So much would change if all of us were truly to recognise the suffering of others, writes Samer Shehata* When bombs explode in London killing dozens of commuters they attract far more attention in the United States than explosions in Egypt that kill even greater numbers of innocent civilians. Why is it that American television programmes, media commentators and elected officials spend more time discussing the recent bombings in London than the more recent terrorist attacks in Sharm El-Sheikh? Why do Americans find it easier to identify with the suffering of Londoners than with the suffering of Egyptians, Saudis or Iraqis? We know the answers to these questions yet we are seldom prepared to talk about them openly. Simply put: some lives are worth more than others. Western European lives are worth more than Arab, African or Asian lives. American life is the most precious of all. Even in death there is little equality. I can say this because I am both Egyptian and American. Born in Egypt, I grew up in Ohio. I've lived in New York City, London (directly off Russell Square, where the No 30 bus blew up), Cairo and now Washington, DC. I've vacationed in Sharm El-Sheikh on many occasions. I empathise identically with the victims of 9/11 and the London and Sinai bombings. Death really does make us all equal. Of course, there are perfectly reasonable explanations for the discrepancy in US media coverage of the London and Sharm El-Sheikh bombings. The London bombings took place on a weekday morning. By the time most Americans awoke on Thursday 7 July, news of the attacks was already on the radio and the major networks. As Americans prepared to go to work, they witnessed familiar images of violence and destruction. The attacks in Egypt, by contrast, took place early Saturday morning, local time, making it already past 6pm on the east coast of the United States. The news cycle in America has its own logic and weekend coverage is notoriously slow. For example, when the White House wants to bury a story, they release it on a Friday evening, ensuring it gets little coverage until Sunday TV talk shows are broadcast, or the Monday papers printed. And London is the British capital, after all, in addition to a financial and media hub. Adding to the media focus, Prime Minister Blair, President Bush and other leaders -- as well as their usual media entourage -- were assembled in Scotland for the G8 summit. Sharm El-Sheikh, by contrast, is a resort town on the Red Sea, home to holidaymakers and the occasional Middle Eastern summit. But there's also something less reasonable about why Americans pay more attention to death in London than in Egypt, not to mention Palestine or Iraq. Americans find it easier to sympathise with Western Europeans, and particularly the British, than with brown, yellow or black peoples. They feel their pain more easily; they understand their grief quite literally. The attacks in London, like the attacks on New York City and Washington DC on 11 September 2001, were perpetrated by the likes of Osama Bin Laden and Al-Qaeda -- products, it is said, of an alien culture and an adversarial religion. As Europeans and Christians, the British suffered the same barbarism as the Americans. In Cairo or Riyadh, it's much harder to differentiate the victim from the victimiser. They're all Muslims after all; they're all Arabs. According to the US Deputy Undersecretary of Defense for Intelligence Lt General William Boykin, "I knew that my God was a real God and his was an idol -- they all worship Allah." New Yorkers and Washingtonians can literally understand the cries of horror and agony of Londoners. They can imagine themselves in their situation. After all, they suffered similarly on 9/11. But so did Egyptians and Pakistanis, and Palestinians, well before 11 September. Suffering and horror know no nationality. And no one has a monopoly on injustice. The sad irony, of course, is that those who died in London were Muslims and Christians, whites and blacks, and everything in between, as were the victims in Egypt. The killing of innocents is grotesque whether it takes place in Israel or Palestine, Iraq or the United States. The London bombings were acts of barbarism and savagery irrespective of Tony Blair's policies in Iraq. The Sharm El-Sheikh bombings were equally barbaric regardless of our assessment of the Mubarak regime. But until we can sympathise with the victims of terrorism regardless of their nationality, skin colour or religion -- whether they are Egyptian or British, Palestinians or Israelis, Iraqis or Americans -- all of us are in store for a great deal of more anguish. Our ability to empathise with "the Other", whoever he or she may be, to see the world from a different perspective, to feel other people's pain, share their grief and understand their injustice, better enables us to address the misunderstandings, as well as the practical problems, that divide us. By acknowledging the legitimacy of other peoples' grievances, their disappointments and frustrations, we demonstrate to the world that we care not only about ourselves. We also come to see the world differently and act in it accordingly. Recognising our common humanity is the first step towards creating a better future for all of us: a world with less violence, less suffering and possibly even less terrorism. It might make us collectively safer. It will also make us more human. * The writer is an Egyptian-American professor at Georgetown University.
