Hate Takes Everything… Love Gives It All
As we left the studio for a coffee break, Jeff told us that a terrible tragedy had just happened in Moscow. We were completely devastated to hear that, and even more horrified when Ben played the BBC News for us to hear the report, once we were back in the studio. We weren’t prepared to see that kind of unbearable display of pure evil and violence on the studio’s big screen. That situation reminded us of the soul-wrenching tragedy that happened in Paris on November 13, 2015, when the wicked nature of the bleakest of all hearts decided unilaterally to rip bright pieces of lives and colorful shine, for the sake of their self-righteous type of dogmatic contritions. Many of my personal friends’ lives were taken away that evening at the Bataclan… even more friends were injured and all of them saw their lives forever altered.
I will always remember where we were when that unnamable darkness descended upon that concert hall. I was with Ben, Jeff, and Sef, as we were having a last rehearsal before heading for Tokyo where we were set to play a complete rendition of our album “Between Illness And Migration” as a four-piece; a moment that would eventually become “Tokyo Sessions”. We stopped everything when we started to receive messages from our friends and our community members and turned our Facebook page into a live news channel where people could inform others of their status, and ask for support to locate loved ones they hadn’t heard from yet. We stayed up all night. I’ve never felt so helpless. We wondered if we should cancel our Japanese trip – as we were set to leave less than 48 hours later – to keep on supporting everyone in need of open arms, as we were all deeply affected by such a monstrosity. We almost headed for Paris the morning after, but like we did when we experienced the Japanese tsunami in real-time with our Nippon brothers and sisters, we asked our community members before reacting in a way that would end up not being helpful at all. Everyone wanted us to play our concert as an act of ultimate resistance and defiance towards those leaguing themselves together to usurp our freedom to be different by nature, dogmatically enfranchised, and to honor life in the face of death. We left for Tokyo confused, heartbroken, and frustrated for being unable to scream an unfathomable pain.
I will always remember where we were when that unnamable darkness descended upon that concert hall. I was with Ben, Jeff, and Sef, as we were having a last rehearsal before heading for Tokyo where we were set to play a complete rendition of our album “Between Illness And Migration” as a four-piece; a moment that would eventually become “Tokyo Sessions”. We stopped everything when we started to receive messages from our friends and our community members and turned our Facebook page into a live news channel where people could inform others of their status, and ask for support to locate loved ones they hadn’t heard from yet. We stayed up all night. I’ve never felt so helpless. We wondered if we should cancel our Japanese trip – as we were set to leave less than 48 hours later – to keep on supporting everyone in need of open arms, as we were all deeply affected by such a monstrosity. We almost headed for Paris the morning after, but like we did when we experienced the Japanese tsunami in real-time with our Nippon brothers and sisters, we asked our community members before reacting in a way that would end up not being helpful at all. Everyone wanted us to play our concert as an act of ultimate resistance and defiance towards those leaguing themselves together to usurp our freedom to be different by nature, dogmatically enfranchised, and to honor life in the face of death. We left for Tokyo confused, heartbroken, and frustrated for being unable to scream an unfathomable pain.
It’s quite incredible for me to realize that even if that dreadful and gruesome act of barbaric hateful cowardice occurred almost 10 years ago, I’m still troubled by it all as if it was yesterday. If I wasn’t there physically, a part of my compassionate innocence died as well during that fresh and clear Parisian evening. A proof that hate always takes something out of you, no matter if you are the direct object of that incomprehensible violence or not, as no reason could support such an act. Nothing… no past abuses, no present profanities or whatever part of the world it might be taking place in. No matter the religion, the politics, the culture, the societal and historical background involved… nothing. I don’t think I would have found enough strength within me to forgive if it wasn’t for our friends Laura and Nils who survived the Bataclan attack. I now know that it’s not the impactful nature of the slogans you’re collectivizing from one weekend to another that changes things, as righteous and as right as they could be, but it’s the measure of genuine love you are willing to defy hate with that changes everything… starting with yourself. And that’s why it remains the most self-engaging stand you can make. Slogans are an antidote we want others to take in our place when the real poison grows within us all. Love is the only remedy and it’s the hardest “pill” to swallow… At least, for me it is.
I spent years as a spokesperson for Amnesty International, pointing the finger at others for all the right and borderline questionable reasons. It was instinctive. I wanted my world to be shaped by other people’s change, for my vision to be embodied by institutional transformative radicalization. Right or wrong, I was of all the manifestations, of all the social “fights”. Tell me about something, anything I would believe needed for fingers to be pointed at and I probably had a slogan ready and a proper t-shirt to go along with it, until someone asked me the question: “What about you?” “What about me? I’m a justice fighter, it’s great.” “Are you, really a world-changer? I only see a militant that has a cause, but no love, no compassion, no introspection. You are an activist. You don’t want to change the world, you only want to find a purpose for yours. Look within yourself, it’s where the world starts to change.” OUCH…
My answer was: “Who do you think you are? You don’t know me. How dare you imply that I don’t love? And you, who are you?!? “I’m your conscience Alex and I’m using the 15 seconds of clarity you might have among all your self-righteousness to reach out to you.” OUCH OUCH OUCH… I never went screaming after ever again. I’m hugging, I’m whispering, and I’m wondering how I can keep on evolving as a person to be a friend, a brother, a son, a neighbor, and a stranger with open arms. That’s what I am now. It’s not what I do. I share moments with others instead, I’m part of other people’s lives and I’m inviting others to do the same with me. I am not special. I am Alex, the imperfect individual who is still learning to outgrow his own measure of selfishness and self-centeredness. Some days are great while others are a complete catastrophe. It’s not natural for me to love, to trust, to let go, or be comfortable with others. I grew up as a child who had been raped in a context of poverty, violence, and alcoholism, in districts where people don’t have the luxury of throwing soup at paintings in the most upper-class museums, as it’s the only thing they may have to eat that day. It’s never right or wrong. It’s never one way or the other. Life, just as we are, is complex and filled with too many paradoxes and layers to reduce it to a few words on a piece of paper. I wish it could, but it’s not.
