It was on a radio news bulletin. An Italian, a rescue-worker from the Red Cross, I think. He was talking about the people, many of whom drowned, trying to reach the shores of Italy. Hundreds of them in a wooden boat. A small boat, too small to hold so many. They said there were in a small wooden boat. What did they pay the people smugglers for the privilege? Was there room to sleep, eat or even sit? Was there a canopy against the elements? I heard someone say that it is mostly young men who make these hazardous journeys, but I can imagine that there are whole families involved. Parents with small children, grandparents and young couples, all trying to escape hardship, oppression, war and hunger. We label them as ‘boat people’ as if they are a particular species distinct from ourselves and therefore need not empathise with them. They are not, they are sentient beings as we are with the same physical and emotional needs – the need for refuge, security, order and the possibility to flourish . What can we do but stop, think and feel for them – the desperation of their plight and the abuse of those who set them out on this treacherous journey and hope that if they do survive that they are met with kindness, generosity and love? The Italian man’s voice was full. He stumbled for words. The ones who were pulled from the sea are traumatised, they cannot articulate what they have been through. “They are destroyed,” he said.
