Hearts represent the children PACT authorities have removed from their parents’ custody, conveying the depth of this loss by comparing their loss to the absence of a vital organ. The first heart appears as graffiti outside the Harvard dining hall, a spray painted red behemoth accompanied by Margaret’s infamous phrase: “BRING BACK OUR MISSING HEARTS.” Bird connects the heart’s appearance to other mysterious art installations that spring up across the country, and he recognizes its meaning as a rare, open protest of PACT. The second instance of artistic protest that Bird witnesses again invokes the color red and the phrase “missing hearts,” this time connecting the imagery to the re-placed children through including knit dolls in the art installation. Bird’s early understanding of the hearts, then, associates them with kids like Sadie who have been taken from their parents, and they also bring to mind his mother and the mystery of her absence.
After Bird reunites with his mother, Margaret provides a deeper context for the hearts at the center of the protests. The line about “all our missing hearts” appears in a poem about motherhood that Margaret wrote while she was pregnant with Bird. In the poem, the line refers specifically to pomegranate seeds, likening them to children who move away from their parents’ influence, sprouting and flourishing in ways unknown to the original fruit (or parent) that produced them. This line resonated with protester Marie Johnson, reminding her of the parents whose children PACT had scattered. Marie’s use of the phrase led to it being co-opted by the larger anti-PACT movement after Marie’s death. In the context of Margaret’s poem and her relationship with Bird, the symbol of the heart more generally represents the complexities of parent-child relationships, which inherently involve separating from a parent as the child grows and changes.
Hearts Quotes in Our Missing Hearts
You’d have to be a lunatic, Bird had agreed, to overturn PACT. PACT had helped end the Crisis; PACT kept things peaceful and safe. Even kindergarteners knew that. PACT was common sense, really. If you acted unpatriotic, there would be consequences. If you didn’t, then what were you worried about? And if you saw or heard of something unpatriotic, it was your duty to let the authorities know. He has never known a world without PACT; it is as axiomatic as gravity, or Thou shalt not kill. He didn’t understand why anyone would oppose it, what any of this had to do with hearts, how a heart could be missing. How could you survive without your heart beating inside you?
It’s too late: already passersby are slipping phones from pockets and bags, quietly snapping photos without breaking stride. They will be texted and posted everywhere soon. Beneath the trees, the officers circle the trunks, pistols dangling at their hips. One of them pushes his visor back up over his head; another sets his plexiglass shield down on the grass. They are equipped for violence, but not for this.
From within, Bird kicked at her, gently this time. As if playing a game. Did the pomegranate know, she thought, did it ever wonder where they went, how they turned out. If they’d ever managed to grow. All those bits of its missing heart. Scattered, to sprout elsewhere.
Over and over they came, her own words echoing back to her, not on signs or in marches this time but woven into strange happenings, things so odd—half protest, half art—that they caught people’s attention, forcing them to take note; things that unsettled them days and weeks later, knotting a tangle in the chest.