Through delays, expirations, and “voluntary” departures, the United States is redefining the limits of humanitarian protection for Ukrainians, leaving thousands in limbo between legality and expulsion.

In 2022, the United States opened a dedicated humanitarian parole pathway—Uniting for Ukraine (U4U)—allowing Ukrainians to enter quickly if a vetted U.S. sponsor agreed to support them. The program paired expedited entry with access to work permits and, in many states, driver’s licenses and social services, signalling an intended, if provisional, welcome. By September 2024, more than 221,000 Ukrainians had arrived through the program, according to data from the Department of Homeland Security. 

Three years on, the policy environment looks very different. The Trump administration, after taking office in January 2025, suspended new U4U admissions and paused renewals for many existing parolees, introducing bureaucratic barriers that have made basic life functions—employment, transportation, and access to services—progressively harder.

Even where formal status is not yet revoked, the loss or delay of work and driver’s license renewals creates an incentive to leave. The result is a covert attempt to push refugees, who are technically allowed to stay but cannot survive without income or mobility, to self-deport.

“By international law, once someone reaches your border, you have to offer them protection until you adjudicate their case,” explained sociologist Filiz Garip, who studies migration and deterrence. Meanwhile, the war in Ukraine has settled into a grinding stalemate. After early advances and later counteroffensives, Ukrainian forces now face mounting fatigue, while Russia consolidates its hold over occupied regions. Displaced Ukrainians abroad are therefore caught between a homeland they cannot safely return to and a host country whose legal hospitality is evaporating.

Garip sees in this case a mirror of global patterns. “What’s happening to Ukrainians all around the world is reflecting a more general trend on asylum protections,” she said. “Countries are trying to prevent migrants from reaching their borders and from being even considered for asylum.” She pointed to how governments increasingly outsource or bureaucratize deterrence, constructing “workarounds to deny people’s rights” through visa rules and administrative bottlenecks rather than overt deportations.

In the summer of 2025, that tension peaked. A Department of Homeland Security (DHS) email, later deemed a clerical mistake, erroneously instructed some U4U parolees to depart within seven days. Officials walked it back, confirming that U4U was not terminated at this time, but the episode triggered panic across communities already facing work authorization lapses. 

The government’s concurrent rollout of “Project Homecoming,” which offers a $1,000 stipend and travel assistance to those who voluntarily confirm departure through the CBP Home app, only deepened suspicion that the policy goal was quiet repatriation rather than protection. Officials insist participation is voluntary, but for those unable to work or access housing, it can feel less like an offer than an ultimatum.

“A lot of these people are under temporary protection status,” Garip noted. “By definition, those statuses can be revoked. As soon as that program expires, you lose those rights.” That fragility, she added, means permission to remain depends entirely on conditions set—and removed—by administrative decree.

What makes Ukrainians a particularly revealing case, Garip continued, is how cultural proximity shaped their initial welcome. “In the Ukrainian case, cultural proximity played a huge role—you can actually tell this from the way politicians talked about it,” she said. But when enforcement logic takes over, sympathy becomes a short-term asset, not a policy foundation.

The shift is also perceptual. According to Oksana Nesterenko, a Ukrainian legal scholar and visiting research fellow at Princeton, Ukrainian media have tracked these changes in distinct phases. “The first stories appeared when the Uniting for Ukraine program was paused—that created a burst of news and a lot of uncertainty about what it meant for people already in the U.S.,” she explained. “Later, attention shifted to delays with renewing Temporary Protected Status (TPS) and, more recently, to the growing concern over the loss of work authorization.” 

Nesterenko noted that coverage differed by geography. “Outlets in Ukraine mostly reported the facts in a neutral way, sometimes noting that people might return home or move to Europe,” she explained. “Meanwhile, Ukrainian media in the U.S. wrote about the issue with more empathy, focusing on how the loss of work authorisation affected people’s daily lives and stability.”

When asked whether Ukrainians in the media compared the U.S. system to the EU’s Temporary Protection framework, Nesterenko said such parallels rarely appear explicitly. “In Ukrainian media, especially those based in Ukraine, the focus has been more on how European countries—particularly Poland and Germany—are now encouraging Ukrainians to return home voluntarily,” she said. “So the discussion is less about comparing U.S. and EU policies, and more about Ukraine’s own challenge of creating conditions for people’s return.”

