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![Letters to Newtown: Preserving 500,000 Messages of Hope & Sorrow
This story was produced in partnership with Mother Jones and Newtown resident Ross MacDonald. For more information about the Letters to Newtown project, follow MoJo’s newly-launched Tumblr.
Walk into the Newtown town hall, and you see bin after bin of cards and letters — some 500,000 at least, more arriving every day. They line both sides of the long main hall and fill up the branching halls and offices. Posters, paintings, quilts, and flags cover the walls. There are banners from students at Columbine and Virginia Tech; there are letters from school kids across America and from people as far away as France and Australia. And there are boxes of Kleenex on every table for those who read them.
[[MORE]]
We are overwhelmed: residents like me, who were lucky enough to have our children come home that night; town leaders struggling to support the community and deal with the deluge of letters, toys, school supplies, and other donations sent to Newtown; and the volunteers who have been opening and sorting it all.
The spontaneous outdoor memorials that sprang up in Newtown after the shootings — the angels, teddy bears, Christmas trees, and other displays — became one of the symbols of this tragedy. But the many letters and cards and drawings that were mailed are less well known.
In their shock and grief, people were compelled to make these intensely raw, personal expressions, and send them to a town they probably hadn’t heard of before, not knowing if they would even reach us. They offered help, love, condolences, prayers. They came from children, parents, families, school classes, church groups, soldiers, mayors, survivors, inmates, and entire towns. The letters on display at town hall form a massive tapestry of a world’s sorrow.
When my wife and I visited them in early January, we ended up taking hundreds of photos, returning again and again. Others have been moved to do the same.
The town very respectfully cleared away most of the outdoor public memorials after a couple of weeks for incineration, the ash to be incorporated into a future permanent memorial site. When it announced that it would be doing the same with the cards and letters, we knew we had to try to save them. The town is emotionally overtaxed and lacks the funds and space to preserve them. But they are important to save — as an ongoing reminder of what happened and as a record of the world’s response.
So I reached out to the editors of Mother Jones, who’d published my account of the day of the shooting. They in turn reached out to Tumblr, and together we launched this project. We already have thousands of images, we’re gathering more, and we’ll be publishing batches every day until we run out. We have approached town officials about creating an extensive digital archive; it is my hope that we might also find a physical home for all these letters. Because the wisdom they express should not be lost to history. Take the words of one little girl named Brynn:
“Dear students and staff. I am sorry about your friends. I hope your school is safe from now on. I feel so bad for you. I don’t like to see people go. I am so sad. I wish people would stop being so mean.”
— Ross MacDonald](http://25.media.tumblr.com/3c84fc1ae00d679e6d44e6b999b65370/tumblr_mhtzpqrwkz1rrpm57o2_1280.jpg)
![Letters to Newtown: Preserving 500,000 Messages of Hope & Sorrow
This story was produced in partnership with Mother Jones and Newtown resident Ross MacDonald. For more information about the Letters to Newtown project, follow MoJo’s newly-launched Tumblr.
Walk into the Newtown town hall, and you see bin after bin of cards and letters — some 500,000 at least, more arriving every day. They line both sides of the long main hall and fill up the branching halls and offices. Posters, paintings, quilts, and flags cover the walls. There are banners from students at Columbine and Virginia Tech; there are letters from school kids across America and from people as far away as France and Australia. And there are boxes of Kleenex on every table for those who read them.
[[MORE]]
We are overwhelmed: residents like me, who were lucky enough to have our children come home that night; town leaders struggling to support the community and deal with the deluge of letters, toys, school supplies, and other donations sent to Newtown; and the volunteers who have been opening and sorting it all.
The spontaneous outdoor memorials that sprang up in Newtown after the shootings — the angels, teddy bears, Christmas trees, and other displays — became one of the symbols of this tragedy. But the many letters and cards and drawings that were mailed are less well known.
In their shock and grief, people were compelled to make these intensely raw, personal expressions, and send them to a town they probably hadn’t heard of before, not knowing if they would even reach us. They offered help, love, condolences, prayers. They came from children, parents, families, school classes, church groups, soldiers, mayors, survivors, inmates, and entire towns. The letters on display at town hall form a massive tapestry of a world’s sorrow.
When my wife and I visited them in early January, we ended up taking hundreds of photos, returning again and again. Others have been moved to do the same.
