1/ Re Skittles, a personal tale. After the Cambodian genocide began. My mom started taping pictures and headlines to our dining room wall.
2/ Mrs Pauls fish sticks and pictures of the Killing Fields, is how I remember those meals. “We have to do something,” she said.
3/ I was ~9. She started sponsoring refugees. We were clueless white people. There was no real preexisting Cambodian community in DCmetro.
4/ Our first sponsor’s husband and baby had been killed. She lived with us for two years, no one to talk to in her own language.
5/ Many followed. Horrible stories. One toddler had a crease across his nose from a bullet. Mass graves. Rapes.
6/ They’d endured unspeakable trauma. They came to a country where even the open-hearted were often blinkered and/or powerless.
7/ That trauma took its toll on all of them, some in more obvious ways. And it took its toll on my family too.
8/ Scars to us persist. But we were better for what they showed us about the capacity for healing. And they mostly did fine to outstanding.
9/ Donald Trump Jr, never has known hardship. Nor charity. There’s utterly no evidence his family has ever done good by anyone.
10/ He doesn’t know sacrifice. He’s a spoiled, racist blight upon the land. We are better than him and his fucking skittles bigotry.
11/ This country has had many ugly chapters. But the Trumps would be a self-inflicted blow to the ideals of America in every way.