The moment Çiğdem appeared in memory stirred something long buried for the speaker, a recollection that resurfaced with startling clarity. Hallways, gunfire, people fleeing, medical staff, waiting ambulances—images that had once seemed to belong to a past that would not return. Yet as soon as fresh news arrived, the wound reopened, aching as though more than a decade had never passed. And once more, the memory was alive. The place remains impossible to become accustomed to.
Everything that unfolds triggers a primal urge to protect one’s own offspring. It is an instinctive, natural reflex—an instinct of pride and care. Has anyone noticed the flood of messages urging hugs, staying home, and safeguarding loved ones? It is equally crucial to discuss what is happening at home with the children. Silence should not be the default, nor should the events be dismissed as inconsequential.
There is a need for the strength and courage to discuss these matters with children because these conversations are challenging.
Of course, when children are very young, there is no necessity to recount every detail of what occurred. Yet there should be no pretense that everything is perfectly fine if adults are unsettled. Indeed, most psychologists would affirm that parental tension can be transmitted to a child and shape their emotional climate.
Today’s schoolchildren have grown up amid unusually intense conditions. Efforts to keep them safe led adults to spread support and protective measures wherever possible. Many people might not realize that the fairy tale The Little Mermaid ends with the heroine’s death, not a conventional happy ending as presented in cartoons, theatrical productions, or adapted books.
Then a terrorist attack occurs. The world of bright, whimsical ideas collides with the most brutal digital content. Children watch the footage and soon recognize that it is not a film, a reality show, or a staged production. It is real life, and the impact is immediate.
That realization—the world can be unsafe—strikes hard.
There are countless cases where mothers say they cannot discuss tragedies with their children or should not revisit painful topics. This has happened with victims from the Winter Cherry shopping center tragedy in Kemerovo, and with complaints about teachers mentioning Beslan during lessons. In these instances, the question arises: why did the conversation not involve the mother, and how did the discussion affect the child?
Yet ignoring the issue appears even more perplexing—an elephant in the room that remains unnoticed only to grow larger.
What happens if the topic is avoided? Will school children learn nothing? Will the world’s realities be erased? In a digital age, there is no option to say, “don’t look,” or to turn off the screen.
Many psychologists observe that today’s youth show deficits in empathy, struggling to understand others’ pain. Yet they demonstrate strong boundaries and often insist, This does not concern me, as information streams nonstop through feeds and bookmarks blur. A single event each day may be reduced to a fleeting 15-second clip, a moment swallowed by scrolling.
The Crocus tragedy brought communities back to their basics. Thousands donated blood, offered help, and brought flowers and toys to the scene. People around the world expressed solidarity and support. When discussing loss at home is difficult, focusing on how people respond to others’ suffering becomes a meaningful alternative. It is about the human capacity to comfort and to show care.
Empathy, compassion, and support need ongoing cultivation, and there are many contemporary examples illustrating this.
The author offers a personal perspective that might differ from the editors’ stance.