Still, many Ukrainians abroad understand the precariousness of their situation. Those who filed TPS renewals on time generally keep their work authorisation while cases are processed, but others—especially those outside U4U or TPS—face severe uncertainty. “For them, it’s not only about losing the right to work but about their overall legal status in the U.S.” Nesterenko said. “Many who lose their work authorization tend to leave and move to Europe, because they don’t want to face legal problems and need to be able to work to pay for housing, access healthcare, and send their children to school.”

As such departures multiply, the line between voluntary and coerced becomes blurred. The system no longer orders people to leave, instead eroding the conditions that make staying possible. For those without savings, Nesterenko said, “they are the first to leave, while others with some financial cushion try to adjust their status—though the options for doing so are quite limited.” The policy’s quiet efficiency lies in transforming endurance into choice, until leaving feels like the only rational act left.

This strategy marks a new frontier in migration governance, fine-tuning attrition instead of enforcing mass expulsion. It preserves the façade of legality—no roundups, no deportation flights—but achieves similar outcomes through slow suffocation. By making lawful life impossible, the government avoids the optics of deportation while shrinking protected populations.

Ultimately, the moral and legal challenge lies in accountability. If a state engineers departure without issuing removals, who bears responsibility for the outcome? The U.S. approach toward Ukrainians has lost its humanitarian inspiration, revealing an administrative future of asylum governed less by borders than by expiration dates.

Watching Nuremberg left me thinking less about the film itself and more about what it means to stage justice. It’s one thing to know that the trials happened, and another to see how fragile and procedural the search for accountability can feel. The movie turns something as monumental as the prosecution of the Nazi leadership into something unnervingly ordinary. So much of it is just people talking, interpreting, taking notes. That ordinariness is what struck me most.

What surprised me was how uncertain everything feels. You expect moral clarity from a film about Nuremberg, but instead you get hesitation and moments when law itself seems to wobble under the weight of what it’s asked to contain. The movie isn’t about heroes or villains so much as about people trying to invent a language for crimes that didn’t yet have names. 

I also kept thinking about spectatorship and what it means to watch horror mediated through rules, translation, or evidence. The film doesn’t really rely on shock. It shows how bureaucracy becomes the medium through which the world processes atrocity. And that’s what makes it unsettling: it feels familiar. We still live in that same world that trusts documentation and procedure to stand in for understanding. There’s something both comforting and disturbing in that faith.

Even with its flaws—the occasional sentimentality or simplified moral tone—the movie reminded me that history is always filtered through performance. The trial was both a legal event and a global broadcast, and that duality feels relevant today. It’s also something that affects journalistic work: how to represent suffering without turning it into a sensational spectacle, but still making it appealing to your readership. Storytelling, even in different fields, seems to always walk along the same line.

More than anything, Nuremberg made me aware of the distance between knowing and feeling. Facts were never the problem; everyone knew what had happened. The challenge was how to live with that knowledge, how to turn evidence into meaning. That, I think, is what the film captures best through the uneasy awareness that justice is a process, not a conclusion.

I found Nuremburg equal parts entertaining and disorienting. It was slightly tiresome to watch the triumph of law over fascism, of American spirit over German rigidity and Soviet buffonery. But more than that, the film didn’t seem to want to introduce us to the actual nuances of the accusations being applied to the defendants, the identity of many those defendants, or even the procedure of the trial itself. We don’t know what a crime of aggression is other than that it involves some kind of invasion, or the difference between that and a crime against peace or against humanity. Indeed, most of the film focused on what would presumably fall under the “crimes against humanity” charge, yet that connection is never entirely specified: what makes up a crime against humanity, and what is required to prove that charge? Leaving the answer to this question vague didn’t help the film in my opinion. Furthermore, the film didn’t spend too much time on the other crimes on which the Nazi leadership was charged, leaving it unclear when we were hearing evidence that could point to, say, a crime against peace versus another crime. The lack of differentiation made the film feel at times like it was showing us an undifferentiated litany of horrors that would somehow be horrific enough to conjure a guilty verdict on whatever happened to be the charge. In these cases, specificity matters, and I found this lacking in the film itself. 

