Twice yesterday, I had tears in my eyes reading the news. Tears of joy. And tears of utter sadness.
After six dreadful years in captivity, former political candidate Ingrid Betancourt and three American contractors were rescued from their bondage as hostages of Columbia’s FARC rebel regime. I’ve been following this for a long time now, checking in every so often to see if there was news that somehow hadn’t made the US popular news. But the hostages stayed put, apparently the target of amazing torture at the hands of their captors. With the recent fatal heart attack of the guerilla army’s leader, it was clear something was going to happen soon. And it did happen, in the form of a wild rescue by operatives who duped the local rebel faction into delivering all four of the high profile captives as well as their own sadistic leader. My boyfriend asked if Kiefer Sutherland was one of the rescuers because it sounded like some kind of crazy “24” plot.
The second source of my tears is one I am having trouble writing about. The lifeless body of 12-year-old Brooke Bennett was found dumped not far from her uncle’s home in Vermont. Her uncle and stepfather appear to have been partcipants in an abusive sex ring that targeted young girls. I’ve read of at least two other victims so far who have been attacked by the monsters involved in this sick shit. If there is any kind of justice in the world, the people responsible for hurting these innocent victims will spend their lives in prison with huge uber-violently sadistic rape-happy cellmates. I could rail against the sickness of the world. I could scream in anger about women who expose their kids to dangerous known predators. But…I can’t think any more on this subject because my stomach is flipping over.
Two examples of victimization. One ends in freedom for the captured. The other ends in a different kind of freedom from the pain. My heartfelt prayers go out for you both.