The town very respectfully cleared away most of the outdoor public memorials after a couple of weeks for incineration, the ash to be incorporated into a future permanent memorial site. When it announced that it would be doing the same with the cards and letters, we knew we had to try to save them. The town is emotionally overtaxed and lacks the funds and space to preserve them. But they are important to save — as an ongoing reminder of what happened and as a record of the world’s response.
So I reached out to the editors of Mother Jones, who’d published my account of the day of the shooting. They in turn reached out to Tumblr, and together we launched this project. We already have thousands of images, we’re gathering more, and we’ll be publishing batches every day until we run out. We have approached town officials about creating an extensive digital archive; it is my hope that we might also find a physical home for all these letters. Because the wisdom they express should not be lost to history. Take the words of one little girl named Brynn:
“Dear students and staff. I am sorry about your friends. I hope your school is safe from now on. I feel so bad for you. I don’t like to see people go. I am so sad. I wish people would stop being so mean.”
— Ross MacDonald](http://24.media.tumblr.com/56d547037f2807d34139206c30c9f7e7/tumblr_mhtzpqrwkz1rrpm57o7_r1_1280.jpg)
![Letters to Newtown: Preserving 500,000 Messages of Hope & Sorrow
This story was produced in partnership with Mother Jones and Newtown resident Ross MacDonald. For more information about the Letters to Newtown project, follow MoJo’s newly-launched Tumblr.
Walk into the Newtown town hall, and you see bin after bin of cards and letters — some 500,000 at least, more arriving every day. They line both sides of the long main hall and fill up the branching halls and offices. Posters, paintings, quilts, and flags cover the walls. There are banners from students at Columbine and Virginia Tech; there are letters from school kids across America and from people as far away as France and Australia. And there are boxes of Kleenex on every table for those who read them.
[[MORE]]
We are overwhelmed: residents like me, who were lucky enough to have our children come home that night; town leaders struggling to support the community and deal with the deluge of letters, toys, school supplies, and other donations sent to Newtown; and the volunteers who have been opening and sorting it all.
The spontaneous outdoor memorials that sprang up in Newtown after the shootings — the angels, teddy bears, Christmas trees, and other displays — became one of the symbols of this tragedy. But the many letters and cards and drawings that were mailed are less well known.
In their shock and grief, people were compelled to make these intensely raw, personal expressions, and send them to a town they probably hadn’t heard of before, not knowing if they would even reach us. They offered help, love, condolences, prayers. They came from children, parents, families, school classes, church groups, soldiers, mayors, survivors, inmates, and entire towns. The letters on display at town hall form a massive tapestry of a world’s sorrow.
When my wife and I visited them in early January, we ended up taking hundreds of photos, returning again and again. Others have been moved to do the same.
The town very respectfully cleared away most of the outdoor public memorials after a couple of weeks for incineration, the ash to be incorporated into a future permanent memorial site. When it announced that it would be doing the same with the cards and letters, we knew we had to try to save them. The town is emotionally overtaxed and lacks the funds and space to preserve them. But they are important to save — as an ongoing reminder of what happened and as a record of the world’s response.
So I reached out to the editors of Mother Jones, who’d published my account of the day of the shooting. They in turn reached out to Tumblr, and together we launched this project. We already have thousands of images, we’re gathering more, and we’ll be publishing batches every day until we run out. We have approached town officials about creating an extensive digital archive; it is my hope that we might also find a physical home for all these letters. Because the wisdom they express should not be lost to history. Take the words of one little girl named Brynn:
“Dear students and staff. I am sorry about your friends. I hope your school is safe from now on. I feel so bad for you. I don’t like to see people go. I am so sad. I wish people would stop being so mean.”
— Ross MacDonald](http://25.media.tumblr.com/c57bf56805dbac529ccd29f619c97334/tumblr_mhtzpqrwkz1rrpm57o8_r1_1280.jpg)
![Letters to Newtown: Preserving 500,000 Messages of Hope & Sorrow
This story was produced in partnership with Mother Jones and Newtown resident Ross MacDonald. For more information about the Letters to Newtown project, follow MoJo’s newly-launched Tumblr.
