Blood on our hands

Throughout every atrocity, every outrageous thing that has happened over the past couple of years, I have tried to remain hopeful. I have turned my anger into action, and I have encouraged others to do the same.

But this latest thing- a 7-year-old little girl dying of dehydration while in the custody of U.S. Border Patrol- has me gutted.

I want to say “Call your Senators!!” but my senators Ted Cruz and John Cornyn don’t care.

I want to take to the streets, but I don’t know of any major demonstrations.

I want to scream and rage and cry to people who will listen and join in my outrage, but for every person who is gutted like me, I find another one making excuses and justifications for the actions being done in our name.

And so I want to look away, just for a second, to protect my heart, but then I hate myself for doing it.

As Jakelin’s picture flashed on the television screen yet again last night, I told my husband I felt like I was watching the Holocaust unfold, and no one cares. That’s not completely true, of course. It isn’t the Holocaust, and people do care. But the similarities are undeniable, and somehow the caring doesn’t seem to be translating to action. Somehow there are thousands and thousands of children still being housed in tent cities at our border, separated from their families, and being “guarded” by people who we now know don’t even have sufficient background checks, much less the qualifications to properly care for these children.

How does this happen? I mean, I know how but… *how?* How can we sleep at night while this continues? I think the answer to that is that many of us don’t. What right do I have to brush this story- this life- off because it interferes with my holiday cheer?

I don’t have any nice bow to put on this for you- I just wanted to say something about this precious girl’s life and how sick I feel that it slipped away on our watch. Anger doesn’t begin to touch how I am feeling. Sadness is a woefully inadequate emotion.

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