"Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!" cries she
With silent lips. "Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!" - Emma Lazarus, The New Colossus
In 2015 alone, over 500,000 people crossed the channels from Turkey. So in response, they brought back out the “Dublin Regulation,” but it was slightly different this time, this time they made a point of saying,
“******* for living in the place that we’ve bombed to kingdom come, the place that we’ve
destabilized to the point of catastrophe.”
I met a man who casually talked about things that everyone you know would appalled by, he was there. Talked about something that there was a whole failed movement about, because helping those in need goes as far as buying some posters and buttons.
Upon hearing the words,
“When I was 8, I was taken as a child soldier,”
Casually in conversation you begin realize how little the west gives a ****. These people are often stuck in crowded camps for over a year, because the EU would rather keep them in the land of PIGS(as they call it). Close to where they can get sent back with ease. Where they can keep the chaos of the world out of mind. They’re telling these people, innocents seeking safety,
“We don’t want you. Not in our clean cities, not in our homogeneous society.”
Just like the U.S., just like us. Drawing up falsified statistics and promoting otherization to feel at peace in our complacency. And seeing a child dying in the street, we look away. Not because we feel for the child, but to shield ourselves from the truth that this child is not the first or the last who died today. The melting *** is cooled now, it’s cracked like the Liberty Bell, its old contents poured out and filled with Miracle Whip and stale, cloudy water from plastic bottles left in the back of a Ford Taurus.
slightly inspired by "Left" by Nikky Finney