This post is written in response to a request made by one of our readers. This post explores a possible exam question related to indifference of violence and randomness of fate.
In Wisława Szymborska’s "The Terrorist, He is Watching," the reader is forced into a claustrophobic, high-stakes observation deck. The poem is a chilling exploration of the intersection between premeditated indifference and the randomness of fate. While the terrorist operates with a cold, clockwork precision, the victims survive or perish based on the most trivial, mundane choices. Szymborska suggests that in the face of modern evil, the difference between life and death is often not a matter of grand destiny, but of simple, "lucky" timing.
The poem's primary engine is the terrorist’s detached perspective. He is not portrayed as a screaming radical or a monster of passion; instead, he is a "watcher." This clinical distance is established immediately with the lines:
The terrorist has already crossed the street.
That distance keeps him out of danger.
His indifference is emphasized by his cinematic detachment. To him, the impending massacre is a spectacle, devoid of human weight. Szymborska writes, "Distance keeps him out of danger, / and what a view—just like in the movies." By comparing the scene to a film, the speaker highlights a profound lack of empathy. The people in the bar are not humans with lives, families, or dreams; they are merely actors moving across a screen.
This indifference is further cemented by the poem's obsession with time. The terrorist doesn't care who dies, only when they are positioned relative to the bomb. The timestamps—"Thirteen twenty," "Thirteen twenty-one"—act as a countdown that treats human existence as a variable in a mathematical equation. The terrorist's role is entirely passive yet entirely lethal, creating a vacuum of morality where human life has no intrinsic value beyond its physical presence at the moment of impact.
While the terrorist represents a fixed, indifferent point, the victims represent the chaotic fluidity of fate. Szymborska masterfully uses "fate" not as a divine plan, but as a series of absurdly mundane coincidences. We see this through the "girl with the green ribbon." The speaker asks with agonizing neutrality:
The girl's gone./
we'll see when they carry them out.
Her survival or death hinges on something as small as whether she decides to enter a building. This isn't the "fate" of Greek tragedy; it is the fate of the ordinary. We see it again with the man who survives because of a forgotten item: "Another guy, fat bald.../ he goes back in for his crummy gloves." In this universe, a pair of gloves becomes a life-ending thing.
The poem highlights how fate is often just "luck" in disguise. Szymborska describes a man who exits the bar just in time: "The short one, he's lucky, he's getting on a scooter" The juxtaposition of the cheerful "a woman in yellow jacket" with the imminent explosion underscores the absurdity of the situation. The man isn't saved because he is good, or holy, or important; he is saved because he finished his business at thirteen twenty-five instead of thirteen twenty-six. But for woman in yellow jacket, it is not.
The tension of the poem arises from the collision of these two forces: the fixed, indifferent timeline of the bomb and the random, oscillating movements of the people. The terrorist watches this dance with the curiosity of a scientist watching ants.
The poem reaches its thematic climax in the final moments:
Any second now.
No, not yet.
Yes, now.
The bomb, it explodes.
The explosion is the ultimate expression of indifference. Once the bomb goes off, the terrorist’s "view" is complete. The "fate" of the victims has been sealed, not by a higher power, but by the intersection of their trivial errands and a cold-blooded timer.
Szymborska’s "The Terrorist, He is watching" is a haunting reminder of the fragility of life in a world where violence is calculated and victims are anonymous. By pitting the terrorist’s icy indifference against the "luck" of the victims, she suggests that evil doesn't always need to be hateful to be devastating—it only needs to be indifferent. We are left with the unsettling realization that our lives are often governed by the most microscopic choices: a ribbon, a sandwich, or a pair of forgotten gloves.
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