Michael and I have never met. We live land masses and an ocean apart. I know him through his art, see him through his eyes, and can feel him through his brave, brave heart. Michael’s thoughts speak to me, his words speak for me…..
It’s always the children, isn’t it? It’s always the kids who get it.
When the strutting despot, Putin, decides to help out his old pal, genocidal tyrant Bashar Al-Assad, before too long hospitals and schools and aid convoys are bombed; the UN Security Council gets angry and the usual suspects play their veto cards like this is some bizarre game where the person who wins is the one who does the least. Before you know it, Iran is implicated. The EU discusses sanctions but somehow nothing happens. The British government says it’s OK to sell fighter planes to countries where human rights mean even less than women’s rights. Refugees pour over borders and citizens panic: far right-wingers make a play for government by stoking up fear and dread in the electorate. Desperate people cram boats made of scrap metal and…
View original post 204 more words