I flew home from Kurdistan yesterday and am empty. Kapoosh. I look at my photos and start to cry like a hungry child. I am powerless. I range from sadness to rage to blank stares at the ceiling. I feel so much rage and anger at the systemic denial of justice happening in the world today, that I can’t stand the sight of my bible. The answers in it seem too prescriptive and simple in the face of such complex and prolific terror. God, help.
The boy in this picture is living in squalor just a few miles from the village he was born in. His dad pointed out the hills that signal the beginning of their land. I could see it. But those few miles represent an eternity of space because ISIS forces control the area and use it as a base of opposition into the region of Kirkuk and Basheer.
I want to write down the stories of the Yazidi, Arabs, tribal people, and the wonderful Kurds I shared tea with. It’s just that everything I write feels like a flimsy trivialization of the horror they have been through. How can I do this? How can I paint an accurate picture of the scale of suffering, injustice, and hunger these people experience? Even harder still, how can i describe the warmth I felt being with them, their sense of humor and the tenacity of their spirit?
I’ll try again tomorrow.
In the meantime, if you pray; please stay on your knees. If you give; please keep sharing. If you love people of all shapes, races, religions, orientations, social groups, and colors; keep on keeping on. Because this hateful world desperately needs you.
