There are no words to describe the horror. There is just so much of it. And I just feel so completely overwhelmed by grief and pain that I almost wish I were numb inside.
Those poor kids. Those poor people. All those poor souls attempting to escape the horror and grief and tragedy at home. To end up like this.
So much horror.
I am trying not to imagine the terribleness of life that drove these families, these parents and children, these adults who feared for their lives, the lives of their kids, family, friends and neighbours, to abandon the sanctuary of home, in dread and anguish, to leave all they had and attempt to seek lives somewhere without war, oppression, unrest and death.
Only to find the journey more horrible, more horrific, more filled with death and disaster than home.
I really am trying not to imagine those last few days, those last few hours and then those last few frightening, atrocious minutes whereby everything… ended.
It makes my soul scream.
I cannot stand it.
I cannot understand the reluctance of countries to reach out and embrace these desperate lives and provide sanctuary and demand others to do the same. What are we so afraid of? Have the powers-that-be made us so cowardly and timid that we find the thought of helping save the lives of fellow human beings so frightening? What is it? Why do we think that there is not enough to go round? Why do we think that we cannot stretch our resources to help those in need? Why can we not find ways to make life safer for all, instead of bombing and destabilising countries we dislike and then abandon all responsibility to those who try to escape the failing regimes, whether political or economic?
Have we been so successfully trained to simply not give a fuck anymore about pain and suffering?
So what? So fucking what? Live with it. Deal with it. Embrace it. Help those in need. Help them find peace and solace and sanctuary and a safe-haven to escape, regroup, and rebuild their destroyed lives.
Instead it’s dehumanisation; swarms, migrants, boat-people. Not refugees. Not asylum seekers. Not people in need. Not fellow humans. Not us.
Instead it’s terror; families and individuals, young and old, people trying to achieve better lives, safer lives, desperately putting themselves in terrible risk for the chance, the opportunity, the pursuit of happiness.
Instead it’s suffocation. In overcrowded boats or trucks.
Instead it’s being burned alive.
Instead it’s drowning as the weight of panicked hopes and dreaded fears collapses the insufficient raft beneath their feet and innocent lives are tossed, tumbled and thrown into the sea, like so much junk, to sink (or swim) and those poor little bodies, all limp and raggedy, limbs akimbo, clothing awry, wash up onshore, jetsam, dreams eroded, hope extinguished and all futures scrubbed clean away.
Instead it’s secret deals, tow-backs, walls, razor wire and armed forces.
Instead it’s detention. Incarcaration. Repatriation back to where they have escaped from. Anywhere but here. Never ever here.
The oppression of the disenfranchised, stateless and lost.
Jesus wept. At least I hope he did.