After The Fact

My wonderful readers, the subject of today’s post is one I wish didn’t exist, but unfortunately it absolutely does.

I have a long-standing policy to not publicly comment on both religious and political issues, for when one does so they are automatically building a wall between them and anyone who has an opposing view. Some might believe my opening message has me in violation of such a rule, but in reality it simply does not, because what’s going on in Syria is not political, it’s a human story, or more accurately, a lack of humanity.

Why is the world not outraged by the massive suffering going on in this country? When a black life is taken on the streets of America by a police officer those streets are then filled with protesters, voices giving rise to injustice. This is often the case in most places around the world. But does it really have to be only in ones own backyard for people to care?

The streets of every major city in this world should have been filled with human beings standing up for their fellow human beings. The hundreds of thousands being robbed of being human, by the evil that is Bashar Al-Assad. But instead we demanded nothing of our incompetent leaders, and as a result…

s1

By

Rico Lamoureux

All Rights Reserved.

2016

I slept in the same state as when I was awake, always in fear, knowing that at any moment terror could thunder down from the sky above. My dreams were full of running, hiding, praying. So when I heard the unmistakable speed of what sounds like an incoming jet I thought the barrel bomb was just another part of my nightmare, but when the earth screamed out all around me I knew otherwise. That this was indeed the real thing, everything around me instantly decimated, the end of my own little world.

The imagination cannot prepare you for the daze, the confusion, yet all minute when compared to the sorrow, the loss, of discovering that the destruction as taken loved ones.

Before you can even collect your bearings the second killer introduces itself, my throat catching fire, the fierce burning immediately becoming wild as it spreads down to my lungs and up to my nose and eyes. Within seconds my natural instinct is to give in to my body wanting to buckle, but doing such a thing would ensure death, for the chlorine gas blankets the ground, just waiting to put me into a permanent sleep.

On out I stumble, tripping over rubble every few feet, the sun above hurting my eyes even more so as I try to find my way. But to where? Everything looks the same, nothing but piles of cement, both big and small, the neighborhood I’ve spent my entire life in looking like a place I’ve never been, my fumbling steps taking me where? Survival instinct just says keep going…

But I don’t know how much longer I can, and then I hear a baby crying. I look around, still nothing but grave rubble, and so I try to focus my ears to work, following the sound, moving the boulders…

And that’s when I discover the small blackened arm. I hurry to unbury…

It’s not a baby, but a malnourished child, as a result, small for his age, about five, as old as the war itself. For some reason this gives me determination, to save this child at any cost, so that they might still have a chance at seeing what they’ve never known: peace.

This shot of adrenaline allows me to lift him from out of the ash, like a phoenix rising, and on up I send him, to lay across my shoulders, as far from the lingering gas below as I can get him.

I walk, how far I do not know, but finally come upon rescue workers, through my teary eyes, heroes, who take the boy from me and douse my face in the most refreshing water I’ve ever experienced.

As we’re driven away I can’t help but think…

Rwanda…

Cambodia…

The Holocaust…

The world only mourns after the fact. Future generations will bow their heads in shame, unable to understand what we Syrians have been dumbfounded by for so very long now…

How could the world just stand by and do nothing…?

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