A Revelation on Bravery

by Riya Nagendra, III B.A. English

I've always thought that courage was, like all those witty fictional characters say, a kind way of describing a sort of stupidity. I thought so too, for a long time. When I was reading Harry Potter, I thought that Gryffindors were overrated, that their bravery was not something to aspire to. Why weren’t people appreciating the wisdom of Ravenclaws more, why were they shaming someone like Hermione for being a nerd?

I don’t think I'm very wrong about mindless bravery being pointless. You need to think about what you're doing before doing it; you need to get your facts right; understand why you're taking action before acting.

I have, however, changed my mind about bravery in general. At some point very recently, I realised that having courage meant more than just blindly leaping into dangerous situations. On some level bravery means having compassion—it means you care enough about someone else to do something about their problems, to fight with them, even if it means putting yourself in harm's way. Of course, you must fight in the most clever way possible—don’t run in head-first, but… head first.

I know people associate bravery with silly youthful zeal, and that those who are old and wise supposedly play their cards slowly, carefully. Whoever said you can't do both, though?

Arm yourselves with information, with facts, with empathy. Then muster up the courage to do what you must—fight for what you believe in, for your fellow humans, for the goodness that does, that must exist in this world.



(With regards to the allusions to Harry Potter, here’s a tiny disclaimer that I cannot stop myself from providing: I know J.K. Rowling is nobody’s favourite person right now, but there’s no denying that the series shaped a lot of our childhoods, and I think that it makes more sense to acknowledge the flaws in the series, but appreciate its significance and continue to enjoy it—all without glorifying Rowling, or really even thinking about her.)