Are we still human?

"Are We Still Human?" This is not just a question but a mirror that compels us to confront our reality. We often call ourselves civilized, moral, and just, yet when injustice unfolds before our eyes, we remain silent spectators. What is that defining element that makes a human being not just an evolved creature but a true human in the ethical sense? When walls of violence, corruption, and selfishness rise all around us, this question becomes even more relevant. Do we still live up to the definition of 'human' that we have always considered the foundation of our civilization and culture? If yes, then why do we keep dividing ourselves? Society has always been divided based on classes, ideologies, and values. Diversity is essential, but when differences turn into inequality and discrimination, society strays from its true purpose. We created laws and rules so that every individual understands their responsibility and contributes to a peaceful, beautiful, and prosperous society. But when these very laws are manipulated by the powerful for their selfish interests, when the administration protects only those who hold wealth and influence, can we still claim to live in a just society? A Silent Witness to Injustice I know this question must have crossed your mind—what exactly happened that made me lose faith in this system? This is not just my experience; it is the reality of every person who breathes in an environment of injustice and inequality. I was taught that education empowers us, helps us distinguish right from wrong, and teaches us to stand up for our rights. But when I tested this in real life, I realized that education had been reduced to mere textbook knowledge. I was told that laws and justice exist to protect every citizen, but when I sought help, I realized that they only work for those who are powerful. Ravi's Story – A Family Caught in Injustice Ravi lived with his family in a small town. His family was simple, religious, and peace-loving—they tried to live their lives according to their faith. But their belief in goodness shattered when their household was struck by mourning. One day, when Ravi and his son stepped out of their house to go to their shop, some neighbors rushed toward them aggressively. Before they could understand anything, they were attacked. Kicks and punches rained down, wooden sticks were raised, and onlookers stood by, watching a man being brutally beaten on the street. I had never seen Ravi in such a state. His clothes were torn, his son’s face was covered in blood, and their eyes held the same question that was in mine—"What was our fault?" Ravi’s daughter, in a state of panic, ran to the police station, hoping for justice. But before she could reach, she was stopped midway by the same assailants. Despite fear and anxiety, she did not give up and managed to reach the police station, narrating the entire ordeal to the officer. By the time the police arrived at the scene, the attackers had already retreated. But the story didn’t end there. Ravi’s son was taken to the hospital for treatment, but even there, the same game played out. The doctor was pressured to write, "Only minor injuries," so that no serious case could be registered against the perpetrators. And then, the usual happened—the powerful manipulated the law. Negotiations began within the police station itself. The ward commissioner, who was supposed to be the representative of the people, was working to protect the culprits. Just for appearances, the attackers were held in custody for two days, but during this time, Ravi’s family lived under constant threats. Ravi knew he could not prolong this battle. Seeking justice meant spending years in court, and as a middle-class man, he did not have the time or resources. He was the sole breadwinner, and his family depended on him. Reluctantly, he chose silence, hoping that time would bury the matter. But did that happen? Absolutely not. When the accused were released from jail, they began humiliating Ravi’s son even more. Sometimes they spat near his feet, sometimes they rolled up their sleeves, signaling—"See, you couldn’t do anything to us." And Me? I was silent, yet breaking inside. I kept asking myself—"Is this our society? Where those who commit injustice walk with pride, and those who speak the truth are forced to bow?" That day, I saw with my own eyes that fear is not just an emotion—it is a weapon used by the powerful to rule over the weak. I was not just a silent spectator; I had become part of this society’s silence. And that was the biggest crime of all. "Silence is also a crime if you lack the courage to speak the truth." Perhaps this is why those who commit injustice never feel afraid—because they know that society will never stand against them. They know that people like Ravi will always bow, and people like us will always watch in silence. But for how long? How long will we keep pretending that this is not our problem? How long will we keep turning away from our responsibilities, saying, "Nothing can be done?" I don’t know if Ravi’s family ever found peace after this incident. But I do know that something inside me broke that day—my trust in this system, my faith in the morality of this society, and perhaps, my hope in humanity itself.