Further, we only get one small scene with the defense lawyer actually examining a witness, and the non-major defendants blur together so that we don’t see the nuances of their cases. This was disappointing first for plot reasons, as when the verdicts are read, we see the horror in the faces of Nazis of whom we do not remember or were never told the identity. But more importantly, I also think the obscuring of the less snappy parts of the trial had the effect of evading some of the central questions of the case. Because of these factors, we couldn’t really evaluate Goering’s statement that “Justice has absolutely nothing to do with this trial.” I was struck not by the fact that the director may have left the question up to the viewer (though I would be surprised if they did given the overall moralizing tone of the film), but rather by the fact that we simply didn’t see enough of the court proceedings to be able to answer that question for ourselves. Given that Goering’s statement cut to the heart of the legitimacy of international law at the time, I think I would have liked more empirical and intellectual meat on the bones of that statement.

When I first started watching Nuremberg, I was expecting a straightforward depiction of what happened during the trials. Much to my surprise, the film went into much more depth than I originally anticipated. By lengthening the film, the directors were able to show the complicated dynamics between the Nazi war criminals and the prosecution in greater detail. I thought this aspect of the trial was incredibly important in showing the moral and legal challenges faced by both sides. Seeing the back and forth in court was extremely eye opening.

In general, I thought the attention to historical detail was also impressive. The effort they took to draw on the actual trial and create an atmosphere that would best reflect that period was noticeable. By depicting the ruined city of Nuremberg and the logistics of building the tribunal, the directors highlighted elements that often get overlooked. This attention to detail helped me better understand the complexity of the event, as well as the unprecedented nature of the trial. It felt as though this trial was the first of its kind, which it was. Likewise, I thought the film did a good job portraying characters like Goring as both reprehensible war criminals and highly charismatic individuals. This was most apparent in his relationship with Tex, where his personality hinted at what Nazi leadership might have looked like, even though it was likely dramatized for television audiences.

I also learned a great deal from the film about what it truly takes to prosecute evil, and what justice even looks like in these circumstances. Before watching, I was largely unaware of the process of setting up the tribunal in the first place. It was startling to think how much dedication must have gone into pulling off something this complex. The extent to which seemingly ordinary people were complicit in the Holocaust in general was a striking reminder of just how widespread responsibility was. As the film mentioned, a lot of Germany could have been tried for their crimes during the Holocaust. If justice was limitless, even more people should have been prosecuted. 

On the other hand, there were also aspects of the film that I was not fond of. The most obvious shortcoming was the romantic subplot between Elsie and Robert Jackson, which felt like a distraction at times. I thought this relationship added nothing to the portrayal of the trial itself.

Furthermore, there was a lot of nuance and uncertainty that was either simplified or left out of the film. The importance of the Nuremberg Trials in shaping how war crimes are prosecuted is undeniable, yet the movie didn’t fully convey just how groundbreaking this trial was. I would have also liked to see more distinction between the Allied nations as well. For example, I truly find the Soviets’ role at Nuremberg to be fascinating given that one authoritarian regime is seemingly judging another.

Overall, the film really reminded me of how important trials can be in delegitimizing war criminals or politicians. The sentencing phase for example, although in my opinion not explored enough, was a reminder that each individual was responsible for the atrocities committed, even if they themselves did not kill anyone directly. 

I had never thought in depth about how the Nuremberg trials set a precedent for condemning future war crimes. The movie Nuremberg led me to consider this question. By dramatizing the courtroom scenes and the moral struggles of the tribunal members, the film shows how the trials reshaped the world’s understanding of individual culpability and international law.

The most interesting aspect of the movie to me was the way it portrayed the question of blame. Nuremberg demonstrates well the potential scale of culpability in Nazi Germany. The members of the tribunal understand that the state was not the only guilty party. Instead, they consider that Hitler’s orders compelled generals, soldiers, ministers, and even ordinary people to commit atrocities. Over and over, the judges note that “following orders” did not acquit a citizen of responsibility. Rather, anyone who endorsed or enabled the Nazi regime was liable to prosecution. This shift–from condemning states to targeting citizens–transformed the world’s understanding of culpability in war, making it possible to prosecute individuals for complying with a state’s criminal activity. These legal questions are interspersed with flashbacks of war, and this dialogue–between the legal questions of the present and the scale of atrocity of the past–emphasizes the moral stakes of the trial.  

