Hollow men are indifferent to horror

Three months ago, at the Venice Film Festival, the world premiere of “The Voice of Hind Rajab” received a historic 23-minute applause. The Tunisian director of this hybrid film believes that it could be one of the nominees for the Academy Award for Best International Film in March 2026. It revives the last hours of the life of the 6-year-old Palestinian girl Hind, who spent inside a car that had just been pierced by 335 bullets. His uncle, aunt, and three cousins ​​died alongside him, who were crammed into the seats of the family car. The girl, now alone, calls the Red Crescent emergency number, which every child or adult in Gaza knows by heart. A child’s voice is so urgent that it cannot be erased:

– I’m afraid, please come.

The accident occurred on January 29, 2024. As we know today, no one came – or rather, the two rescuers who tried to reach Hind by ambulance were shot by the Israel Defense Forces. The collection of twisted bodies remained there for 12 days to be collected.

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Weeks ago, a new documentary produced by the Hind Rajab Foundation in partnership with Al Jazeera revealed more details about the case. It is titled “What is a Greater Secret” (the tip of the iceberg), and it deconstructs Israel’s initial attempt to confirm that there was no IDF military unit in the vicinity of what happened. An investigation by the multidisciplinary research team Forensic Architecture, at the University of London, based on satellite images and audio recordings from that day, identified several Merkava tanks near Rajab’s family car. Precious hours also passed before the Red Crescent obtained permission to deploy two rescuers to the confrontation area, and at this time of terror, the girl’s voice diminished. When the ambulance finally approaches the burning vehicle, the ambulance becomes the IDF’s target. The documentary identifies the brigade, battalion, and commanders suspected of responsibility in the case. He submitted to the International Criminal Court in The Hague the names, titles and ranks of 20 Israeli soldiers linked to the crime.

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Why are we talking about this now, with December festivities storming our doors? Because every time is time. Anger is a transient emotional state, almost impossible to maintain over the years. It exhausts us a lot, both physically and emotionally, and that’s why we end up dying – it’s easier to get used to what we see. The following is part of a chronicle written by Clarice Lispector for the outdated magazine Senhor in June 1962, about the death of the bandit Minerinho from Rio, at the hands of the Rio police, with 13 gunshot wounds:

– This is the law. But there is something that makes me hear the first and second shots with a feeling of relief, at the third it makes me alert, at the fourth I feel uncomfortable, at five and six I feel overwhelmed with shame, at seven and eight I hear my heart beating with terror, at nine and ten my mouth trembles, at eleven I say in the name of God in astonishment, at twelve I call for my brother. The thirteenth kills me, because I am the other. Because I want to be the other.

The moral question is no longer “Who is the dead man?” It becomes “Who are we to accept this?”

Since the end of the year is also an occasion for life evaluations and best-or-worst lists, interested parties are invited to (re)read The Hollow Men, by T. S. Eliot, published exactly one hundred years ago. A modernist poem dealing with the spiritual emptiness and despair of the post-war period of 1914-1918, Eliot’s poem “Hollow Men” symbolizes a society paralyzed by inaction, devoid of spirituality and in moral decline. These hollow men look like scarecrows filled with straw to make them appear human. They are empty, speak in whispers, without dialogue, live in a barren and sterile land, afraid of the dark. The last lines of the work are famous: This is how the world ends, not with a bang but with a groan (According to the translator, this is how the world ends/not with a bang, but with a groan.)

Better get out of the darkness and easy discontent soon. We confront who we are, who accept what we see.