Giving voice to suffering: a lesson from mother nature

When we began our three-hour adventure, I couldn't help noticing how ferociously loud and powerful the waters were. It was so breathtaking witnessing the way water would crash into rocks and reach a climax in the air. Each pellet of water would split before falling again in a majestic collapse. I felt like a small Lego piece in an ugly dry suit trying to claim a sense of control between towering trees, broken branches, sharp rocks, and twisted currents.

Why, when sitting in the middle of so much nature, did I feel nothing but a mad rush of fear and admiration? It’s because I was slapped in the face with how mighty and unrelenting nature is.

Nature has endured millennia of abuse with no taste of freedom from it - this is something not even human beings, in our limited years, will ever wrap our minds around. We pollute, destroy, assault, disregard, waste, and invade nature, treating it as an already dead thing. Yet, nature remains a thunderous force with no intention of going silent.

During that initial “swim,” I felt powerless as cold water pushed me in circles and flooded my ears. Nature’s anger is pure: it can be felt, seen, and heard. It marvels me how much abuse nature has endured and how it still refues to be silent. It refuses to go silent because it can’t.

Aren’t nature and human beings created by the same Maker? How interesting is it, then, that we as human beings also undergo abuse but are expected to be silent?

For centuries, people within marginalized groups have been forced to endure abuse from more powerful groups. When grievances are uttered by the hurt, justifications are often made for the oppressors as the oppressed are labeled deserving or burdensome. Nothing abuses like human beings do. Nothing justifies injustice like human beings do. Nothing silences like human beings do. Nature, a camaraderie in its understanding of abuse, protests against such silence. It protests in recognition that it’s not only harmful for living beings to remain silent after abuse, it is also unnatural.

We silence people because unlike nature, we are obsessed with power, praise, and politics. We crave control, comfort, and security. We silence people because we know that those who speak out against injustice will inevitably challenge the norm, demand accountability, and shine light on the things we prefer to brush away. We silence people so we can continue to abuse.

But most regrettably, we also silence ourselves. We mistake silence for strength, for having “tough skin” and being a team player. We equate pain with strength, when sometimes what we need is a deep cry or therapy rather than another run on the treadmill or toxic positivity. We forget that nature is a double-edged sword to learn from. That while nature is often loud, implacable, and terrifying, it is also life-promoting and beautiful. It grows, protects, nourishes. It heals, cleans, renews. Similarly, while there are moments we must learn to let go and apply grace, it is also good for us to let the bad things out of our systems; sometimes, that means confronting our abusers or praying until our throats go dry, and other times it’s disclosing our experiences or screaming at the sky. Trying to keep suffering people silent is like telling nature to put up with the abuse it faces and to stop making noise. It’s like telling the birds to stop chirping, the waters to stop roaring, and the rain to stop pounding when it falls from sky to earth.

If we don’t give voice to the things that break us and our communities, anger will build until it bursts, just for it to hurt others or ourselves, but usually both. We see this come to life frequently, knowing that anger breeds resentment, resentment breeds hatred, and hatred breeds violence. This violence can be physical but also executed in the mind, in which we dehumanize another human being and deem them unworthy of dignity, respect, and life. Such violence is what justifies senseless murder, genocide, war, assault, discrimination, and hatred of one image bearer towards another, and such violence is alive and well.

We must give voice to suffering the same way the earth releases its grief in smaller quakes. These are much more forgiving than when the earth swallows skyscrapers, houses, cars, and people in one massive release. No wise person waits until they are crumbling and unable to get out of bed before they finally confess what’s been robbing them of sleep.

Our last spot on the white water rafting trip was a massive, quiet body of water. Our raft was encircled by lofty trees, and Max encouraged us to be silent and pay attention to our surroundings. My eyes were unblinking as I observed the different shades of green among the trees. I then gazed at the sky, its baby blue comforting me. I felt the breeze tickling my face and heard the water trickling in a calm, steady manner. The same water that had first pulled me downstream with mad fury was now at peace. I was at peace.