Sometimes, okay often, when I show video from the web, students in my class put their heads down and sleep. I think it’s because they don’t sleep much at night, cursed cell phones and all.
Today, we watched a favorite documentary of mine, “The Day My God Died.” It chronicles the stories of young women trafficked in India. The film is at times brutal in its visual honesty.
They watched and I prayed. I prayed that suffering would sink in a little. I prayed that we would all be so very grateful for the lucky lives we live. I prayed that God would use them and I to stop the wickedness on parade before us.
After a few moments of the video, a couple of students began asking what they could do, what it would cost, and whether they could they adopt those girls. I answered their questions as well as I could and gave them resource links. I talked about the need for legal help and international pressure, the need for media campaigns to get the word out about the predatory nature of this industry, I talked about the need for staffed homes that could provide the necessary care for the abused young girls and women, and I talked about getting ahead of the curve. More than anything, vulnerable families need jobs, as do the young girls themselves. The need for capital to help women start businesses and afford education is paramount.
It was hard to watch the video – even this my fourth time. I wanted to throw things in my outrage. I wanted to cry out in despair. I wanted to put my head down and imagine it all a dream. But I didn’t and neither did they.