting online fame. In this peculiar landscape, the human instinct to help has been overshadowed by the urge to capture suffering for an audience, leaving many to wonder: when did we stop giving a damn?
The streets tell a grim story. A car veers off the road and crashes into a ditch, leaving its driver barely clinging to life. Instead of rushing to offer help, a crowd gathers. Not to save a life, but to whip out their phones, adjusting angles to get the perfect shot, some even laughing at the bloodied body sprawled on the ground. This isn't an isolated incident, but a growing phenomenon across cities, towns, and rural areas. In markets and highways, accidents become a spectacle, not a call to action. Some gather around with morbid curiosity, while others shamelessly pickpocket or loot from the injured, exploiting their helplessness. It's as if our collective conscience has gone numb, anesthetized by the allure of virality and personal gain.
There's a certain darkness in our hearts that seems to have taken root, one that feeds on the misfortune of others. The more tragic, the better it seems for some. A bleeding child, a mother wailing by the roadside, a dying man gasping for his last breath — these images are circulated with such impunity that one has to ask: do we still recognize suffering when we see it? Or have we become so desensitized that even the most basic human instinct to help a fellow being is slowly eroding away?
It is easy to lay blame on technology, on the smartphone cameras and social media platforms that amplify these behaviors. But beneath the surface, there is a deeper, more insidious shift. A society that has become callous, detached, where suffering has become just another scene in the daily drama of life. In Africa, the problem is not the technology itself, but the choices people make when faced with another person’s pain. The decision to record a dying accident victim instead of offering aid, the act of stealing from someone who is unconscious and bleeding, these are not problems born from digital devices. They are reflections of a moral decay that runs far deeper.
There was a time when to be African meant to be part of a community, to care for one's neighbor as oneself, to recognize the value of every life regardless of status or wealth. Yet, somewhere along the way, that bond has weakened. Now, we are a continent where a man's agony is another's chance to become an overnight internet sensation. Where a woman's death is an opportunity to go viral. The erosion of empathy is not just a societal issue; it is a crisis of the human spirit.
The loss of empathy is not unique to Africa, of course, but there is a particularly sharp contrast here because Africa is a continent that has historically been defined by its sense of community. Ubuntu, the philosophy that “I am because we are,” has long been the guiding principle in many African societies. And yet, these recent trends reveal an unsettling reality: we are moving away from these core values, becoming spectators rather than participants in the human experience. Our understanding of humanity seems to be shifting, and not in a direction we should be proud of.
One might argue that these are signs of modernity, that the world has become a smaller place where global behaviors are mimicked and adopted. But can we really accept that explanation? Can we look at a dying child and think that the appropriate response is to capture their final moments on a smartphone? Or that we should stand by while someone's life is literally slipping away and do nothing but take a video or steal their belongings? Have we reached a point where our humanity is so diluted that we no longer see the absurdity in these actions?
There is a psychological phenomenon at play here — a detachment that comes from witnessing suffering from behind a screen. We are, in essence, training ourselves to be observers rather than active participants. We are, consciously or unconsciously, teaching ourselves that the suffering of others is not our problem, that it's something to watch and move on from, rather than to engage with and alleviate. This is dangerous, not just for the individuals who suffer as a result, but for the society we are building for future generations.
Our children are growing up in a world where suffering is normal, where pain is another form of content. They are seeing that when someone is in distress, the most immediate response is to record, to broadcast, to share, rather than to help. They are being raised in an environment where empathy is not a default response, but rather an exception. We should be alarmed by this. We should be deeply, profoundly concerned about the direction we are heading.
For too long, we have turned a blind eye to this trend, dismissing it as just another consequence of the digital age. But it's more than that. It's a reflection of who we are becoming as a people. And it's a call to action. To every individual who has ever chosen to pick up a phone instead of extending a hand, to every person who has stood by and watched suffering unfold without doing something about it, this is your wake-up call. This is a moment to ask yourself what kind of person you want to be, what kind of society you want to live in.
The erosion of empathy is not inevitable. It is not a foregone conclusion. We can choose to change, to reconnect with the values that once defined us, to remember that every life has worth, that every person is deserving of dignity and respect. We can choose to be the ones who help, who care, who make a difference. But we have to make that choice, every single day. It won't be easy. It will require us to look inward, to challenge our assumptions, to question our behaviors. But it is necessary if we are to reclaim our humanity, if we are to ensure that the Africa of tomorrow is one where empathy is not just a word, but a way of life.
Imagine an Africa where no one walks past a dying man without trying to save him, where no woman lies in pain without a dozen hands reaching out to help her up, where children grow up knowing that their suffering is never entertainment but a call for community and care. Imagine a continent where empathy is not eroded but strengthened, where every person knows that they matter, that their pain is not their own to bear, but something we all share.
This is not a utopian vision; it is a call to return to our roots, to remember who we are, to embrace the values that have always defined us. We have the power to change the narrative, to shift the culture, to create a society where empathy is not a relic of the past but the cornerstone of our future. It begins with us. It begins with the choices we make every day. It begins with recognizing that we are all connected, that our fates are intertwined, that we are all in this together.
So the next time you see someone in pain, the next time you witness suffering, ask yourself: will you be a bystander or a helper? Will you choose to record or to rescue? Will you be part of the problem or part of the solution? The erosion of empathy is a choice we are making, but it is also a choice we can unmake. It is within our power to decide what kind of people we want to be, what kind of society we want to build, what kind of world we want to leave behind for those who come after us.
Let us choose wisely. Let us choose empathy. Let us choose humanity.
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