Unoriginal Sin

It keeps happening—often
Enough to merit study
And more comment than it gets—

Those indisputably harmed,
Even to the point of death,
Victims of rape and torture,

Prolonged discrimination,
Caste systems, war, genocide,
Bravely mange to survive,

Become exemplars of faith,
Perseverance, and the best
Of human courageousness.

Then, somehow, sometimes
In a few generations,
Sometimes in a few decades,

Those very same survivors
Or their direct descendants,
Turn to become oppressors,

And prove themselves capable
Of atrocities that stun
Not only for the evil

But for who’s embracing it—
Protesters turned storm troopers,
Peace activists turned tyrants,

The decimated remnant
Of a people becoming
Architects of apartheids—

Never again, people say,
As means of justifying
Starting it over again.

Doesn’t even have to be
Vengeance. Sensed entitlement
Seems to be enough and is

Always near to hand, always
Close to the surface, desired.
Can we look this in the face?

It doesn’t seem like we can.
No amount of suffering
Can permanently render

Persons or populations
Incapable of harming
Persons and populations,

And the last measure of pain
Is suffering as excuse
To cause suffering again.