Forgive? Forget? Eff Off.
"How does one know if she has forgiven?" asks Clarissa Pinkola Estes (because she has an answer and she's twitching to give it to us).
"You tend to feel sorrow over the circumstance instead of rage..."
Six months ago, a poultry farmer from Multan employed two boys - aged 7 and 9 - to help on his farm. Each was going to earn 300 PK Rupees (less than 2 £) per month. Per month. He beat them every day, for every little mistake. He never paid them their wages.
Do you feel like staving his head in with a mud brick? If you do, that would be rage. Mud brick in hand, I'm scanning the horizon too.
"You tend to feel sorry for the person rather than angry with him..."
When they couldn't bear any more abuse, the boys wanted to leave and asked for their salaries. After 6 months of work, each was owed 1,800 PK Rupees (10 £). The farmer tied them up and beat them with wooden sticks. It wasn't enough. He beat them with iron rods. It wasn't enough. He rubbed chillies into their wounds. When they passed out, he dumped them in the road.
What monsters are these? Angry? Bloody hell PEOPLE? 'Angry' is such a sweet, roll-on-the-tongue and not-much word. I am SO FAR beyond anger. Anger plus all the chillies you can grow in a lifetime. Anger plus armies. Anger plus Hell.
"You tend to have nothing left to say about it all", concludes Clarissa.
Well, I have much to say and rather loudly - although just now I find myself all numb. Because imagine, how every day we go about unwarned and unaware that men and women leak away their humanity until there's nothing left and then this happens to children in their care.
The boys are alive, in hospital. The man was arrested but won't be prosecuted unless the children's families lodge a complaint. A small amount of money may ensure their silence on the matter. The law machine may remain idle.
And then the farmer? Returns to his chickens. Finds new child-slaves. The newspaper? Drops the story. The nation? Not a squeak. Monica? A growl in the dark, a blog read by, at best, some 15 friends.
Forgive? Forget? Not a chance, not before children are safe on our watch.
"You tend to feel sorrow over the circumstance instead of rage..."
Six months ago, a poultry farmer from Multan employed two boys - aged 7 and 9 - to help on his farm. Each was going to earn 300 PK Rupees (less than 2 £) per month. Per month. He beat them every day, for every little mistake. He never paid them their wages.
Do you feel like staving his head in with a mud brick? If you do, that would be rage. Mud brick in hand, I'm scanning the horizon too.
"You tend to feel sorry for the person rather than angry with him..."
When they couldn't bear any more abuse, the boys wanted to leave and asked for their salaries. After 6 months of work, each was owed 1,800 PK Rupees (10 £). The farmer tied them up and beat them with wooden sticks. It wasn't enough. He beat them with iron rods. It wasn't enough. He rubbed chillies into their wounds. When they passed out, he dumped them in the road.
What monsters are these? Angry? Bloody hell PEOPLE? 'Angry' is such a sweet, roll-on-the-tongue and not-much word. I am SO FAR beyond anger. Anger plus all the chillies you can grow in a lifetime. Anger plus armies. Anger plus Hell.
"You tend to have nothing left to say about it all", concludes Clarissa.
Well, I have much to say and rather loudly - although just now I find myself all numb. Because imagine, how every day we go about unwarned and unaware that men and women leak away their humanity until there's nothing left and then this happens to children in their care.
The boys are alive, in hospital. The man was arrested but won't be prosecuted unless the children's families lodge a complaint. A small amount of money may ensure their silence on the matter. The law machine may remain idle.
And then the farmer? Returns to his chickens. Finds new child-slaves. The newspaper? Drops the story. The nation? Not a squeak. Monica? A growl in the dark, a blog read by, at best, some 15 friends.
Forgive? Forget? Not a chance, not before children are safe on our watch.
posted by emwolfem @ 14:27
2 Comments:
Saispe prieteni, Monica.
Aaah, ce bine! Buna Lia. Ma bucur sa te vad pe-aici. x
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