It is not often that we get a chance to champion the rights of deserving individuals who can benefit from our small actions. The survivors of the Dunblane Massacre did not ask to be thrust into the limelight. They were children when unimaginable horror strolled into a place where they should have felt safe and stole from them their right to be able to grow up and learn how tough the world can be. They saw it at close hand at an age when the worst thing they should have been worried about was if they had lost teddy when he fell out of bed.
For some twisted sick reason a journalist and her editor took it upon themselves to revisit these young people and perpetrate yet another appalling attack on them. This time with a betrayal of their openness and a concerted effort to ensure that any hope they had of moving on from this and trying to live a normal life was derailed.
This is a quote from a blog post by Graham Linehan (who wrote Father Ted and the IT Crowd) and if you click through to it, there is a list of suggested activities (all respectable and honourable) which can be take to try and redress the balance.
Here is a chance for us to show those young people that the whole world isn't peopled by malicious users. A chance to send a message that a line must be drawn and this shameful article must be made amends for.
All those useless thoughts, sent to torture the unwary after a tragedy such as this one, we knew them well. If only someone had sensed how dangerous he was…if only handguns had been banned a year before it happened, rather than a year after… In the days and weeks that followed, we were all endlessly replaying the same fantasy of somehow managing to stop Hamilton before he got to the school gates. But there was nothing we could do, of course, except respect the memory of the kids who died, and thank dumb, blind chance for the survival of the others.
That basic human reaction, that powerful urge to protect those children, has always been something I presumed was shared by most other human beings. But a lady named Paula Murray has disabused me of that particular whimsy.
Sometimes writing funny poetry is nowhere near appropriate. This is one of those times.