Don’t get me wrong, I don’t say we need the bastards to get away with murder, nor do I imply that people screaming in the streets don’t have love and are not pure at heart. I have dear friends who are dedicating their lives to others and who will walk to protest while sharing their meal with someone who doesn’t have one. Those are my type of world-changers. There are so many needs but so few benevolent artisans… and there are so many causes. We are even bullied for not picking the trendy ones sometimes. You should see some of the messages I receive: “You didn’t say anything, so it means you are like them.” If I did say something: “You should have been way more intense, you played it safe.” And all and all and all. I always answer, not in order to justify myself but to be a friend, to understand the anger, and the violence, on both sides, as for me, a person killed is one too many. A person who doesn’t eat or doesn’t have access to clean water, proper education, or human rights is one person too many. I don’t see the world in general categories anymore. It’s handy for some lobby, but I’m not a lobby. I am someone who wants to be a friend, a brother, a son, a neighbor, or a stranger with open arms.
My answer was: “Who do you think you are? You don’t know me. How dare you imply that I don’t love? And you, who are you?!? “I’m your conscience Alex and I’m using the 15 seconds of clarity you might have among all your self-righteousness to reach out to you.” OUCH OUCH OUCH… I never went screaming after ever again. I’m hugging, I’m whispering, and I’m wondering how I can keep on evolving as a person to be a friend, a brother, a son, a neighbor, and a stranger with open arms. That’s what I am now. It’s not what I do. I share moments with others instead, I’m part of other people’s lives and I’m inviting others to do the same with me. I am not special. I am Alex, the imperfect individual who is still learning to outgrow his own measure of selfishness and self-centeredness. Some days are great while others are a complete catastrophe. It’s not natural for me to love, to trust, to let go, or be comfortable with others. I grew up as a child who had been raped in a context of poverty, violence, and alcoholism, in districts where people don’t have the luxury of throwing soup at paintings in the most upper-class museums, as it’s the only thing they may have to eat that day. It’s never right or wrong. It’s never one way or the other. Life, just as we are, is complex and filled with too many paradoxes and layers to reduce it to a few words on a piece of paper. I wish it could, but it’s not.
Don’t get me wrong, I don’t say we need the bastards to get away with murder, nor do I imply that people screaming in the streets don’t have love and are not pure at heart. I have dear friends who are dedicating their lives to others and who will walk to protest while sharing their meal with someone who doesn’t have one. Those are my type of world-changers. There are so many needs but so few benevolent artisans… and there are so many causes. We are even bullied for not picking the trendy ones sometimes. You should see some of the messages I receive: “You didn’t say anything, so it means you are like them.” If I did say something: “You should have been way more intense, you played it safe.” And all and all and all. I always answer, not in order to justify myself but to be a friend, to understand the anger, and the violence, on both sides, as for me, a person killed is one too many. A person who doesn’t eat or doesn’t have access to clean water, proper education, or human rights is one person too many. I don’t see the world in general categories anymore. It’s handy for some lobby, but I’m not a lobby. I am someone who wants to be a friend, a brother, a son, a neighbor, or a stranger with open arms.
It might sound judgmental. Maybe it is. Maybe I’m wrong, and to be honest, I wish I was. It would be so much easier to address complex problems, avoid confusing emotions, and keep on living my life without having to love or deal with those I don’t agree with. But like I share in all my studio diary entries, I can only expose my perspective based on the measure of authenticity I have the courage to show you when I’m writing to you on any given day. And while witnessing that implacable demonstration of hate happening in Moscow, I couldn’t help but feel anger, violence, and frustration, just thinking of those I’ve lost at the Bataclan, and of friends who need to live under constant social pressure for being too much or too little… How would I react if it were to be you falling through somebody else’s “self-righteous” bullets because you wanted to commune with others at one of my concerts? Terror is the perfect word, as the sole idea of it terrifies me. But I have to admit as I’m writing this text, that what’s more terrifying than bullets for me would be to lose faith in benevolence, in common sense, in a kind gesture, or to turn my back to love. I don’t want to hold a rifle of “justice” in my hands, nor my mind… nor in my heart.
Yes, love is the remedy and it starts within me. Today, it is indeed an unbearable pill for me to swallow, but I will because I want to be like so many wonderful people who are making that choice every single day, no matter the tragedy they might have to face. What is mine again? Not liking a guitar part nobody truly cares about? Yes, it starts within ourselves and everyone’s catastrophe, terrible or not, is a reminder of that love, each day at a time.
My heart goes out to those who love. Thank you for showing us the way, for reminding us that it doesn’t have any specific cause, any specific attribute. We all can, but do we all want to… Do I?!?
Thank you all for loving me, I need it more than ever to love others in return.
Yes, love is the remedy and it starts within me. Today, it is indeed an unbearable pill for me to swallow, but I will because I want to be like so many wonderful people who are making that choice every single day, no matter the tragedy they might have to face. What is mine again? Not liking a guitar part nobody truly cares about? Yes, it starts within ourselves and everyone’s catastrophe, terrible or not, is a reminder of that love, each day at a time.
My heart goes out to those who love. Thank you for showing us the way, for reminding us that it doesn’t have any specific cause, any specific attribute. We all can, but do we all want to… Do I?!?
Thank you all for loving me, I need it more than ever to love others in return.
