Please, Enough Videos of Dead and Dying Syrians!

At the start of the Syrian uprising, the stream of  grainy and gruesome YouTube videos was unavoidable.  They were the world's only glimpse inside Syria and the only visual testament of the brutality of the regime. As an expatriate, I felt a sense of guilt for being out of harm's way as my compatriots were being wounded and killed.  Watching the videos was, in a sense, penance for my good fortune. It also heightened the sense of urgency and the seriousness of the unfolding calamity in Syria. But the videos also had a corrosive effect on the psyche,

It is not that I'm squeamish. I have seen my share of death and destruction first hand as a medical student in Beirut in 1982. Feeling anger at brutality of the regime's response to peaceful protests is normal and healthy, but this anger, constantly fed, can turn into destructive rage.  After a while I stopped watching. It didn't feel right, it felt voyeuristic; with every new video there was an expectation of ever more graphic images to maintain your level of outrage and indignation.   All I needed to know is that a family of six was killed by an artillery round fired by the army that is supposed to protect them, I didn't need to see the mangled bodies. I don't blame the civilians who took those videos.  In the absence of independent professional journalists, amateur videos uploaded on the internet were the only way  to tell their very personal story, the only way to communicate the urgency of their dire situation to the outside world.

I worry, however, that the constant stream of these videos will sharpen the divide among Syrians and, as it feeds the rage among of the aggrieved, it increases the risk of equally vicious retaliatory violence.  This revolution, in the end, is not about death and destruction, it is about a new beginning.  Preparing for this unavoidable new beginning is as crucial as winning the day to day confrontation with the regime.  As the revolution turns more violent, the positive, peaceful, unifying message of the non-violent approach that launched the Syrian revolution should not be drowned out.  I don't want to remember Giyath Matar as a lifeless tortured corpse; I want to remember his radiant, magnanimous smile and his courageous, non-violent activism.  In the same way I want to remember Ibrahim Othman's herculean efforts to treat the wounded, Tal al-Mallouhi's poetry and Mazhar Tayyara's citizen-journalism and his dedication to the unity of all Syrians.

We need to remember them and hundreds of others not for their death but for the remarkable things they achieved in their short lives. Theirs are inspirational stories for a new beginning, a new definition for citizenship for the not so far away post-Assad Syria.