When the planes hit the twin towers on September 11, 2001, I was the Director of a Centre supporting youth in and from care living on their own across the Greater Toronto Area. I remember ironing my shirt at home watching CNN as the first tower was hit. By the time I made it to work at the Centre the second tower had fallen and it seemed the world had changed but no one seemed quite sure what that change might mean.
In 2001 our centre was a strong community of hundreds of young people who were struggling (in the best sense of the word) to overcome the barriers presented by the tough life circumstances that brought them into care, and to overcome the challenges presented by a life parented by an unforgiving system. I was not surprised that many young people called and arrived at the centre throughout that day, skipping school or work just to be together and watch the news and what was unfolding. I suppose this was like many “families”.
That evening we ordered pizza and a group of 25 of us shared dinner and a good deal of talk. One 16 year old, I can hear her today, looked up from her plate and just said “Why does shit happen? I mean, “ she said “ Why was I abused? Why do I have to move from home to home? Why did all the people die in New York even though they didn’t deserve to?” Tears streaming down her cheeks she exclaimed “That’s why I don’t believe in God. He could never let this happen.”
The group was stunned into silence until someone spoke up “Go ahead Irwin aren’t you going to answer her?” I didn’t have an answer and said so. She posed questions I had thought about myself. The young people gathered then decided that they wanted an answer and they made a plan to reach out to a Minister, an Imam and a Rabbi to join them in the coming days to help them find an answer. I was grateful that clerics were more than willing. In the next few days as word of the meeting spread through our centre’s community, we realized that over 100 youth were expected. Staff of Children’s Aid Societies in Toronto began asking if they could attend as well. Not to observe or even help but to learn and reflect. The young people generously invited workers in.
The meeting itself was remarkable in many ways but not because any answers were collectively reached. Each cleric, with respect, answered the questions from their faith and beliefs. They knew better than to push young people into any answers to their questions about God and their spiritual search, understanding that adolescents resist that approach at the best of times. It was the first time that many young people had felt safe enough to engage in a spiritual dialogue.
That meeting taught all involved that children in care have spiritual needs. That we needed to be taught this, said so much more about us than the children we served. A youth said to me at some point later “Duh! Did you forget that we are people. Of course we have those questions and if we trust you we want to talk. “ He went on “You might think it’s some kind of risk to talk to us about religion and stuff but actually for us it’s a risk to not let us talk about it”.
I think about all of this as I sit at home self isolating during this pandemic. In a virtual town hall the other day a child remarked “This pandemic is a test of the mental toughness and resilience of children in care”. I wondered, “Who is she talking to about the deep questions she has? Is there anybody there for her?” There should be.