Equal.

Equal? What an unassuming, almost threadbare little word. It looks powerless in its plainness.

One wonders how those five letters felt when they were sent out together — as a word that almost no one takes seriously. Was “equal” condemned to meaninglessness — or to something that carries weight?

“It’s all the same to me.”

How often I heard that short sentence, the one that provoked only blank or irritated looks when offered as an answer to a question. Yet “equal” has grown over the millennia and fought its way into a position of strength. What about the equality of women? Or “all people are equal before the law.” Not “...some people are somewhat more equal.” Though a glance at the United States suggests that someone over there is currently making edits to that sentence.

The threadbare German word “gleich” (equal) has some fascinating facets. In the hit parade of most-used words: rank 187. In Germany, at least — where the principle of equality apparently still counts. What’s more, “equal” is what’s called an isogram. Come again? An isogram is a word in which every letter appears exactly once. And all letters it contains are equal.

Why has the word “equal” refused to leave my head since half past four this morning? It took a few minutes for the sleepy film to crumble from my eyes. The current brutal, horrifying disruptions to the equilibrium of planet Earth are the reason. I think, at least. Why the word grabs me at the root of my feelings — that has to do with a related word: indifference.

Me and indifference? Never!

That should have been my reaction. But it wasn’t. The daily flood of unimaginable atrocities in Gaza, in Iran, in Cuba, and yes, in the United States of America is a touch too much. I can no longer process the images, the words, the dark side of humanity. And what comes creeping slowly but surely into my thoughts? Indifference. Numbness.

Oh, damn.

Where has my usually well-groomed empathy gone into hiding? Where has the switch gone — for outrage, for uprising, for simply standing up?

Surely we are not only equal before the law. Doesn’t the impulse toward good lie deep within all of us — long before we ever thought about it?

I am shocked. Not by the world out there — that world, one knows. But by myself: can it be that murdered children are slowly becoming all the same to me?

NO. NO. NO.

But the creeping feeling of powerlessness, of despair, of “this is becoming too much for me” cannot be denied. I am convinced that many of us feel this way, if we so much as steal a brief glance at the health of the world.

No, it is not all the same to me.

Yes, I want to feel.

Yes, I want to fight back.

Yes, I want a more just world.

Yes, I am a dreamer.

Yes, I am not the only one.

But the compassion that keeps averting its eyes gnaws at me. That is not something writing can fix.

I want more humanity.

More compassion.

More courage.

More solutions — real ones.

Right now.

Because we are all equal.

And that is not a matter of indifference to me.

Let us take “equal” seriously again.

For everyone

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