THE UNFORTUNATE TRANSIT OF ALAN KURDI::
A pale blue fishing skiff cuts through the surface of the Mediterranean. It’s unstoppably beautiful, charming it’s way through wars, shipwrecks and exodus. The bureau perfect renderings and love sick scribblings of travel writers purge this prince of seas of all it’s morbid history.
Alan Kurdi’s lifeless body horrified us, but not enough to taint the white sand and reflex blue sea and sky, the holiday shaped faces of tourists and cynical shoulder slapping locals.
Today the Mediterranean is an occupied state. Occupied by the desperate, the good and the normal. Me and you – all of us. The plight of refuges has been with us since Moses lead his people out of Egypt and the idea caught on – we are all in some way seeking refuge. From poverty, violence, corruption, xenophobia and hardship. I’m the great grandchild of bone thin immigrant Irish.
My country welcomed us, put us up, cooked a fine dinner. I have a home, a flag and a passport. All is well. How good does that freedom feel? Do you ever take time to think about that passport you have hidden away? It’s the one thing you can’t get by without. Your identity – rite large in offical type face. You are free to travel, open a bank account, buy a house, start a company, belong.
Alan Kurdis parents had a choice. They could be brutalised by Assad, enslaved raped and murdered by Da’esh or set sail on that most holy of oceans. Forfeiting their status, their rights and their most precious of cargo to join that nation of the great unwanted.
Ghana Masrieh is a Grandmother. She was born in a refugee camp outside of Beirut. She is a non person. Her greatest joy is being productive, contributing to society and her greatest sadness is that society couldn’t care less. If she could have one wish it would be to go home to Palestine, return to a non state, to live in fear of occupation, to feel her homeland under her feet, to be someone who belongs and to be distracted by the sparking sea.