My mind keeps returning to those poor people, the 39, dying in that lorry container. Every single one of them with multitudes inside them. Every single one with somebody somewhere thinking of them, maybe building a future around them. And every single one of them in the dark, losing heat and air and dying. It is piteous.
Initially, I had fury for the barbaric, greedy animals who took their money and then their lives. I wanted a merciless vengeance on them. No space for explanation. Pain and then an end.
And then, of course, I realised that this would get nowhere. If we seek such an end we are corroded.
And also, it is clear that, like cancerous boils, when one of these trafficking gangs is lanced another will erupt. They exist because there is opportunity.
The older I get the more I see that one of the things we don’t value enough, that we should start to really, properly value, is kindness. It seems facile but it’s sometimes almost impossibly hard. Instinctively, we want to look after ourselves and those very closest to us, to circle against the outside.
The strength to be kind is a hell of thing. The hardening of attitudes beyond our own horizons is not just acceptable, it’s the become the norm.