I
feel a surge of anger overwhelming me, but I’m unsure how to channel it. My mistake was reading something infuriating before bed, leaving me restlessly furious. As my sleeping son lays peacefully, I try to find solace in kissing his forehead, but the anger still lingers. I feel compelled to share this anger with you.
Typically, I avoid bringing politics into my column, except for my ongoing battle against the dreadful libertarian world of “Paw Patrol.” However, parenting undeniably intersects with politics, especially since many individuals become more politically engaged after becoming parents. Sometimes, this parental perspective can seem self-centered, like the individuals on “Question Time” who preface their self-serving statements with “Speaking as a parent.”
Personally, I believe my political involvement has slightly diminished since becoming a parent. Logistically, I am constantly exhausted and no longer have the energy I once possessed for Twitter battles or delving into international relations and political theory.
Moreover, this column has its own tone and brevity. While other writers and activists address issues such as the skyrocketing costs of baby formula and childcare or the challenges faced by working mothers, I strive to maintain a lighter atmosphere here, shielding readers from the mundane horrors of the world, at least for now.
Then, I stumbled upon an article about the Home Office removing cartoons from the walls of a migrant children’s intake center in Dover, along with another in Kent. I imagined the children who end up in these facilities, ranging from infants to teenagers, many without their parents who likely didn’t survive the journey.
As I observe my own children peacefully sleeping in their warm beds, I can’t help but contemplate what I would do to protect them if I were in more desperate circumstances. What if I hadn’t been fortunate enough, purely by chance of birth, to reside in a place that, despite its flaws, isn’t a constant threat to our lives? A place so secure that I can complain about nonexistent family problems for a living.
For a brief moment, I picture myself being forced to risk everything to seek refuge in such a place, navigating treacherous waters and praying that those on the shore would treat my vulnerable children, my entire world, with compassion and love.
And then, for an even briefer moment, I envision witnessing those children’s unimaginable despair, only to witness a heartless decision to deny them even the slightest form of human comfort. The intensity of my anger at this needless and deliberate cruelty overwhelms me, and I recognize that I never want to be so depleted or content in my own life that I’m not moved to express my rage and break from the norm of this column to do so.
Did Ye Hear Mammy Died? by Séamas O’Reilly is available now (Little, Brown, £16.99). Purchase a copy from the guardianbookshop for £14.78.
Follow Séamas on Twitter @shockproofbeats
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