violence

She had 5 stitches in her hand from where the machete cut her.

Later we find out that her hand is broken, and will require surgery.

When I visit her in the hospital, I notice that her bracelets – the silver bracelets that were her Christmas gift this year – are bent. No longer round…but wavy.

And I wonder about the force that it took to bend her silver bracelet (it’s not thin).

I wonder if her bracelet somehow protected her left hand from similar gashes and breaks that her right hand bares. Later I found out that she moved the bracelet after the accident…and the blows that bent the silver were the blows that broke her arm.

She tells me what happened, and as the story unfolds I ask her, “were they drunk when they beat you like this?” (a gang of thugs beating a woman, because they want her to leave her land).

“No.” (with an air of “of course they weren’t drunk, why would you even ask that?!”). “My people are religious. They never drink alcohol”

And I am angry, at a culture that values if someone drinks alcohol more than how they treat another human being.

I am confused about how drinking alcohol is morally “worse” than beating a woman, and breaking her arm with your machete.

I am angry that, by the mere fact that she is a woman she is considered less. 

I am infuriated that she might lose her land to these men who are violent, and greedy, and powerful. Her land. Her house. That she worked for, and built, against all odds. With hard work, and sacrifice.

It's like the cards are stacked against her. pulling her backwards each time to takes a step toward a better life for her and her son.

Her home can be snatched from her by some men with machetes, and power, and a bit more education and influence than she has.

What about doing justice?

What about loving mercy?

What about humility?

I am angry.

And when I pause to think about the enormity of the injustice, it’s like a fire burns in my heart…and everything within me screams, “THIS IS NOT RIGHT.”

To stand against this injustice feels impossible.

It feels like trying to move a mountain with a spoon.

Or like shouting at a tornado, trying to be heard above a thundering storm.

This story could be told 1000 times today.

Change a detail here, a circumstance there.

This story could be told 1000 times today.

and it is wrong.

There is no easy solution.

and i can't summon a happy ending.

and that just has to be okay.

and even if its not, it's true.