The Frog Theory (Desensitization of the Generations)

I think everyone must have, at some point in their lives, heard of the story of the frog and the hot water. If not, then allow me to jog your memory. The frog is placed in a container with steaming hot water, and the frog quickly hops out. But the next time, it is placed in a container with water in room temperature. It remains there, and the temperature is slowly increased until it is steaming. The frog is used to it, and doesn’t realize what’s happening, until it’s too late and it’s dead.

Now I think everyone must be wondering what could have possibly possessed me to write that. Well, the answer is simple. We are frogs! But we’ll get into that later.

Back when I was really young, my parents used to take me through the streets of dirty markets, and I used to see a lot of poor, shabbily dressed, disabled beggars inhabiting the pavements, sticking their filthy hands before passersby and asking for some money. My heart used to reach out to them and a part of me wanted to do something, just something, to put an end to all their misery. I used to see shopkeepers shooing them from their streets, treating them as no better than the street dogs! The sight was simply shocking! Even my parents used to walk past, not bothering to even look at them, ignoring them entirely. Caught up by the naivety of youth, I felt they were pretty cruel. I often attempted to tug at their heartstrings with an innocent look, asking them to give some money to the beggars. I told them we had enough. But they wouldn’t. They said that if they stopped to give some money to everyone who stuck a hand out under their nose, every time they did so, they’d soon be trading places. I didn’t really understand what they meant back then. I wasn’t satisfied with that. But as I entered my teens, I had seen so many repetitions of such scenes, and I’d read about it extensively in books, and heard about it in conversations. I realized that I just didn’t care anymore. I couldn’t care less about how many people may die of hunger or poverty. I may be coming off as insensitive, but then again that is my point, I have been desensitized to poverty. An aspect of my humanity is dead already!

I am currently in Class 12. I am aware of the fact that our planet is in a miserable state, choking to death with smoke, toxicants, and the list goes on and on. Its greenery is dying, and the future generations may not have much left. Now, to the utter horror of the Environmentalists, I’m going to say something blasphemous. I don’t care! Whoops! Another part of me just died!

I first heard about the whole concept of ‘Global Warming’ back in class 2, or maybe 3. Back then all I was told was that our world is getting warmer. “Humph,” I thought, “I could use a little warmth.” That was me stepping into room temperature water. (Remember the little narration about the frog? Now we get into it.) Over the years, I discovered more and more about this phenomenon. But it never shocked me. By the time I reached Class 10, my Environmental Education book stated that within some 50 years or so, the water level would rise by so and so centimeters. Centimeters? Really? And that was supposed to shock me? It probably is a big deal. But I could not get myself to fathom the intensity of it all. That was me nearing boiling point.

Over the years, I heard a lot about all the violence in the world. I came across all sorts of gruesome headlines in newspapers. I heard stories, and learnt about them in history books. Rapes! Murders! Massacres! That didn’t shock me either. I knew that such acts were horrible. I believed so, but I didn’t feel so. Therein lay the eternal conflict between the head and the heart. My heart didn’t reach out to the victims. I felt no sudden flash of anger at the callousness of the perpetrators of the heinous crime! I’d played so many violent video games, and seen so many horror and violent movies, in which I reveled at the mere thrill of seeing blood splatter over white washed walls. Maybe somewhere in the back of my subconscious mind, I began seeing all the real life crimes as just an extension of those movies, those video games, just media propaganda to shock and entertain. Maybe I didn’t know them personally, so I looked at it as fiction. I lost touch with reality.

 “FATHER MURDERS ENTIRE FAMILY” reads a headline in a newspaper. “What a shame!” I exclaim, tut in disapproval, and turn the other way. “FATHER MURDERS OWN DAUGHTER” reads a headline a few days later. “So? The other day, I ‘d read one in which the entire family was killed!” seems to be the immediate response, before I mentally punish myself for thinking so, and force myself to feel even an ounce of empathy towards the fellow human being! In fact, even the text books seem to have turned into a medium of desensitization. When I read about deaths and violence in history books, I always read them in statistics. “Jallianwala Bagh! Thousands dead!” “Hitler killed millions of Jews!” Are these numbers really supposed to shock and unnerve me? Are these numbers supposed to mean something to me? Spread awareness? To me, the fact that human lives can be brought down to mere statistics just seems downright demeaning! I tend to compare the numbers of different atrocities, and say to myself “Hmmm… That one’s not nearly as bad as that one.” This thought is followed by another string of mental curses for my insensitivity. Let’s face it. We are doomed to be a generation devoid of any forms of empathy (or am I the only one?) But there’s still hope for us, I guess.

A few weeks back, during History Class, we were shown a documentary on Nazi Holocaust, called ‘Night and Fog.’ That to me was the sudden immersion in ‘steaming hot water.’ It was the first time that I didn’t look at it as just another chapter in history. It was the first time I felt a strange concoction of fury, seasoned with compassion and remorse for those who did not directly concern me. Remorse. Because that is when I realized the weakness of the human spirit, and that is what influenced me to write this article. During World Environment Day, we were shown a video in the Assembly. That was another jolt of the hot water to me. For the first time, maybe in my life, I was touched and it got me caring about the environment because I felt it, and not because I was supposed to (even if the effect lasted only a few days.) So, I guess what I’m getting at is that no amount of preaching and no amount of ‘general awareness’ can get us to really feel. In fact, at this stage, it would have quite a counter-productive effect. I have come to learn that wisdom breeds insensitivity. But don’t let my silly article get you down. There’s still hope in the form of loud, powerful videos, and documentaries, ones that can really move a person. But then the question arises, how much of that can we take before we develop immunity even to them? So I’ll thank my stars every single time I see something wrong and instead of looking the other way I at least feel anger bubbling inside of me. Every time I read a gory headline in a newspaper that makes me curse, I’m going to cherish that feeling. Every time I’m shown a video that moves me to tears, I’m going to let the wet imprint remain for as long as possible, because that is what makes me human.