Thirteen years ago, I wrote a blog post titled “A Letter to My Sons” while flying somewhere over Greenland. I was on my way to work with human rights educators in Sri Lanka, and the date I wrote the letter, November 20, was World Children’s Day, the day the UN adopted the Declaration of the Rights of the Child in 1959, and also the same day 30 years later when the Convention on the Rights of the Child was adopted by the UN General Assembly.
In my letter, I attempted to explain to my children, then aged 10 and 7, what the Convention was about: “Basically, the Convention is a document – a statement, a list of things ordinary people and governments should do – to make sure that children around the world live lives that are filled with love and everything they need to make them safe and happy.” I didn’t want to get into specifics on what the Convention means – it’s more than a statement, it’s a legally binding treaty that’s been ratified by all UN member states (except the US), and while it is aspirational, as are all human rights documents, it does provide guidance for the respect, protection, promotion, and fulfillment of children’s rights.
That letter I wrote to my sons prompted me to write additional ones over the years during my trips overseas as a human rights educator. I wanted to find ways to explain to my children the work I did. Looking back at those letters, they were in many respects oversimplified, but the overarching message emerging from many of them had a common essence: do what you can to make a difference in this world. As I wrote at the end of that first letter: “…be thankful for the wonderful lives you have, and somehow do your part to make this world a better place for everyone.”
The theme for this year’s World Children’s Day on the UN website is “For every child, every right.” The website goes on to say that “children and young people are raising their voices on the issues that matter to their generation and calling for adults to create a better future. This World Children’s Day, it’s more important than ever that the world listens to their ideas and demands. On 20 November, kids are speaking out and reimagining a better future. What will you do?”
And there it is: What will you do? Sometimes, it doesn’t take a lot. A few weeks ago, I asked my wife if we should sell Christmas cards for the second year in a row and donate the proceeds to a local organization that helps adolescents and young adults living with cancer. I drew the card – finding inspiration took a few minutes, and the drawing itself took another hour or so. We ordered 600 cards which sold out in no time thanks mainly to my wife’s Facebook network. People in our community raised several hundreds of dollars in the space of a couple of weeks. All for buying Christmas cards, which, as far as I can tell, very few people take the time to write anymore. When given a chance to care, a chance to contribute to something that collectively benefits others, people can readily stand up to the task. And while I’m tremendously grateful to everyone who contributed to the fundraiser, it’s a cogent reminder that helping those within our communities, even strangers, can be a much easier ask than seeking assistance to help those far away, who in their own ways are struggling to maintain their dignity through tragic circumstances that are not of their doing.
I understand that it can be overwhelming. The statistics of civilians killed in Gaza are so shocking that the magnitude is hard to grasp; nearly 15,000 as of today, with nearly 6,000 children. The war in Ukraine has claimed over 10,000 lives since it began; 1,200 Israelis were massacred October 7; Sudan’s genocide has claimed 9,000 lives in the past seven months; the floods in Libya earlier this year claimed from 5,800 to 20,000 victims; over 300,000 victims died during ten years of the civil war in Syria; the same number is estimated from the 2010 earthquake in Haiti; 230,000 victims from the 2004 tsunami; over 11,000 children died in the Yemeni civil war. Whatever the cause of other people’s hardships – from violence committed by others or through natural disasters beyond our control – there should be space in our hearts to care. The Beatles’ song While My Guitar Gently Weeps alludes to this, albeit disparagingly:
I look at you all, see the love there that’s sleeping
While my guitar gently weeps.
George Harrison’s haunting lyrics from over half a century ago remain true. Harrison wrote of a love that remains hidden – untapped, unrealized, unfulfilled – in all of us. The meaning behind the song is prescient, given that our current age of connectivity has brought the horrors of war and shattered lives to the convenience of our smartphones with a speed that matches our ability to scroll through Black Friday and Cyber Monday savings.
If we live in a world where love is sleeping, that’s a choice we’ve made. It doesn’t have to be so. I take inspiration from the Bantu word ubuntu, meaning “I am because you are.” It impresses upon us the responsibility we have to each other, and how a meaningful, purposeful life is strengthened by demonstrating humanity towards others. In Archbishop Desmond Tutu’s words, a person with ubuntu is “open and available to others, affirming of others, does not feel threatened that others are able and good, based from a proper self-assurance that comes from knowing that he or she belongs in a greater whole and is diminished when others are humiliated or diminished, when others are tortured or oppressed.”
The wars in Gaza and elsewhere around the world are diminishing us all. We can’t turn away from a humanitarian crisis because it’s easy to do so, or because we feel our voices or our actions will have little or no impact, or because we feel safe hiding behind political ineptitude from world leaders. The children who survive war, any war – and some children have already seen more than one – will be left broken, afraid, distraught, sad and guilty for having lived while others died. They will have been deprived of safety, shelter, food, water, toilets, education, and basic health. They are living in unimaginably dire situations that would shatter most people and leave them scarred for life. Every day that goes by scrapes away their humanity, and ours.
What will you do?
I look at the world and I notice it’s turning
While my guitar gently weeps
With every mistake
We must surely be learning.
Are we?
paul mcadams - a change is coming 