They Are All Our Children
Yesterday, a little boy was rescued from a narrow well he had fallen into thirteen days earlier. Unfortunately, the height he had fallen from (he was found at close to a hundred meters underground), had caused his death in the first hours after the incident. It happened in Totalén, Málaga. A family had gone to a patch of land owned by a family member to make a paella in the open air and have a general picnic. The boy, around two years old, wandered off, and either discovered the open hole, or uncovered it. Cats and toddlers are both known for their curiosity, and that, unfortunately, led him to look in the hole, and he fell into it. It wasn't very wide, but two-year olds can fit almost anywhere.
The accident reminded me of Jessica McClure back in 1987. Jessica was a year and a half when she fell into a well shaft in Midland, Texas. But her fall was only about six meters. She was singing and crying while rescuers had to mine a parallel hole and a mine shaft to connect it to the well shaft, just like was done in Totalén. It was a shorter distance, though the rock was also hard, and she was rescued in about two days. She was relatively fine; she had to have a toe amputated because of incipient gangrene, and was left with a scar on her forehead from scraping in the fall.
In both incidents, the media coverage was immense. In this week's case, practically obscene. One television channel, knowing that the mine shaft would soon connect with the well where the boy was, spent all evening and most of the night covering the story, with interviews with a dozen "experts" and speculation upon speculation. I didn't watch it. The little boy's accident had become a media circus that fed upon the morbidity people feel when hearing of or seeing an accident. They should have left the family in peace. My heart goes out to them.
In both cases, an outpouring of love and encouragement to the child and its family was forthcoming. Everyone identified with the parents and the child. Millions of dollars and millions of euros were spent to rescue just one child, because that child deserved to be rescued; it couldn't just be left to die at the bottom of a well. It was money well spent because these children deserved to live. Yet, what about the nameless children that cross the Mediterranean to escape certain death at home, only to face the cold, unforgiving sea? Two NGO ships have not been allowed to leave Spanish ports to resume rescues in the Mediterranean of foundering ships that will most likely sink with their human freight. Only one ship is working there, now. Italy's Minister of the Interior, Matteo Salvini, extremely anti-refugee, praised the Spanish government's decision not to allow the Open Arms and the Aita Mari to leave port. Because, of course, Europe can't deal with all those refugees.
Really? The year that the most migrants appeared on Europe's shores was 2015, with over a million refugees. Last year, it was just over a hundred thousand. Over two thousand drowned. This year, so far, over five thousand have arrived, and 204 died or went missing in the Mediterranean. Among the dead and missing are many children. Yet, those children don't seem to count. Those children aren't our children. Those children don't deserve to be rescued. Our humanity seems to be limited to our own.
Those who call themselves Christian seem to have forgotten the words that they so treasure. In Matthew, 18:6, it says, "But whoso shall offend one of these little ones which believe in me, it were better for him that a millstone were hanged about his neck, and that he were drowned in the depth of the sea." And those that don't call themselves Christian still have a conscience, which should be telling them "There, but for the grace of coincidence, go I." Or, they could well ponder the lines of the poet John Donne:
"No man is an island entire of itself, every man
is a piece of the continent, a part of the main;
if a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe
is the less, as well as if a promontory were, as
well as any manner of thy friends or of thine
own were; any man's death diminishes me,
because I am involved in Mankind.
And therefore never send to know for whom
the bell tolls; it tolls for thee."
The accident reminded me of Jessica McClure back in 1987. Jessica was a year and a half when she fell into a well shaft in Midland, Texas. But her fall was only about six meters. She was singing and crying while rescuers had to mine a parallel hole and a mine shaft to connect it to the well shaft, just like was done in Totalén. It was a shorter distance, though the rock was also hard, and she was rescued in about two days. She was relatively fine; she had to have a toe amputated because of incipient gangrene, and was left with a scar on her forehead from scraping in the fall.
In both incidents, the media coverage was immense. In this week's case, practically obscene. One television channel, knowing that the mine shaft would soon connect with the well where the boy was, spent all evening and most of the night covering the story, with interviews with a dozen "experts" and speculation upon speculation. I didn't watch it. The little boy's accident had become a media circus that fed upon the morbidity people feel when hearing of or seeing an accident. They should have left the family in peace. My heart goes out to them.
In both cases, an outpouring of love and encouragement to the child and its family was forthcoming. Everyone identified with the parents and the child. Millions of dollars and millions of euros were spent to rescue just one child, because that child deserved to be rescued; it couldn't just be left to die at the bottom of a well. It was money well spent because these children deserved to live. Yet, what about the nameless children that cross the Mediterranean to escape certain death at home, only to face the cold, unforgiving sea? Two NGO ships have not been allowed to leave Spanish ports to resume rescues in the Mediterranean of foundering ships that will most likely sink with their human freight. Only one ship is working there, now. Italy's Minister of the Interior, Matteo Salvini, extremely anti-refugee, praised the Spanish government's decision not to allow the Open Arms and the Aita Mari to leave port. Because, of course, Europe can't deal with all those refugees.
Really? The year that the most migrants appeared on Europe's shores was 2015, with over a million refugees. Last year, it was just over a hundred thousand. Over two thousand drowned. This year, so far, over five thousand have arrived, and 204 died or went missing in the Mediterranean. Among the dead and missing are many children. Yet, those children don't seem to count. Those children aren't our children. Those children don't deserve to be rescued. Our humanity seems to be limited to our own.
Those who call themselves Christian seem to have forgotten the words that they so treasure. In Matthew, 18:6, it says, "But whoso shall offend one of these little ones which believe in me, it were better for him that a millstone were hanged about his neck, and that he were drowned in the depth of the sea." And those that don't call themselves Christian still have a conscience, which should be telling them "There, but for the grace of coincidence, go I." Or, they could well ponder the lines of the poet John Donne:
"No man is an island entire of itself, every man
is a piece of the continent, a part of the main;
if a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe
is the less, as well as if a promontory were, as
well as any manner of thy friends or of thine
own were; any man's death diminishes me,
because I am involved in Mankind.
And therefore never send to know for whom
the bell tolls; it tolls for thee."
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