After India exploded its first nuclear bomb, the writer Arundhati Roy wrote a testimony of sorts:

"…To never get used to the unspeakable violence… To never simplify what is complicated or complicate what is simple. To respect strength, never power. Above all, to watch. To try and understand. To never look away. And never, never to forget." (From The End of Imagination)

Mahira Kakkar

This passage resonates with me, and not only in the light of the current stand-off with Iraq.

I am scared. I am scared about the state of things in the world, of what is happening to this life I love all around me. I am scared of the world we are creating for the little children I see on the street, and for my own unborn children. I am petrified that the Third World War will occur -- and I am scared that we artists are relatively oblivious to what is going on.

Is that unfair? Most of us try to keep up with the news. We skim through The New York Times or U.S.A. Today, but how many of us delve into the many angles of each story? We are bombarded with so much conflicting information. It is crucial for us to read widely, deeply, and well -- not just in times of war. To keep ourselves abreast of world news and culture and not buy into hype and grand rhetoric. The truth is hard to seek out. Emotions get in the way; they can cloud our reasoning and judgment.

Essentially, I'm asking for accountability. The strength to demand to know more despite the obstacles (fatigue, confusion, despair, anger, deliberate obscuring and manipulation of data) that are hurled our way. As artists we ask ourselves, what is the artistic bar below which we will not fall? If who we are is what we bring to our art, then what is the bar of humanity below which we will not fall? Do we choose ignorance or knowledge?

Ignorance may be bliss, but the cost of ignorance is belonging to the walking dead, and having our children pay the price. Some of us wonder why many voiced the opinion that America got what it deserved on 9/11. Perhaps this was voiced by those who possess a tired wisdom -- one that knows that what goes around, comes around (remember the Russian- and American-trained militants in Afghanistan who were coached during the Cold War; the two superpowers making the lives and bodies of Afghanis their battlegrounds).

Oscar Wilde said, "It takes great courage to see the tainted glory of the world and still love it." But isn't courage what we're good at? It's what we muster up every day as artists in order to survive. The price of being rigorous with oneself is frequently loneliness and pain. And if we let in the world with all its pain and speak up on its behalf, we run the risk of being mocked for our ardent fervor.

I went to the M.L.K. celebration recently. Some people declared what freedom meant to them. To those who talked about your personal ideal of freedom, I ask you to live up to that -- to earn that freedom and not take it for granted.

At the risk of sounding sanctimonious, I suggest that freedom is earned and reaffirmed every day in little ways. Earned by using our voices; through our art forms (if that is where our voices lie); by reading, observing, questioning; by staying awake -- even when we don't want to; by trudging forward on weary legs when we're going through hell.

The daily fight to know and be aware is not trivial. Rather, for artists it is enriching. Apart from the many hues of the world it exposes us to, it is like building a set of portable rules for the mind -- a nimble intelligence that helps us to be more heroic, subtle, and generous. Ultimately, that much more alive.

Mahira Kakkar is a third-year drama student.

Voice Box is a student opinion column appearing regularly in The Juilliard Journal. To submit a column for consideration, please e-mail it to journal@juilliard.edu with “Voice Box” in the subject heading, and include a phone number where you can be reached. Columns should cover topics of interest to the Juilliard community, and be about 500 words.