The movie suggests that the judges were aware of the historical implications of the Nuremberg trials’ outcomes. On the plane to Germany, U.S. Supreme Court Justice Robert H. Jackson says that the trial symbolizes the potential triumph of morality over evil. For him and the rest of the tribunal, the Nuremberg trials are not only a legal process, but a necessary reckoning with accountability that the world must confront.

This trial’s moral implications guide the judges throughout the film, motivating them to conduct vigorous investigations. Their sense of duty to victims of the Holocaust compels them to keep the Nazi soldiers alive. I was surprised to learn that the tribunal included a psychologist specifically for this purpose–to keep the defendant from killing himself before they could be prosecuted. Even if a Nazi would be sentenced to death, his survival throughout the trial was a requirement of the tribunal’s success. 

Watching this movie made me think about the international community’s obligation to intervene in Russia’s invasion of Ukraine. I learned recently that Russian soldiers are paid huge sums to serve. If they are killed in combat, their families are compensated. This system complicates the opposition families of soldiers may have to the regime, deescalating dissent. It also presents challenges to an international court of justice aiming to prosecute criminals of war. Russia’s infrastructure for recruiting and deploying soldiers implicates so much of the population that the judicial proceedings of war crimes, which require a court to identify a perpetrator and a victim, merit reevaluation.

In the lead-up to the beginning of the trials in Nuremberg, a man was giving his thoughts on the IBM simultaneous translation “gizmos”. He commented that the creators seem to have forgotten the Biblical tale of the Tower of Babel. It was a funny anecdote, but for me, it represents an interesting theme of the connection between technological innovation and political revolution. 

On a fundamental level, scholars look to Gutenberg as a seminal moment that has democratized information and knowledge and has spurred revolutions, cultural, religious, and political. 

In Babel, human collaboration led to a human daring to reach God. The punishment was to diversify languages so they couldn’t understand each other and therefore couldn’t collaborate. 

We can see how this innovation then bridges the gap of linguistic difference, fostering a transnational collaboration critical to the success at Nuremberg. When we look at Vienna, Versailles, and Bretton Woods, it’s hard to imagine them happening on the scale they do without modernity. 

Indeed, this is not just my tech brain seeing things this way. As Albert Speer said at the conclusion, “as the more technical the world becomes, the more individual freedom and the self-rule of mankind becomes essential. The war has ended on the note of radio-controlled rockets, aircraft approaching the speed of sound, 

The airplane, the cargo ship, and mass media have all engineered a global village that further brings us together. The liberal world order owes its existence to its technological underpinnings. These were themes that I couldn’t help but see throughout Nuremberg, as that was indeed a technological turning point as much as it was a political one. 

Generally, studying Nuremberg through the film, paired with my ongoing research on universal jurisdiction, has matured my understanding of international relations and the symbolic performativeness and strength of rituals of power, procedure, and norm. 

Now, the film in the film itself was very sobering. When Robert said that, up until the film, he did not obtain an understanding, even after the statistics and affidavits he had read. I couldn’t agree more. And when Elsie said she didn’t understand, even then, how such horror could take place, I also agreed. 

The twisted morality of the Nazi prisoners, especially Herman Goring, is something we always see in “revolutionary” leaders. Indeed, even leftist revolutionaries like Robespierre exhibited these same paradoxes of actions and ideals.    

I couldn’t believe my ears when the Commandant of Auschwitz was speaking, describing his atrocities with striking nonchalance. He felt the need to clarify that he exterminated people in the most humane fashion possible and that no torture was involved. “Does a rat catcher think it is wrong to kil rats?”  It is also very interesting to analyze the role of the psychologist in aiding in the longevity of the prisoners and working with Robert as an inside man with the defendants. 

I’ve never really studied Nuremberg; it was always glossed over in Global History classes that would lump it in there somewhere as we studied WW2 and the Cold War in one go. So it was all very new information.

Watching Nuremberg left me feeling as if I had been allowed a glimpse into the inner workings of the Nuremberg trials and the minds of both the prosecution and those on trial — but a few parts were still unsatisfying. 

To begin with the satisfying bits, I enjoyed the psychological elements of the film, particularly watching Captain Gilbert interview the defendants and extract from them morsels of guilt. The image of a Jewish psychologist sharing a room with Nazi criminals and genuinely trying to understand how they came to commit the atrocities they did was striking. Though Gilbert’s revelation of evil as the “total lack of ability to feel empathy with another human being” felt a bit dramatic, he reached his conclusion through these conversations in which some of the defendants broke down completely, unable to understand their own actions, wrought with guilt, while others were completely unfazed and unreflective. 

