And anyway, one day, someone will ask us where we were. It won’t matter that most of us are doomed to impotence. Intellectual alibis will not count, and not even the most sophisticated and specious positions. The simple fact that it happened will matter. And that we let it happen. And maybe even this grown-up child will ask us why. This child I see in his family’s car, unaware. What is an evacuation? What is a war? He, among dozens of refugees, fleeing the cities controlled by the Russians.
One day they will ask us where we were. While there were those who died in the Mediterranean. While a child found himself among people fleeing bombed cities. And we won’t know what to answer.