In 1905, Albert Einstein proposed that perception varies with the observer, a idea rooted in physics yet sounding incredibly relevant to everyday life. His work earned a Nobel Prize and continues to influence how people think about information, opinions, and persuasion. Today, the notion that everything is relative helps explain why a flood of messages, theories, and conversations can feel overpowering, and why different audiences react in distinct ways.
Take the brutal reality of conflict as an example. Fifty deaths in an attack on the outskirts of Kabul may register differently from fifty deaths in New York City. The former is often understood through the lens of a distant physical setting and ongoing violence, while the latter becomes a daily headline in a city where crime statistics are high and events unfold in a very different context. The same numbers, different frames, different emotional impact.
Similarly, the war in Ukraine—where a full-scale invasion has unfolded—appears differently than the conflict in Syria, where destruction has been acute and external powers have been involved. Proximity matters. Ukraine is closer by road, while Syria sits farther away. Yet the question remains: should a Westerner who dies abroad be weighed differently from a larger number of deaths at home, such as sub-Saharan migrants who perish at sea? The ethical calculus is hard, and proximity seems to color empathy—and sometimes policy—more than sheer numbers alone.
Over time, this relativity also shapes domestic conversations. The perceived value of a murdered woman’s life can feel unequal when compared to other tragedies, and debates about violence often reflect political and social climates more than objective measures. The organization ETA, active from 1968 to 2011, exemplified this uneven accounting, having claimed more than 850 lives across decades, with about 20 fatalities annually. When the focus narrows to women killed by partners or ex-partners, the human toll can feel infinitely larger in the moment, even as statistics accumulate. The broader picture shows a spectrum of violence, with a cumulative, often painful tally that never fully captures individual loss.
This past week, the author has confronted questions about how death is perceived across contexts, trying to understand why certain incidents dominate headlines while others receive far less attention. In a European society advancing into the twenty-first century, there is a sense that public discourse should be more engaged with all fatalities, especially when the numbers are substantial. Even comparatively small outbreaks, such as instances of monkeypox in Spain, can inflame public concern and dominate national conversations, underscoring how coverage can hinge on immediacy and narrative framing as much as on raw mortality figures.
Public discussion often centers on causation and responsibility. Some argue that the deceased acted freely, taking risks similar to those one might take at a beach or on a road. Others contend that danger was a factor, whether through neglect, misfortune, or old age. The question persists: should public resources be allocated to prevent future tragedies, or are such events a grim reality of life that society must simply endure? Since 2014, the death toll in certain contexts has been significant—thirteen, thirty-four, or more in various years—raising questions about how to interpret trend lines and allocate safety efforts.
The debate extends to public policy and municipal action. Some argue that discussions about safety, regulations, and events where fatalities occur belong to the public sphere, not to private entertainment or isolated communities. While opinions differ on whether certain gatherings should be restricted, the underlying issue remains: how should a city balance celebration with risk, and what standards should guide the planning of large events? The incident at a notable festival, where a child’s death led to an immediate cancellation, illustrates how quickly a community can reframe its norms around safety and collective responsibility. The central question endures: can a society absorb a sequence of deadly incidents without meaningful action? The answer often hinges on civic will and practical steps that communities choose to take in response to tragedy.