I inherited a box stuffed full of information on Manzanar, the World War II Japanese internment camp. A sweet little old lady writer had accumulated it for a book on the unthinkable that she was certain would never happen again, but she died before she could write it. I inherited the research, but I never got the book written. But I pulled it out today. Because it suddenly seemed horribly relevant.
I spent Father’s Day with my sweet grandchildren and their parents. And of course I took lots of pictures. I always do.
While my granddaughters laughed and played and danced, the other little ones pleaded through tears for “Mama” and “Papa.” But Mama and Papa could not come to them. Many of those little ones–especially those in the cages at the “Tender Age Shelters,” are unlikely to ever see Mama or Papa again.
Interesting that it is at the same time that our country is leaving the United Nations’ Human Rights Council.
God help us.
God forgive us.
“A rigid steel boot on the neck of the immigration debate. It’s the sign of a party slowly losing its humanity.”