The Voices Missing in the Debate
My mom tells me that when she brought me home, I cried.
And cried.
And cried.
I was inconsolable for a couple of years, she says. It was hard for her. But she hung in there. I was an 18-month old, separated from my biological parents because of child neglect and placed into a foster home. A good home. A home that became my own. My new parents were my first taste of grace and I am thankful every day for them.
My story is different from the children being separated at the border, at least the reason for the separation. I don’t really think that matters though. I’m talking about the effects—the trauma—of being separated from your family—what you know as a little person, good or bad.
If you ask me who I was crying for for those couple of years, I can’t say. I don’t know. I don’t know how bonded I was to my bio parents because I had lived in chaos. I think my primary caregivers were my older siblings, so I was most likely crying for them. I had eight of them. I was undoubtedly confused and felt deep loss, and fear. I imagine some of the children crying at the border—NOW—are experiencing these emotions.
Senior reporter Ginger Thompson at ProPublica was talking this evening with Rachel Maddow about the audio recording obtained from inside the children’s detention center on the southern border. She referred to this recording of these children crying and pleading for their family as “the voices missing in the debate.” I had heard the entire recording myself earlier today.
I have been debating this issue with others on Facebook the past few days. I called and emailed my U.S. Representative. I don’t know what else to do. So, I guess I’ll blog.
About an hour ago, I picked up a phone message from a life-time friend who knows my background. On the message she said that I ought to raise my voice about this issue because of my personal experience—that I know what I’m talking about.
I’m not a politician. I don’t know what the answer is to immigration reform. But I know what it’s not. It’s not this. It’s not using a crying toddler as a pawn, or a football, or teeny hostage.
I’m not a politician, but I was a little girl. A little girl who cried for at least two years. I may have ceased the relentless crying, but I can tell you that the childhood trauma followed me for many years later. Truth is I still feel the effects.
Listen to the cries. If we allow this policy to continue, we are doing an awful thing. My voice won’t be missing. Please don’t let yours either.