A Lamentation

Yesterday morning, I awoke to discover that two suspects had been arrested for the murder of eight-year-old Victoria Stafford, or "Tori" as she is more affectionately known. For those who may not know, Tori went missing in her community of Woodstock, Ontario, on the afternoon of 8 April, and is now presumed slain. The media were thrown into a frenzy upon news of these arrests, pledging to keep the public updated on any developments as they unfold.

I cannot imagine losing a child, especially in this manner. Young Tori would have celebrated her ninth birthday this July; now, her parents must prepare for her funeral. There is much sadness and anger among the community at large - both the town of Woodstock and the greater community connected through multimedia - over the demise of this child. My heart goes out to the Stafford family and the friends of Tori, and whomever else she might have touched during her short time on this planet in this form.

While watching the coverage on the television, I could not help but wonder why this girl received so much attention over others. I lament not only the loss of Tori, but the lack of attention given to children the world over who are missing or slain. Each day, in our own backyard, so many children go missing, yet are not even worthy of a footnote - I have to traverse the Internet to come across websites such as these to ascertain the whole picture.

Furthermore, where is the grief for children of war? We have an insatiable need to crucify perpetrators here at home, but say nothing when we kill children overseas. How many children in Iraq have been slain in the last six years? How many more starved during the previous decade of sanctions? How many are killed by the landmines with which we've littered foreign lands? Or by the ordinances still stuck in the trees of Cambodia to this day? How many children have been killed in Sri Lanka? How about the plight of Aboriginal children, a fate wrought by us when we came to this land and decimated their ancestry?

My intention is not to detract from the tragedy of this young girl's premature demise, but it seems we pick and choose those for whom we feel sorry. Victoria Stafford is now a martyr; a little White girl in bright lights to prompt us to shake our fists with rage. Of course, little or no attention will be lent to why the defendants did what they did - in Canada, motive is not necessary for a conviction, so why bother? What's worse, while the media fixate on little Victoria Stafford, thousands of children die by our hands the world over without so much as a peep.

I don't want to say it, but I'm afraid I must: when I watch the news in this country, I gain the impression that I'm only supposed to care about White people. I imagine there are examples to the contrary - for instance, the Ottey sisters in Toronto - but these seem few and far between.

Personally, I feel we're all guilty of the deaths of Victoria Stafford and every other child on this planet. We create and perpetuate the wretched conditions in which children must live, then throw up our hands in bewilderment when they are claimed by them; our propaganda only serves to exacerbate the situation.

Is the death of a child supposed to be some sort of divine justice? Perhaps this justice is being served to us for our sins, that these are signs telling us we need to wake the fuck up already. The bogeyman does not claim these children: we do.