Caged children: I don’t know what to do, either
Some days, it feels near impossible to write something called “Motherlode.” This is one of those days.
For 15 years now, I’ve shared my kids with you. I’ve written through laughter and I’ve written through tears. You do deserve to see how the sausage gets made, if only because we’re all doing a version of our own sausage production. To gloss over the tough stuff is disingenuous, and sharing the humour keeps us knitted together.
Children are not easy, and parenting is tough. I’ve yelled too often and stressed too much and often wondered if the grass really is greener on the other side. But then, this world is tough, and a reprieve from it is not only welcome but necessary. Just because I tell you something stupid my cats did doesn’t mean I’m not also freaking out over some decision one of my sons made. I’m selective in where I report from the roller coaster.
Today, all of it is background noise. It’s muted in the face of what is happening on the southern United States border, and what the Trump administration is doing to that nation. How the hell can I trundle along like it’s not happening? I’ve never felt so helpless in my life. Never.
A very intelligent friend of mine just asked on Facebook — Facebook, of all places, which uses your information against you — what we can do. And I have no idea. I can tell you that I won’t set foot in a Hudson’s Bay or a Winners until they stop carrying merchandise that allows this sinister man and his family to profit even more from his corrupt reign. But when I watch hate and intolerance continue to win big points in what was once one of the most amazing countries on Earth, I’m at a loss.
Children are being torn from their parents and put in cages. Those in charge are comparing it to summer camp. Those in charge are laughing at recordings of desperate children. Those doing their dirty work are just following orders.
We are now living in a time when inhuman actions are happening at such breakneck speed, the only way to cope is to go numb.
We can’t afford to go numb. We can’t afford to go numb. We can’t afford to go numb.
I lie awake at night and count how many kids I could take in, where they could sleep. It’s entirely ridiculous, but how anyone who has ever loved any child could feel any different is beyond me. A year ago, I wouldn’t have considered that babies in the U.S. would be torn from their mothers’ breasts and stuffed into a cage.
Caged children are the bargaining chips in a country gone mad. Read that sentence again. Children will have been indelibly traumatized even if this ends tomorrow, which it won’t. Legitimate news organizations are now reporting that many of these kids will never be reunited with their parents in the chaos and fallout.
Yes, they are legitimate news sources. You can cram your Fox News and Breitbart and Rebel Media up your butt.
Children destroyed so some rich people can get richer, angry people who voted for a liar can feel better about themselves, and a vainglorious, debased spiteball can pretend he’s king.
A man who cosies up to murderous dictators and throws allies under the bus on a whim; a House and Congress who sit on their hands — hands that are covered in blood and money — and let him; and a vocal electorate who believes the way to better their lot in life is to snuff out someone else’s.
We can’t afford to go numb.