It’s often said that modern photographs can sometimes evoke the feel of Renaissance art, and I couldn’t help but think of that when I saw the recent image of a newborn baby boy. This little one came into the world on a cramped boat off Lanzarote’s coast. Renaissance artists didn’t always nail the realism in their baby depictions, but this baby, with his tender face and thick hair, is as vivid and authentic as it gets. Yet, in the raw emotions captured, there’s an unmistakable artistry: the way weary bodies twist towards him and his mother, arms reaching out, creating a powerful composition that surprises for an amateur photograph.
I can’t begin to imagine what the new mother endured. Being in labor, especially early on in those dire circumstances, let alone reaching the point of giving birth, is beyond comprehension. It’s another testament to the astounding physical and emotional strength women possess.
Perhaps what moved me the most was how this baby’s arrival was recounted. Captain Domingo Trujillo, aboard the Talía rescue ship, shared his act of comfort, “I covered him up and held him close to stop his cries.” Meanwhile, helicopter pilot Álvaro Serrano Pérez remarked, “On Three Kings Day, this baby was the best gift we could ever receive.” In an era where discussions on migration often drip with hostility, calling a migrant baby a “gift” strikes a rare and poignant chord, as all newborns should be celebrated.
Against this backdrop, Foreign Secretary David Lammy has revealed new sanctions aimed at tackling “migrant exploitation.” He couches immigration in terms of broader global dangers, while simultaneously asserting a focus on aiding “the most vulnerable.” While I firmly agree that halting the perilous actions of people smugglers is essential, the language employed here stands out. The narrative on migration in the British press often mirrors an exercise in dehumanization. Human stories tied to each exodus across seas and lands remain oddly concealed behind terms like “irregular migration.” Even if Lammy isn’t using derogatory analogies, his party’s rhetoric and policies seem to cater to right-leaning views, appearing less sincerely progressive on migration than claimed.
However, in stark contrast stands this beautiful baby. It’s not so simple to sideline the humanity of newborns. Nevertheless, there seems to be a global struggle in this regard, particularly with the vulnerable babies in Gaza suffering atrocious conditions. Once boys grow older, especially those with different skin tones, the narrative shifts. They’re quickly labeled, sometimes as potential threats. Hopefully, this baby won’t encounter such prejudices, living for now blissfully unaware of the volatile world he’s entered. He’s just a small child, unwittingly born amid a brave mother’s daunting journey.
Pregnancy is a shared experience that can make one ponder the plight of refugee women too. I remember my own worries during pregnancy and often thought of those women traversing vast distances, escaping war, and bearing life in grim conditions. Migration is woven into our history, with millions of babies being born amidst relentless upheaval. No wonder the gentle rocking and swaying of travel brings such comfort to infants. We spent most of our evolutionary past as nomads, and that quest for motion courses through our humanity.
Dr. Gabor Maté’s reflection on prenatal stress recently resonated with me. Born in war-torn Hungary, his tale of survival at the mercy of strangers underscores how perilous experiences leave lasting imprints, yet can also foster profound empathy—an empathy that’s desperately needed today.
We need more of this compassion. It’s surfaced in society sporadically, only to fade away too soon. When Assad’s fall from power in Syria stirred remembrance of young Alan Kurdi, we were reminded of the fleeting nature of public empathy. This newborn could have succumbed to a fate similar to so many before him.
Just last fall, a tragic incident in the Channel claimed the lives of six children and a pregnant woman. The subsequent month saw the deaths of an infant and a toddler. Such heart-wrenching journeys will persist, and I hold onto the hope, perhaps naively, that our shared humanity will someday transform the dialogue surrounding migration. Those rescue workers, with their genuine acts of compassion and joy, exemplify the empathy we should strive for.
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