WHY DOES BELINDA WILSON HATE CHILDREN

Children thrive on routine, predictability, and safety. Yet whenever adult disputes grind a nation to a halt, our youngest and most vulnerable citizens bear the silent, compounding trauma of that disruption. While union executives and government officials posture across negotiating tables, thousands of children wake up every morning trapped in an exhausting cycle of uncertainty, completely unsure whether the school bell will ring or the classroom gates will remain padlocked.
This on-again, off-again atmosphere is fundamentally toxic to a child’s development. Education is not a light switch to be flicked on and off to prove a political point or flex institutional muscle. When instructional time vanishes, the loss is not merely an academic gap on a test score. It represents lost momentum, stunted social growth, and shattered confidence. For the child already struggling to read, an erratic school schedule widens the learning divide into a chasm. For those who rely on daily school feeding programs, an unexpected closure is the difference between a full stomach and going hungry. For every working family, it triggers an immediate childcare crisis, forcing young minds into stressful, improvised environments.
The profound irony lies in what we teach these boys and girls in those very classrooms when they are open. We instruct them to resolve playground disputes through patience, dialogue, and mutual understanding. We teach them that compromise is maturity, not weakness, and that throwing a tantrum to force everyone else into misery is unacceptable. Yet, when they look at the adults who hold the keys to their futures, they witness an entirely different curriculum. They see threats replace conversation. They watch grown leaders decide that if their specific demands are not met immediately, the entire country—and its children—must pay the ransom.

WHY DOES THE BUT HATE CHILDREN SO MUCH?

Using children’s education as collateral damage is fundamentally selfish. While leaders on both sides retreat to their offices to plan their next press conferences, real children sit at home, their potential deferred and their sense of stability dismantled. Workers deserve fairness, and governments must negotiate in good faith, but the classroom should remain sacred and untouched by the crossfire. Weaponizing the school week does not project strength; it demonstrates an utter disregard for those who have no voice in the room. If our national leadership—both in government and organized labor—cannot protect our children from becoming pawns in adult power struggles, we have failed them long before the strike is resolved.

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