The way we have been responding hasn’t been working. Can we find a better way?
This post shares a powerful reflection from Carlos, drawn from a public conversation he had with someone voicing justified anger about the current situation in Gaza — a sentiment echoed by others nearby. Rather than dismissing the anger, Carlos offers a different perspective: what if the way we express our outrage is actually limiting our ability to be truly heard? He invites us to consider how our reactions — though valid — may be creating more division than dialogue. In a world heavy with pain and injustice, could there be a better way forward? Read on to explore his thought-provoking response.
I know anger well. I’ve felt it pulse through my body in response to fear and threat—a primal, biological reaction. But I’ve also known the kind of anger that burns for justice, that rises in the face of inequity and oppression. It’s both instinctual and rational. I’ve carried it in my bones, deep enough that I couldn’t keep living in a country that was provoking the worst in me.
How I’m learning to respond now took years—years of reflection, study, and therapy. I came to realise, not without struggle, that although the cause I was defending was just, the way I was defending it was not. It came more from the reptilian and limbic systems in me than from the cortex.
My father, a doctor, used to say during the dark times in Argentina, when people disappeared without a trace, and he saw my rage, “Carlitos, conectá la corteza!” “Charlie, connect the cortex!” But it was hard then. The rage was flooding me. I’d shout with force, verbally and physically, and part of me loved it—it gave me a sense of control, I was doing something, I felt empowered as an Enneagram Eight, which came naturally. But I see now—I was mirroring the very thing I hated. And in my desperate need to control, I had to face the truth: they were the ones in control of me.
The whisper I speak of isn’t weak. It’s not about passivity. It’s the kind of whisper the precuneus seems to offer—a quiet, integrative voice in the brain. But that voice is often drowned out by the louder, more ancient calls of the insula, amygdala, and our reptilian brain. Those parts are deeply rooted in us, designed to keep us alive. And yet, I’ve slowly learnt that I can respond differently. Not better, just different. This is the path I’m trying to walk now—imperfectly. This is not new, the stoics, Tolstoi, Mandela, ML King Jr, and Gandhi had a touch of that.
The challenge is, those with swollen egos, those in power, don’t hear whispers. They feed off shouting. And yet shouting only fuels the very dynamic we’re trying to transform.
So, what to do? Truly, I don’t know.
Neurophysiologically, living in uncertainty—not knowing—is one of the hardest things for the human brain. But this, I believe, is the heart of the matter. We are facing a wicked problem, one that has no simple solution, no single truth. Yet maybe, maybe, staying in dialogue offers a thread. A fragile, human thread through the darkness.
I am Netanyahu. I am Hamas. I am the Israeli hostage and their grieving families. I am the starving and terrified Palestinian. And no, I’m not proud of what we—we—are doing. I don’t have an answer.
Let’s act authentically, led by the quiet wisdom of our heart, the clarity of our mind, and our deep sense of justice. And let’s leave room for other paths—ways that may look different from ours, but just might carry a truth we haven’t yet seen. We don’t have to agree to be moved. We just have to stay open enough to learn.
That’s why I rest in wonder. In hope.
Warmly,
Carlos
