Refugees from Belfast, 2009.
35 years ago I was living in a town in the centre of France. Large numbers of refugees had come to Europe from Chile following Pinochet's military coup. Those I saw appeared to have very little and one meeting is seared into my memory.
It was during Sunday mass and a refugee woman carrying a small child came into the church. She walked directly to the altar and asked the priest for money. An uncomfortably direct appeal. The priest took her to the side and I watched as he discreetly give her some money. Relief.
Then she turned and walked down the aisle holding out her hand in turn to each of the members of that small congregation. Some refused. Then, she came to me..... I can still see her face.
It was a poignant moment. I was disturbed then, still am, and on returning home spent some time putting my thoughts into a poem. Here it is, 35 years later and sadly still relevant.
"The Refugee Woman and Child"
This morning I met the mother of God
As she held out her hand to say
Give me some money for my child in rags
I have asked and been turned away.
I gave her some centimes in loose change
Her eyes questioned,"Is that enough?"
And the paper money in my wallet
Is still there, richly folded up.
And now I think only of that young child
That we are nailing to a tree
"What you do to the least of my brethren,
Then, that so you do unto me".
From 1974 to 2009; from Chile to France; from Romania to Ireland. The more things change, the more they stay the same. Maybe not this time. Chris Tracey.
