A Red Tee-shirt and Blue Pants

As the television screen flickers in my comfort-controlled living room, the plight of the thousands and thousands of immigrants seeking admission to European counties is unfathomable. While the talking heads on the newscasts make their reports, I’m tempted to hit the remote, searching for better news. But the news isn’t much better over on ESPN, with the Tribe still five games out of the wild card race (same old story – too little, too late), and the Browns, while currently undefeated, reneged on their “leap of faith” by releasing Terrelle Pryor. Of such is the state of Cleveland sports.

But the refugees don’t go away. On a slow news day, reports from Europe still hit the headlines. Radio interviewers recount the heart-breaking stories of families destroyed by warring factions in their homeland. Disturbing images appear unbidden on my computer screen, as the photo of three-year-old Aylan Kurdi’s lifeless body sneaks its way into my life, tucked in between cat videos and birthday wishes on my Facebook feed.

Aylan’s story is a tragic one. A mother and two sons drown in an attempted escape to Greece, hoping to seek political asylum somewhere in the western world to escape the horrors of the Syrian civil war. The father survives. How does a family come to the decision to pay thousands of dollars to board a 5 meter smuggler’s dinghy? Aylan’s Canadian uncle explained why he and his wife sent the money to help her brother: ‘There was no other hope.”

As he spoke of the death of his wife and two sons, Aylan’s father repeated these chilling words: “the life jackets – they were all fake.” A $4500 ticket for a thirty minute boat ride and the traffickers couldn’t provide effective life jackets? Unconscionable. And why would an individual or a company manufacture lifejackets that don’t provide a chance for a life to be preserved?

It’s a tragic and complicated story. There is a relocation process worldwide for refugees, beginning with United Nations registration. Those heading for Europe through the route of illegal entry are cutting in line, unwilling to wait for months and even years to leave the camps. Reportedly, this was the fifth attempt by Aylan’s family to reach the shores of Greece. And concerns are being raised over the authenticity of Abdullah Kurdi’s account. Yet still, the image of the dead child on the beach remains with us.

As photographer Nilufer Demir noted, “There was nothing left to do for him . . . nothing to do except take his photograph.” Keith Jenkins of National Geographic digital understands the power of Demir’s action: “Taking a step back and thinking of the refugee crisis that has been unfolding for months, if not years . . . this is a point where people may pay attention in a different way.”

As unsettling as Aylan’s story is, his is only one face in a crisis of massive proportion. Here are the numbers. As of July, more than four million Syrian refugees were registered with the United Nations. The majority of these children and adults are currently in refugee camps in Turkey, Lebanon, and Jordan. About 350,000 have sought asylum in Europe. The United States accepted 1,500 Syrian refugees in fiscal year 2015. News reports suggest that we might be able to squeeze in ten thousand Syrian refugees over the course of the next year.

In comparison, according to the International Rescue Committee, during the twenty years following the fall of Saigon, two million people poured out of Vietnam, Laos and Cambodia. By 1992, more than one million had been admitted to the United States.

I didn’t want to write about the Syrian refugee crisis this week, and toyed with more palatable options until this column was due at the T-G. I wanted to write about the lovely Madelyn Simone learning to ride a bike, not about a dead Syrian child who will never ride a bike. I want a clicker to turn off the violence in our world so families aren’t forced to make unimaginable choices to survive. Yet there is no magic clicker. This week I must write about Aylan, a boy in a red tee-shirt and blue pants.