This evening I saw a woman lost in grief. She was crying so that it was hard to speak. She was small in stature and seemed lost in the vast clean lines of the television studio.
The interviewer was kind and compassionate. The questions were gently put but the context was too sharp and painful to be alleviated by softness.
Next to her, the head-teacher spoke fluently and occasionally offered a comforting hand, reaching out to the distress.
A mother whose daughter was to be deported.
A mother who was helpless to ensure that her daughter could complete her A level course before being sent away.
A mother who was lost - lost in the exercise of justice without compassion.
This evening I saw a woman who was lost.
This evening my heart ached for her.
A reflection on Lost by stephen Cherry and the decision to deport Yashika Bageerathi.
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