I also thought Göring’s relationship with Tex, to whom he bestows the swastika-branded lighter, was a fascinating one which may speak to how fascism appeals to so many young white men today. Here was this terrible criminal, Göring, and this young, disillusioned American. The former exudes power and confidence despite his imprisoned state, the latter wants that same power and confidence for himself and finds in Göring not a terrible criminal, but rather a sympathetic mentor — both being white men who see their power slipping away and wish to hold onto it. 

As for the unsatisfying bits, I wish the film hadn’t wasted time on Robert Jackson and Elsie’s romance, and instead had given us a bit more legal background so that we could truly understand the charges at the end of the film. It felt very abrupt to suddenly be presented with these four counts on which the defendants might be charged, including “Crimes against Humanity,” a completely new charge born out of the Nuremberg trials themselves. We didn’t get a sense for which charges were considered worse, or worthy of more severe punishment, according to international law. We also learned very little about some of the defendants, such that seeing them all be sentenced was confusing because we didn’t have enough background information as an audience to deliberate for ourselves whether they deserved their sentences. I went in expecting a true, Twelve Angry Men– style courtroom drama, and came out feeling as if I’d experienced a psychological thriller of sorts.

That being said, Nuremberg reaffirmed a lot of my research and reporting on the current German ethos to the Israel-Gaza War and how the German “staatsraison” or raison d ‘etre of the state, is so deeply dependent on reclaiming its international reputation through supporting Israel as a Jewish state. Though the film did not deal with the formation of Israel directly, the trials were also a crucial part of German rehabilitation in the eyes of the international community. In many ways, the trials were less about convicting Nazis, and more about a) making an example of them on an international stage to prevent further such atrocities and define terms for how to deal with such crimes in the future and b) to absolve Germany and present the appearance of an “old Germany” (the fascist, Nazi Germany), and the “new Germany” which wished to be seen as nationally powerful without being associated with the old regime (despite incorporating some former Nazis into the new government). These politics continue to undergird German foreign policy and domestic conversations today, so I do think this film is a useful background to anyone hoping to report on modern Israeli and/or Palestinian experiences in Germany.

Everything about this film felt very lukewarm. First, it was unnecessarily long — the story it told could have been told in half the time, especially without the romance plot that served absolutely no purpose and was purely fictional. Second, the highly dramatized portrayal of the trial — in combination with the real graphic footage from the Holocaust, combined with copious amounts of moralizing by Justice Jackson — felt unnecessarily kitsch.

It was interesting, though, to give a face to the history I’ve encountered mostly in a textual format. Since I’m writing about the Nuremberg Trials for my JP, I’d read through the trial transcripts and knew most of the defendants’ names before watching the movie. It was difficult to visualize how exactly the trials played out in my head while sorting through pages of legal documents and statements. The movie was convenient in that way — it provided one dramatized interpretation of an event that was difficult to imagine in a textual medium. But in terms of its historical accuracy or value, I’m a bit more skeptical.

While historical fiction is objectively a different field from feature journalism, the degree of dramatization in the movie made me think more critically about my role as a journalist retelling stories of trauma and pain in others. It’s very easy, I think, to turn a portrayal of a graphic or traumatic event into an almost pornographic spectacle. The line between spectacle and entertainment is frequently blurred, and I think many journalists who cover traumatized migrants are guilty of turning their subjects into just that. Of course, it’s a difficult endeavor that can’t be fulfilled formulaically — I myself am not sure how to write as honestly and with the most integrity possible about traumas that I have never experienced nor understood. But I think it’s a question more than worth asking and thinking very critically about. I also had a question on the point of spectacle: Are there moments where a more dramatized narrative form can be justified to convey the sheer weight of the story being told? Or is it a strict responsibility for a journalist to adhere only to the chronology and facts of the evidence, even if it means sacrificing the story’s narrative gravitas?

This question of spectacle also reminded me of something else I’d been thinking about: the relationship between journalistic integrity and anonymity. In what cases is anonymity (un)justified? Do journalists have a responsibility to quote non-anonymous sources over anonymous ones, even if the anonymous source provides marginally better information? What are some of the potential consequences of overextending anonymity to those who may not need it? How do the standards for anonymous authorship vs. Anonymous sourcing differ?

