The separations
There’s this brilliant French tv series about life under the Occupation, Un village Français. The station that ran it a few years ago fills in the gaps between the end of one show and the start of the next (gaps because they all start on the hour) with whatever fits, and sometimes that is a one of a set of interviews with witnesses that accompanied the French series. They ran one such clip last night, and the subject was…
…the separations of children from their parents that happened during the deportations To The East.
It was only about 5 minutes worth, but it was very affecting nonetheless. The separations were almost all final. The interviews are elderly people describing the last time they saw, talked to, clung to their parents.
I suspect that the choice of this particular set of interviews was no accident. I watched it squirming and saying, ever louder, “We’re doing this right now. We are.”
It’s horrific, and heart breaking, and I can’t help asking myself why a nation which fought against the Nazis in the ’40s would want to emulate them so much in this new century.
Also, why aren’t people storming those facilities and rescuing the children?
Probably afraid of getting themselves and the children shot.
“We’re doing this right now. We are.”
Same as it ever was.
This is the USA.
There is a direct line from the dispossession of the People of Turtle Island, their land and children taken from them. The creation of “Indian Reservations” aka Concentration Camps. It was followed with slavery, segregation, lynchings, internments, white flight, and on and on. It is amplified by American intrusion into the affairs of peaceful nations that want to follow the wrong type of peace.
This is who you are. This is how the civilised world sees you.
Can you imagine the reaction if Iranian warships sailed close to the Gulf of Mexico? Or is Chinese sailed 200 NM from Virginia Beach?
I know.
Only we’re getting worse.
I watched Trump on the TV tonight sign some document with a big black felt tip pen, in letters that seemed about twice as high as his highly experienced pussy-grabbing fingers were wide.
Then, like a child, he proudly held up his work for all to see; as if he had just coloured in a page from a kids’ colouring-in book.
And when I say proud, I mean real proud.
I think he should be given a gold star after every signature, for sincerity and effort if nothing else.
And I mean that: nothing else.