Humanity

In the US, they might elect a lunatic. In the UK, various bullshit is happening.

Imagine you’re six years old and your parents have been killed and an aunt or uncle somehow got you out and now you’re in a refugee camp in Turkey or Greece and a load of rich people — because to you, everyone who has anything at all is rich — are too mean, too self-involved and too scared of you to take you in.

I could go on. I could speculate about how you’re going to feel about those people when you’re a teenager, I could talk about institutionalisation and a violent history and trauma and how you might well grow up to want to destroy everything those people have by any means you can and you might fall in with some crazy whackjobs who promise you paradise in the name of a God who let your family die but that’d be, I feel a distraction from that matter at hand.

Imagine you’re that kid.

Imagine something terrible has happened through no fault of yours and your child is that kid.

Now how do you feel?

You forgot them. You got busy with your sneering at dumb people and your elections and your comedy news shows and your bullshit job and your bullshit mortgage and all the bullshit your wonderful, privileged life entails. And you forgot them.

And so did I. It took a man called Tim Farron, a bloody Liberal Democrat to remind me. I can’t stand the LibDems but he was right, I forgot. My life is a dream come true to a kid in a camp. Or a kid in an ambulance. Or a kid the ambulance didn’t reach in time. And I am heartily ashamed of myself for forgetting.

This is not about skittles. It’s about common human decency. It’s about those kids and their parents and whether you can call yourself human or not.

I won’t forget again. I’ve just written to my MP and renewed my subscription to Amnesty but these are petty things; I’ll do my best to find something concrete I can do.

How could anyone refuse to? It’s not about bloody terrorists or racists or shitheads.

It’s about humanity. Remember yours. We need to take refugees.

One clap, two clap, three clap, forty?

By clapping more or less, you can signal to us which stories really stand out.