It was interesting to watch the characters figure out how to establish a legal basis to prosecute the Nazis. You quite literally saw the court being constructed from wartime reunions. I was particularly struck by a scene early on where someone asks what laws the Nazis broke in carrying out the Holocaust. There’s a pause, and someone remarks that crimes perpetuated during a war had never really been considered crimes. Eventually someone says that they broke the law when they invaded other countries. This being the primary basis for the prosecution was really fascinating. Obviously, you would want international law to prosecute war crimes regardless of whether they had been committed in the context of a “just” war. To my understanding, the Nuremberg prosecution also left open the question of what to do with crimes committed against one’s own citizens. Relatedly, I also don’t think the word “genocide” was ever used. The term was coined by Raphael Lemkin a few years prior but was clearly not yet in the zeitgeist. Nuremberg also predates the Genocide Convention, which has been used in more recent prosecution of war crimes and has filled some of the holes in the Nuremberg precedents.

I also think it’s interesting to think about the idea of legitimacy of an international prosecution in today’s legal context. The Nuremberg prosecutors were very, very careful to ensure that their case was perceived as legitimate. I see two ways they did this. First, they tried to adhere to existing legal standards in the well-respected traditions of the four countries. But second, and perhaps most importantly, they had Nazis in their custody and could do whatever they wanted with them (think of the scene where Alec Baldwin challenges the Soviets to host their own trial).

Today, we have international courts and juries that try to proceed thoughtfully and carefully in accordance with codified international law. But they’re not widely seen as legitimate. The U.S. has simply decided not to “opt in” to the International Criminal Court, which means decrees like the arrest warrant for Benjamin Netanyahu have no bearing. It’s hard to imagine what would even happen if one of the ICC signatories, like France or the UK, actually decided to carry out the warrant. Maybe Netanyahu would actually be tried and sentenced; probably, Israel and the United States would protest furiously and call it a sham trial and attempt to smear the ICC every which way. On one hand, this is exactly the kind of outcome Nuremberg sought to avoid. On the other, isn’t that just a consequence of carrying out the law? And what does that do to the historical memory of crimes against humanity?

This documentary was an extremely powerful film. From a psychological standpoint, there are so many questions that seem unanswerable regarding the responsibility of a genocide on this scale. I am someone who tends to lean towards the side of forgiveness when it comes to judgement, but this film exposed me to true psychopathic people. The quote that evil is the absence of empathy struck a chord, and I think that is the most basic descriptor. It is understandable to feel remorse for some characters on trial considering the guilt they felt afterwards, but those who maintained their beliefs that Jews were below human categorization are absolutely impossible to justify. I was most shocked by the rhetoric from these apathetic people, believing that Germany would actually someday come to honor their legacy and history of the Nazis. My belief is that dignity is an integral aspect of the human experience. Everyone involved had to find some way to justify their behaviors, either by making excuses or standing by their initial beliefs.

As I am currently taking the Constitutional Interpretation course, I appreciated some of the measures taken to create precedence for a court across nations trying defendants for crimes against humanity. Impartiality in the structure of the case, even for those having committed the most horrific crimes, is absolutely necessary to uphold democracy. Considering nothing like the Nuremberg Trials had ever happened in the history of humanity, I appreciated the legality the trial upheld, even if politics influenced every aspect of its makeup. 

One aspect of the trial that I feel relates integrally to the field of journalism is the connection to humanity. Witnesses work in a trial the same way that human testimony works in a long form piece, they give meaning to the numbers and documents. This was a thought expressed in the film, as simply reading statements and clarifying facts of the case are unimportant if the judges don’t understand the gravity of the situation for individuals suffering. The strongest cases appeal to the human experience as well as the level of the atrocity. This also seems to be a key difference between short-form and long-form journalism. Short-form journalism is important to share facts with the public as they become available, but the deepest reader impact will be from pieces that go behind the scenes and talk with those affected, factoring in the information shared from short form reporting. 

One last thought about this film was the strength of the short film played at the court recorded as concentration camps were being liberated. This part of the movie was truly hard to watch. Seeing the manner in which people were being handled, the state of their body in starvation, moments like this make clear that words can only do so much, and sometimes it is only through being able to see the event will the gravity of the situation sink in.