Walk into the Newtown town hall, and you see bin after bin of cards and letters — some 500,000 at least, more arriving every day. They line both sides of the long main hall and fill up the branching halls and offices. Posters, paintings, quilts, and flags cover the walls. There are banners from students at Columbine and Virginia Tech; there are letters from school kids across America and from people as far away as France and Australia. And there are boxes of Kleenex on every table for those who read them.
[[MORE]]
We are overwhelmed: residents like me, who were lucky enough to have our children come home that night; town leaders struggling to support the community and deal with the deluge of letters, toys, school supplies, and other donations sent to Newtown; and the volunteers who have been opening and sorting it all.
The spontaneous outdoor memorials that sprang up in Newtown after the shootings — the angels, teddy bears, Christmas trees, and other displays — became one of the symbols of this tragedy. But the many letters and cards and drawings that were mailed are less well known.
In their shock and grief, people were compelled to make these intensely raw, personal expressions, and send them to a town they probably hadn’t heard of before, not knowing if they would even reach us. They offered help, love, condolences, prayers. They came from children, parents, families, school classes, church groups, soldiers, mayors, survivors, inmates, and entire towns. The letters on display at town hall form a massive tapestry of a world’s sorrow.
When my wife and I visited them in early January, we ended up taking hundreds of photos, returning again and again. Others have been moved to do the same.
The town very respectfully cleared away most of the outdoor public memorials after a couple of weeks for incineration, the ash to be incorporated into a future permanent memorial site. When it announced that it would be doing the same with the cards and letters, we knew we had to try to save them. The town is emotionally overtaxed and lacks the funds and space to preserve them. But they are important to save — as an ongoing reminder of what happened and as a record of the world’s response.
So I reached out to the editors of Mother Jones, who’d published my account of the day of the shooting. They in turn reached out to Tumblr, and together we launched this project. We already have thousands of images, we’re gathering more, and we’ll be publishing batches every day until we run out. We have approached town officials about creating an extensive digital archive; it is my hope that we might also find a physical home for all these letters. Because the wisdom they express should not be lost to history. Take the words of one little girl named Brynn:
“Dear students and staff. I am sorry about your friends. I hope your school is safe from now on. I feel so bad for you. I don’t like to see people go. I am so sad. I wish people would stop being so mean.”
— Ross MacDonald](http://25.media.tumblr.com/30c7aa27108cbfcf7a0839795619c8fe/tumblr_mhtzpqrwkz1rrpm57o3_1280.jpg)
![Letters to Newtown: Preserving 500,000 Messages of Hope & Sorrow
This story was produced in partnership with Mother Jones and Newtown resident Ross MacDonald. For more information about the Letters to Newtown project, follow MoJo’s newly-launched Tumblr.
Walk into the Newtown town hall, and you see bin after bin of cards and letters — some 500,000 at least, more arriving every day. They line both sides of the long main hall and fill up the branching halls and offices. Posters, paintings, quilts, and flags cover the walls. There are banners from students at Columbine and Virginia Tech; there are letters from school kids across America and from people as far away as France and Australia. And there are boxes of Kleenex on every table for those who read them.
[[MORE]]
We are overwhelmed: residents like me, who were lucky enough to have our children come home that night; town leaders struggling to support the community and deal with the deluge of letters, toys, school supplies, and other donations sent to Newtown; and the volunteers who have been opening and sorting it all.
The spontaneous outdoor memorials that sprang up in Newtown after the shootings — the angels, teddy bears, Christmas trees, and other displays — became one of the symbols of this tragedy. But the many letters and cards and drawings that were mailed are less well known.
In their shock and grief, people were compelled to make these intensely raw, personal expressions, and send them to a town they probably hadn’t heard of before, not knowing if they would even reach us. They offered help, love, condolences, prayers. They came from children, parents, families, school classes, church groups, soldiers, mayors, survivors, inmates, and entire towns. The letters on display at town hall form a massive tapestry of a world’s sorrow.
When my wife and I visited them in early January, we ended up taking hundreds of photos, returning again and again. Others have been moved to do the same.
The town very respectfully cleared away most of the outdoor public memorials after a couple of weeks for incineration, the ash to be incorporated into a future permanent memorial site. When it announced that it would be doing the same with the cards and letters, we knew we had to try to save them. The town is emotionally overtaxed and lacks the funds and space to preserve them. But they are important to save — as an ongoing reminder of what happened and as a record of the world’s response.
