Aylan Kurdi

Suffering In Its True Colours

A little boy lies face down on the sandy shore of Bodrum- a tourist resort that should have brought joy and happiness- the waves lapping continually on his cold, tiny little body. 

His black hair is short and cropped, and his chest holds no sign of any muscular contractions: up, down, up, down. His red shirt half-exposes his little stomach, his jeans rolled up callously. The soles of his shoes point up towards the heavens- like little hands calling for prayer, asking for God to send him and his brother a hundred metres across into paradise. His mouth heralds no scream for his mother, no cry for the injustice of the world, no wail for his father. His eyes give no indication of tears- and if they did fall, they would assimilate into the salt water- the salt water from the eyes of angels, crying for the three year old.

A nearby police officer takes in the scene, the damp body of the Syrian refugee who should have been dozing in his warm, dry bed in Canada, not asleep forever and silenced on a cold shore.

Can I see you crying for him? Or do you still blame him, and the other children, mothers, fathers who died needlessly in the race for safety?

Either way, I dare you to say his name. To say the name of a boy who horrified the world, who silenced the complaints of anti-refugee countries. I dare you to say the name of the boy who could have been yours. I dare you to stand up for him, to be the voice that should have supported him. To be the voice for countless other children who are also dying without need- who could survive with sufficient charitable measures and the right amount of awareness.

I dare you.

I dare you to say his name, Aylan Kurdi, and to remember it forever when you see another happy, smiling child that passes by; when you embrace your son or daughter; when you see the injustice of this world.

And I dare you to do something about it.

***

A/N: Groups in Afghanistan are still waging bloody murders- and are unwaveringly reclaiming part of the country.

The conflict in Syria is still going on.

Palestine still mourns for it's children, and steadily more and more die each day.

Iraq and Iran are still purged in crisis.

And yet.

And yet all of it is under reported. 

Afghanistan is considered old news, as ISIS, ISIL and Daesh kill and murder as their insatiable need for blood is left unquenched, even with the shot bodies of innocents at their feet.

Syrians flee from the conflict in their millions, migrating to countries that promise a better life, and yet slip further and further away.

Palestine, with its citizens butchered in cold brutality and those few that survive scraping by, deprived of daily essentials. 

Is it donation fatigue? Or are we only jolted into reality by harrowing moments such as that of Aylan?

I'd like for you to think about that as you lay down in your beds. 

-

Front cover: Of my own creation, with the original picture.

Video: 'Remember Them - Children of War'. WARNING: GRAPHIC CONTENT.

Picture:

Bottom Left: The original, chilling picture that shocked the world.

Top left: Close-up of his body, revealing gritty sand, sodden clothes and a steadily cooling body whose soul left too early for its years.

Right: Aylan Kurdi's father, Abdullah Kurdi, leaves the morgue where his wife and two sons' bodies are stored in obvious grief and depression.