It’s Time to Recenter Human Voice in the Age of Machines

I once had an immature thought: there wouldn’t be any war between humans and countries anymore; it would only be the union of humans fighting against the rise of machines. However, reality struck me hard: wars between people are still occurring, even more brutally than before. Today’s advanced technology carries a risk of erasing our emotional connection with human suffering in wars. In past ages, we grieved for people who sacrificed their lives for national causes; now, however, we only calculate deaths as numbers.

In the past, writers and poets mourned the suffering of soldiers by composing moving poems and stories, capturing the human cost in personal and emotional terms. Yet, we no longer mourn the loss of human lives; instead, we seem to celebrate the rise of machines. Today, that voice has been replaced by a shocking, cold-blooded focus on the latest weapons. This shift raises a haunting question: why has war become something we can calculate, rather than something we feel and fear?

This is precisely where literature must step in again—to restore what cold data has erased, to make suffering and grief remembered, and to serve as a reminder that wars must not happen, because those who died and were maimed could be our neighbors, loved ones, or someone else’s fathers, brothers, and sisters.

One writer who understood this deeply was Walt Whitman, a famous American poet whom I admire. He did not focus on the glory of war; he told stories about grieving mothers, the horrifying atmosphere in hospitals, wounded soldiers, and young fighters’ valor. He did so without even knowing who they were; yet he was full of empathy.

In the poem The Wound-Dresser, Whitman tells us that “[a soldier] turns to me his appealing eyes —poor boy! I never knew you, Yet I think I could not refuse this moment to die for you, if that would save you.” The loss makes the reader feel moved, as if we’re just beside them, watching the soldier’s suffering, and we grieve for them. Through such lines, Whitman draws the reader into the heart of war’s sorrow, witnessing the pain. How can we not feel the same?

In a world like now, the cold, icy numbers calculated by AI inform us of the statistics, but they do not make us feel the losses; we do not feel the emotional trauma, and we do not feel the collapse of human values in times of war. As citizens of the world, no matter what culture or ethnicity you come from, we should care, help, and show empathy to those suffering. Don’t let the analysis of media and numbers replace the humanity and morality that we are born with. Statistics are numbers that are calculated and can be forgotten. Numbers will never grieve for the dead, but we humans will grieve and remember.

A student at Fuhsing Private School in Taipei, Anna brings a thoughtful and compassionate voice to her writing. As a young scholar in the YMS Liberal Arts program, she explores the moral and emotional impact of war, technology, and literature with uncommon depth. Her recent essay on Walt Whitman and the human cost of conflict reflects her growing interest in using words to preserve empathy in a fast-changing world.