So I reached out to the editors of Mother Jones, who’d published my account of the day of the shooting. They in turn reached out to Tumblr, and together we launched this project. We already have thousands of images, we’re gathering more, and we’ll be publishing batches every day until we run out. We have approached town officials about creating an extensive digital archive; it is my hope that we might also find a physical home for all these letters. Because the wisdom they express should not be lost to history. Take the words of one little girl named Brynn:
“Dear students and staff. I am sorry about your friends. I hope your school is safe from now on. I feel so bad for you. I don’t like to see people go. I am so sad. I wish people would stop being so mean.”
— Ross MacDonald](http://24.media.tumblr.com/515b2cebcd7fe24f93b0b3ac7700d04d/tumblr_mhtzpqrwkz1rrpm57o4_1280.jpg)
![Letters to Newtown: Preserving 500,000 Messages of Hope & Sorrow
This story was produced in partnership with Mother Jones and Newtown resident Ross MacDonald. For more information about the Letters to Newtown project, follow MoJo’s newly-launched Tumblr.
Walk into the Newtown town hall, and you see bin after bin of cards and letters — some 500,000 at least, more arriving every day. They line both sides of the long main hall and fill up the branching halls and offices. Posters, paintings, quilts, and flags cover the walls. There are banners from students at Columbine and Virginia Tech; there are letters from school kids across America and from people as far away as France and Australia. And there are boxes of Kleenex on every table for those who read them.
[[MORE]]
We are overwhelmed: residents like me, who were lucky enough to have our children come home that night; town leaders struggling to support the community and deal with the deluge of letters, toys, school supplies, and other donations sent to Newtown; and the volunteers who have been opening and sorting it all.
The spontaneous outdoor memorials that sprang up in Newtown after the shootings — the angels, teddy bears, Christmas trees, and other displays — became one of the symbols of this tragedy. But the many letters and cards and drawings that were mailed are less well known.
In their shock and grief, people were compelled to make these intensely raw, personal expressions, and send them to a town they probably hadn’t heard of before, not knowing if they would even reach us. They offered help, love, condolences, prayers. They came from children, parents, families, school classes, church groups, soldiers, mayors, survivors, inmates, and entire towns. The letters on display at town hall form a massive tapestry of a world’s sorrow.
When my wife and I visited them in early January, we ended up taking hundreds of photos, returning again and again. Others have been moved to do the same.
The town very respectfully cleared away most of the outdoor public memorials after a couple of weeks for incineration, the ash to be incorporated into a future permanent memorial site. When it announced that it would be doing the same with the cards and letters, we knew we had to try to save them. The town is emotionally overtaxed and lacks the funds and space to preserve them. But they are important to save — as an ongoing reminder of what happened and as a record of the world’s response.
So I reached out to the editors of Mother Jones, who’d published my account of the day of the shooting. They in turn reached out to Tumblr, and together we launched this project. We already have thousands of images, we’re gathering more, and we’ll be publishing batches every day until we run out. We have approached town officials about creating an extensive digital archive; it is my hope that we might also find a physical home for all these letters. Because the wisdom they express should not be lost to history. Take the words of one little girl named Brynn:
“Dear students and staff. I am sorry about your friends. I hope your school is safe from now on. I feel so bad for you. I don’t like to see people go. I am so sad. I wish people would stop being so mean.”
— Ross MacDonald](http://24.media.tumblr.com/15bb0473b99d0f78439a990491f4bfd0/tumblr_mhtzpqrwkz1rrpm57o1_1280.jpg)
![Letters to Newtown: Preserving 500,000 Messages of Hope & Sorrow
This story was produced in partnership with Mother Jones and Newtown resident Ross MacDonald. For more information about the Letters to Newtown project, follow MoJo’s newly-launched Tumblr.
Walk into the Newtown town hall, and you see bin after bin of cards and letters — some 500,000 at least, more arriving every day. They line both sides of the long main hall and fill up the branching halls and offices. Posters, paintings, quilts, and flags cover the walls. There are banners from students at Columbine and Virginia Tech; there are letters from school kids across America and from people as far away as France and Australia. And there are boxes of Kleenex on every table for those who read them.
[[MORE]]
We are overwhelmed: residents like me, who were lucky enough to have our children come home that night; town leaders struggling to support the community and deal with the deluge of letters, toys, school supplies, and other donations sent to Newtown; and the volunteers who have been opening and sorting it all.
