I’m the New Zealand-born son of refugees.
My parents fled violence and oppression in their home country, leaving almost everything behind.
Dislocated by war and fascism, they met in Wellington.
If Europe’s borders had been closed to them; if New Zealand hadn’t accepted them as refugees, I wouldn’t exist. My kids wouldn’t be here.
So the cold hardheartedness with which some Kiwis appear to regard today’s refugees streaming out of war zones chills me.
That’s what’s on my mind as I watch and listen to ‘Human’ by Christina Perri. Identification.
For other humans.