My stories are about humans and how they react, or fail to react

"My stories are about humans and how they react, or fail to react, or react stupidly. I'm pointing the finger at us, not at the zombies. I try to respect and sympathize with the zombies as much as possible." These words from George A. Romero, the legendary filmmaker often regarded as the father of the modern zombie genre, cut to the heart of the human condition. While zombies may be the creatures that occupy the screen, Romero’s true focus is on the human characters—on how they handle crisis, on their strengths and flaws, and on how society reacts when faced with the unknown. In this revelation, Romero reveals a deeper truth about our own nature: it is not the zombies we must fear, but the way in which we, as humans, fail to confront our own humanity in times of crisis.

In the ancient world, thinkers like Socrates and Plato spent their lives examining human behavior and the ways in which reason and virtue could guide individuals toward a higher purpose. Socrates, through his Socratic method, often used questions to reveal the limitations and flaws of human thinking. He understood that wisdom did not come from the absence of mistakes but from the awareness of them and the willingness to learn from them. The zombie—in the context of Romero’s stories—becomes a metaphor for humanity’s failure to respond with reason, or worse, reacting in ways that lead to destruction. Like Socrates, Romero points the finger not at the monsters, but at the people who, in their panic, shortsightedness, or greed, create their own downfall.

Plato’s allegory of the cave also comes to mind. In this allegory, prisoners are shackled in a cave and can only see the shadows of the outside world. When one prisoner escapes and sees the truth, he is blinded by the light, but ultimately, he returns to share his newfound knowledge. The others, trapped in their limited perceptions, resist and mock him. In many ways, the zombies in Romero’s works are the shadows on the wall—representing the unknown or the other—while the true monster is the human condition itself. Humans are often locked in their own caves, unwilling or unable to see beyond their own fear, and it is this failure to engage with the truth that leads to chaos.

In Romero’s work, the zombies are not inherently evil; they are victims of circumstance, driven by instinct, and robbed of their humanity. Romero’s sympathy for them, as he admits, suggests that perhaps they are not the true problem—humanity is. When faced with catastrophe, humans are often their own worst enemies, acting in ways that are irrational, driven by self-preservation, greed, and fear. The characters in Night of the Living Dead, for example, are often portrayed as deeply flawed individuals who respond to the zombie threat with distrust, fear, and violence. Their actions—rather than the zombies themselves—are what lead to their destruction.

The parallels between Romero’s films and the human condition are not merely fictional but deeply rooted in the reality of human history. Consider the fall of Rome, where internal strife, corruption, and infighting weakened an empire that had once been strong. The barbarians at the gates, much like the zombies, were a symptom of a greater illness within. The downfall came not from the outside but from the internal rot that festered for years. Romero’s zombies, in this sense, serve as a mirror to our own failures as a society to address our flaws, to face our fears, and to act with wisdom in times of crisis.

This story is repeated throughout history—whether in the French Revolution, where the mob, in its desperation, tore apart the fabric of its society, or in more recent times, when economic or political systems crumble due to the actions of the very people they were designed to serve. Just as Romero’s characters fail to see the bigger picture, often leading to their own demise, society continues to make the same mistakes: failing to respond to crises with reason, empathy, or foresight. Romero, through the metaphor of the zombie, urges us to look inward at the failures of humanity, not to blame the monsters but to confront our own inability to learn from our mistakes.

The lesson in Romero’s words is not just about horror or zombie movies, but about our own behavior in the face of challenges. Like the people in Romero’s films, we too often react in ways that are short-sighted or self-destructive, caught in cycles of fear and irrationality. We must learn to confront these flaws—not by blaming the monsters of the world but by recognizing and addressing the monsters within ourselves. Romero’s zombies are not the real threat; they are a reflection of our inability to handle crisis with wisdom, compassion, and collaboration. The true monster is our own failure to engage with the world in a meaningful, thoughtful way.

To live more wisely, we must strive to be aware of our own reactions in the face of adversity, to understand that fear, selfishness, and violence are often the true causes of our downfalls. Like Socrates and Plato, we must engage in self-examination, question our impulses, and seek understanding even in times of panic. In this way, we can rise above the chaos and become the heroes of our own stories, not trapped by fear, but guided by reason, empathy, and a deep commitment to the common good. Only then can we truly face the unknown with the wisdom necessary to turn the tide in our favor.