The spontaneous outdoor memorials that sprang up in Newtown after the shootings — the angels, teddy bears, Christmas trees, and other displays — became one of the symbols of this tragedy. But the many letters and cards and drawings that were mailed are less well known.
In their shock and grief, people were compelled to make these intensely raw, personal expressions, and send them to a town they probably hadn’t heard of before, not knowing if they would even reach us. They offered help, love, condolences, prayers. They came from children, parents, families, school classes, church groups, soldiers, mayors, survivors, inmates, and entire towns. The letters on display at town hall form a massive tapestry of a world’s sorrow.
When my wife and I visited them in early January, we ended up taking hundreds of photos, returning again and again. Others have been moved to do the same.
The town very respectfully cleared away most of the outdoor public memorials after a couple of weeks for incineration, the ash to be incorporated into a future permanent memorial site. When it announced that it would be doing the same with the cards and letters, we knew we had to try to save them. The town is emotionally overtaxed and lacks the funds and space to preserve them. But they are important to save — as an ongoing reminder of what happened and as a record of the world’s response.
So I reached out to the editors of Mother Jones, who’d published my account of the day of the shooting. They in turn reached out to Tumblr, and together we launched this project. We already have thousands of images, we’re gathering more, and we’ll be publishing batches every day until we run out. We have approached town officials about creating an extensive digital archive; it is my hope that we might also find a physical home for all these letters. Because the wisdom they express should not be lost to history. Take the words of one little girl named Brynn:
“Dear students and staff. I am sorry about your friends. I hope your school is safe from now on. I feel so bad for you. I don’t like to see people go. I am so sad. I wish people would stop being so mean.”
— Ross MacDonald](http://25.media.tumblr.com/d286a19889748b50041799520d3f06a4/tumblr_mhtzpqrwkz1rrpm57o5_1280.jpg)
![Letters to Newtown: Preserving 500,000 Messages of Hope & Sorrow
This story was produced in partnership with Mother Jones and Newtown resident Ross MacDonald. For more information about the Letters to Newtown project, follow MoJo’s newly-launched Tumblr.
Walk into the Newtown town hall, and you see bin after bin of cards and letters — some 500,000 at least, more arriving every day. They line both sides of the long main hall and fill up the branching halls and offices. Posters, paintings, quilts, and flags cover the walls. There are banners from students at Columbine and Virginia Tech; there are letters from school kids across America and from people as far away as France and Australia. And there are boxes of Kleenex on every table for those who read them.
[[MORE]]
We are overwhelmed: residents like me, who were lucky enough to have our children come home that night; town leaders struggling to support the community and deal with the deluge of letters, toys, school supplies, and other donations sent to Newtown; and the volunteers who have been opening and sorting it all.
The spontaneous outdoor memorials that sprang up in Newtown after the shootings — the angels, teddy bears, Christmas trees, and other displays — became one of the symbols of this tragedy. But the many letters and cards and drawings that were mailed are less well known.
In their shock and grief, people were compelled to make these intensely raw, personal expressions, and send them to a town they probably hadn’t heard of before, not knowing if they would even reach us. They offered help, love, condolences, prayers. They came from children, parents, families, school classes, church groups, soldiers, mayors, survivors, inmates, and entire towns. The letters on display at town hall form a massive tapestry of a world’s sorrow.
When my wife and I visited them in early January, we ended up taking hundreds of photos, returning again and again. Others have been moved to do the same.
The town very respectfully cleared away most of the outdoor public memorials after a couple of weeks for incineration, the ash to be incorporated into a future permanent memorial site. When it announced that it would be doing the same with the cards and letters, we knew we had to try to save them. The town is emotionally overtaxed and lacks the funds and space to preserve them. But they are important to save — as an ongoing reminder of what happened and as a record of the world’s response.
So I reached out to the editors of Mother Jones, who’d published my account of the day of the shooting. They in turn reached out to Tumblr, and together we launched this project. We already have thousands of images, we’re gathering more, and we’ll be publishing batches every day until we run out. We have approached town officials about creating an extensive digital archive; it is my hope that we might also find a physical home for all these letters. Because the wisdom they express should not be lost to history. Take the words of one little girl named Brynn:
“Dear students and staff. I am sorry about your friends. I hope your school is safe from now on. I feel so bad for you. I don’t like to see people go. I am so sad. I wish people would stop being so mean.”
