The Children Are Dead. Why Are We Crying For Lindsay Clancy?

You’d have to be living on an island with no cell service and zero connection to the outside world not to see the constant stream of white women doing choreographed dances, recording tearful rants, or — best of all — holding a helpless baby while they cry for the camera with tags like “Same Lindsay.”

Really? REALLY?

If you’re saying “Same Lindsay” while holding a helpless baby, then please add your demographic information to your video so I can call the police. These women should be investigated. Their children should be checked on. A mother who looks into a camera, holds her own child, and publicly identifies with a woman who strangled three of hers is not making an empathy statement. She is raising a red flag.

I’ve said this before, and I’ll say it again: while I don’t enjoy every downside of being in my 40s, I am grateful to be part of a generation where accountability and human decency still mean something.

My first experience with public death and trauma came when I was six years old. A nun rolled a television on a cart into the cafeteria at St. Ursula’s so the entire school — kindergarten through eighth grade — could watch the Challenger explode live. We watched it. Nothing was said. Then we all went back to our classrooms. That night, my dad asked if I had seen it and if I understood what happened. He made sure I knew that seven innocent astronauts had died and that it was a time for the country to mourn.

I am lucky to have had him. I came of age watching the Oklahoma City bombing, Columbine, and September 11th unfold in that order. By the time I was 22, empathy had a permanent place in my body, and accountability and justice sat high on my list of priorities. (Read more from “The Children Are Dead. Why Are We Crying For Lindsay Clancy?” HERE)

Photo credit: Boston 25 News/YouTube