The Displaced

Nov 08

The Displaced

I NEVER CRY. Well, that’s not entirely true, but I am generally not sentimental, and I almost never cry over international tragedies over which I have zero control. But this morning, the New York Times gave me the dubious opportunity to open up my tear ducts. I get most of our news online, but on Sundays, I indulge in an old-school, paper newspaper. This morning, it came, incongruously, with a small cardboard virtual reality viewing box. We downloaded the app on John’s smart phone and watched the virtual reality story The Displaced.

It is a simple story – a snapshot of 3 children’s lives across the globe who are part of the 30 million who have been displaced by war and persecution. The video puts you on the boat with the Sudanese boy, in the very swamp he ran to – choosing between death by crocodile and death by the fighters. It puts you in the cucumber field with the young girl, living in a country that doesn’t want her. You can almost sit in the desk in the bombed out classroom in Ukraine, and you are there with the grandmother and grandson as they work in the garden in which they found the grandfather’s body, which had lain for months after they escaped. I feel overwhelmed. I can’t adopt 30 million children, but I will be looking for ways to help those I can.

New York Times Article Introduction: The Displaced

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