— Ross MacDonald](http://25.media.tumblr.com/068441700c65819d71135e12b02ed97b/tumblr_mhtzpqrwkz1rrpm57o6_1280.jpg)
Letters to Newtown: Preserving 500,000 Messages of Hope & Sorrow
This story was produced in partnership with Mother Jones and Newtown resident Ross MacDonald. For more information about the Letters to Newtown project, follow MoJo’s newly-launched Tumblr.
Walk into the Newtown town hall, and you see bin after bin of cards and letters — some 500,000 at least, more arriving every day. They line both sides of the long main hall and fill up the branching halls and offices. Posters, paintings, quilts, and flags cover the walls. There are banners from students at Columbine and Virginia Tech; there are letters from school kids across America and from people as far away as France and Australia. And there are boxes of Kleenex on every table for those who read them.
View post 2,139 notes -
How a Gun Control Petition Went from Tumblr to Washington DC
I created the petition “Immediately address the issue of control through the introduction of legislation in Congress” as a knee-jerk reaction in mid-December of last year. It was a way of gaining control over a situation I had no control over. After the awful extent of the Sandy Hook shootings became clear, I felt disoriented. The mind tends to turn toward blame, but the murder of twenty children and six school officials was, and will always be, a hard thing to wrap my head around.
I knew that if there ever were a tipping point for effective gun control, this would be it. So, I wrote a petition. My primary goal was to appeal to both sides of the debate. Writing an incendiary, partisan petition benefits no one. The vast majority of gun owners are people who have the Constitutional right to own one, several, or many guns, and singling these people out was wrong. Simply put, the petition was intended to start a realistic dialogue about guns and their role in the United States. We have a gun problem, plain and simple.
View post 1,738 notes -
‘D’ Is for Divorce: Sesame Street Tackles Another Touchy Topic
This story was produced in partnership with Time.com
In early 1992, a census report predicted that 40 percent of children would soon live in divorced homes. As one of the most famous children’s television programs in the world, Sesame Street was determined to take on a topic most kid’s shows wouldn’t touch. They cast Snuffy, a.k.a. Mr. Snuffleupagus, for the part of child divorcee.
With a team of its best writers, researchers, and producers, a segment was scripted and shot. It went through a half-dozen revisions, with input from the foremost researchers in the field. And on a typical sunny afternoon on Sesame Street, the furry, red, elephantine muppet known as Snuffy prepared to drop the bomb on his loyal preschool viewers.
“My dad is moving out of our cave,” he confides to Big Bird one afternoon, distraught after knocking over a house built of blocks. “I’m not sure where,” he continues, crying. “Some cave across town.”
Big Bird, naturally, is horrified. “But why?” he asks his friend.
Snuffy blinks his long, dark eyelashes, and pauses. We know what’s coming. Well, he explains, “because of something called a divorce.”
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In Storm-Ravaged Rockaways, Voting — Against All Odds
At 6:45 a.m. the line was already a dozen deep as the polling super site in Far Rockaway, Queens, struggled to open. The gas for the electric generators, lights and six port-a-johns provided by FEMA had been stolen overnight. Poll workers fumbled with flashlights to set up the polling stations.
View post 134 notes -
Introducing: This Month in Charts
July 2012 brought the heat. We’ve decided to return the favor by bringing the first installment of the hottest new series on the whole internet, This Month in Charts. Brought to you by the folks at I Love Charts.
Starting Off with a Bang
July kicked off with the most explosive of holidays, especially if you happened to be attending the fireworks show in San Diego.
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Bir Dufan, Libya | July 15, 2012
Members of the Libyan Shield military unit from Zlitan patrol the volatile desert region bordering the pro-Gaddafi enclave of Bani Walid and revolutionary Misrata.
For the next week, conflict photographer Ben Lowy, on a grant from the Magnum Foundation’s Emergency Fund, will be shooting from Libya on the first-ever photojournalism inspired Hipstamatic lens — and posting exclusively to Tumblr. Check out Lowy’s Tumblr and Storyboard for more. Also see our interview with the photographer.
(All photos by Benjamin Lowy/Getty Reportage)
View post 1,311 notes
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