Scrolling through the morning news is chilling, not only because of the sheer number of stories devoted to all kinds of violence or the diversity of the war scenarios, but because the existential depth of the victims, their suffering, their despair, their muffled cries of pain, are often overshadowed or at least normalized.

Indeed, victims become photographs, rhetorical devices for political speeches, and sometimes statistics in the official tally of those violated. But where is that mysterious moment when the power of the perpetrator overwhelms, crushes, and leaves the other helpless, unable to respond to the aggression? Where is the stained flesh, the lost innocence, the shameful tears? What happens to the weight of what happened, to that “fact” from the past, which can no longer be changed, and which dwells in the depths of the mind and heart of the one who has suffered an injustice?

There is an overwhelming qualitative content of “being a victim.” So overwhelming that at times it is hidden—without knowing what to do with it—and at other times, when it is expressed, it leaves the bitter taste of that which is inexpressible, that which cannot be fully expressed, that horror and meaninglessness experienced while clenching fists and sobbing in silence.

As an example, I remember a few years ago, in a “developed” country, some victims of sexual abuse managed, after a long time, to speak out about the abuse they suffered. I remember how the case went to court and the need for “reparation for damages” was raised. I remember how those close to the cruel perpetrator sought to discredit the accusers by saying, “They’re motivated by money.” How impressive!

The immeasurability of a victim’s pain is a mystery that challenges the peaceful bourgeois life: distant, indifferent, cold. I think of the “searching mothers,” the persecuted migrants, the raped women, the beaten children, the tortured young people. They all carry in their hearts a torrent of tears that will never be extinguished. And it will not be extinguished, because it is a true, infinite longing for justice, as  Max Horkheimer sensed.  It will not be extinguished because it is a call to that total Justice that, from now on, must operate, in some way, within History.

Father Gustavo Gutiérrez, with his characteristic insight, wrote a book that sheds light on this topic. It is entitled “Speaking of God from the Suffering of the Innocent” (CEP, Lima, 1986). From it, I take away some powerful ideas: only by learning to listen to the suffering of the innocent can we speak from their hope. Only by taking seriously the open wounds, the suffering of the innocent, and living in the light of the mystery of an infinite Love that loves the humiliated to the cross will it be possible to prevent our own lives from becoming complicit in people, groups, and ideologies that disregard the dignity of people, especially the most vulnerable.

The persistent invisibility of victims can be overcome by embracing them with compassion, allowing ourselves to be challenged by their presence, and allowing their battered voice to resonate in our consciences and move us toward the empirical and concrete solidarity that always corrects, liberates, and educates.