The other day I came across an essay by Turkish psychologist Sebnem Ture. She wrote about “historical consciousness.” It sounds like a topic for a boring dissertation, but in reality it's about how we're all trying not to go crazy right now, Ukr.Media reports.
Shebnem recalled February 6, 2023. That morning, Turkey was hit by a double earthquake. Entire cities were reduced to concrete rubble, and more than 53,000 people died. For her, that day became a watershed. Life split into “before” and “after,” and her career took a 180-degree turn — she began studying how global upheavals rewire our brains.
It feels familiar, doesn't it? We all now measure time in segments from one trash to another.
Humans are generally narrative creatures. We have a vital need to create some kind of coherent story from chaos, chance, and our own laziness. Psychologists call this “narrative identity.” Take, for example, a banal graduation. At first, it’s just booze and a laminated piece of paper, but years pass, and in your head it’s already an epic moment of triumph over the system. We weave events into the plot to somehow justify who we have become.
But what happens when a big story bursts into your cozy personal story?
Shebnem turned to the guys at Northwestern University in Illinois. They once sat down with over a hundred American adults and asked them to talk not just about first kisses or getting fired, but also about how they experienced the historical events of their generation.
The answers were surprisingly varied. The researchers even came up with a scale from one to five. At one end are those who hit the “turn off history” button. At the other end are those who let it pass them by. The majority, of course, hang out somewhere in the middle, in the zone of comfortable observation.
Here's an example of the first pole. One woman recalled September 11, 2001: “I was watching TV, and then I just turned it off. How long can you show the same thing? They talked about it for a whole week, and I didn't understand why.”
You know, it's easy to condemn her for being callous. But, I understand her. Sometimes the fuses blow. It's not a lack of empathy, it's just that the psyche curls up and refuses to digest the horror that pours from the screen. She literally disconnected from the story in order to preserve herself.
Another group – observers. The woman talked about the Kennedy assassination in 1963. She remembered everything in detail: the shock in the classroom, the crying teacher, the offer to pray. Everyone sat with round eyes. Emotions – over the edge. But that's all. The bell rang, the class ended, the story remained and did not affect the kind of coffee she drank for the next twenty years.
And only a few truly “lived” these moments. Another respondent remembered the same Kennedy being shot. He was nine at the time. This event affected him so much that at eighteen he was the first to register to vote and has not missed a single vote since. Not even a local one. For him, the great history became a personal compass.
Shebnem and her colleagues tried to understand who these people were who dragged the world's tragedies and triumphs into their own bed. It turned out that those who closely identified with the era tended to have high levels of extraversion and low levels of neuroticism.
Extroverts feed on social energy. It’s easier for them to go out into the street, become part of a crowd, sign a petition or rake up rubble, and then make it part of their DNA. But neuroticism… Many of us live with anxiety right now. And for someone who already spends a lot of energy just getting out of bed and making coffee, global upheaval is too much. Avoidance becomes the only way not to crumble into atoms.
But those who do let history into their biographies often have a kind of “identification with all humanity.” It’s when you suddenly realize that you don’t care about people you’ve never seen and whose names you can’t pronounce. One man recalled the civil rights movement in the US. For him, it didn’t end with marches—it taught him to empathize with those living under oppression somewhere on the other side of the planet.
Researchers suggest that people with a developed “historical consciousness” are more likely to feel satisfied with life, volunteer more, and generally tend to think about those who will live after them. I don’t know if this makes them happier, but it certainly makes them alive.
I think about how we usually talk about the past. During feasts or smoke breaks, someone will definitely ask: “Where were you when this started?”
But almost no one asks: “What did it do to you?”
We are used to perceiving history as the weather. It rained – we opened an umbrella. It was cold – we put on a coat. But history is not the weather. When it really cuts into biography, it leaves scars that later determine how we look at this world. And, perhaps, it is these scars that sometimes force us to move it at least a millimeter in the right direction.
Share
⚡ Readers' Pulse
And what has great History done to you personally?
0 people have already voted. Join the discussion.
🧭 Became a part of me 🛡️ Distancing for peace 🤔 Still digesting it
📊 Mind map
🧭 Became a part of me 0% 🛡️ Distancing for peace 0% 🤔 Still digesting it 0% 💡
The discussion is just beginning. Be the first to comment!
Comments
There are no comments yet. Be the first!