Kati Short writes

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^{Je suis Charlie}

^{Soy una mujer desaparecida}

^{I am the woman in Mexico, Chile,}

^{Nicaragua disappeared and buried}

^{in an unmarked grave.}

^{I am Michael Brown’s mother}

^{I am Eric Garner’s sister and I cannot breathe.}

^{I am a mother in Afghanistan}

^{longing to send my daughter to school}

^{and a woman in Iraq trying to keep}

^{my children safe from armies.}

^{I am a Syrian refugee, an Israeli grandmother,}

^{I am families in Nigeria grieving the loss}

^{of our daughter, one of the 276 taken one day.}

^{I am a mother whose son lies dead on the battlefield,}

^{a wife who bravely yet tearfully accepts the}

^{folded flag.  My heart breaks with every}

^{newscast, every new report of madness, the hate}

^{our world is enduring.  I’m reminded of the scripture}

^{“and Jesus wept,” and I too weep and know in}

^{my head, in my heart that Mohamed,}

^{Siddhartha Gautama, Vishnu, Mother Teresa, St. Veronica--}

^{all the prophets and all the teachers and}

^{all the saints and even God cry with me.}

^{I am an American so my instinct impels me to violence.}

^{Throw something in a bay, riot, revolt, yell and scream}

^{until someone hears me, but there must be another  way.}

^{There must be a way to find common ground.}

^{I cannot fix the whole world, but I can try,}

^{try to treat the world with kindness—random acts,}

^{considered acts, planned acts, spontaneous acts}

^{of kindness.  And I can offer more hugs.}