THERE WAS A CHILD … who cowered as soldiers came for her father. THERE WAS A FATHER, taken away and returned home broken, battered.
There was this not-so-distant time we lived in, grew up in. That is why we say #NeverForget and #NeverAgain.
A time that is a blot on our history, a national shame, a stain on the nation’s soul. A blot that spread because many of us shrugged when we saw strangers dragged from their homes, dumped on the streets, in ditches, on a sugarcane field. A blot that spread and spread and spread as we looked away. A blot that one day breached our illusions of safety.
There was that time.
And there is today.
A CHILD WHO COULD NOT SAVE HIS FATHER and brothers and cousins — also children — when the soldiers came.
A daughter who could not save her father, a sister who wishes she could have borne a sibling’s burden of grief and trauma.
Children, thousands of them in 95 schools, forced to flee because soldiers demand the only education allowed is that which parrots their message.
Fathers, again many fathers, taken away, returned home battered, broken and sometimes dead.
A father who sang and farmed and danced with his children.
A father whose biological offspring shared him with other children.
A father who stepped in when disputes flared in the community. 
A father whose child weeps even as he bids a hunted man to take to the open fields and roam free, strong and brave — on land their ancestors called home.
There was that time.
And there is today.
And there are two sons who mouth platitudes about their fathers and betray what they have not learned.
And there are those of us who still remain silent and provide excuses for those who killed — and kill. There are those who try to hide the red blot that spread — and spreads… and spreads… and spreads.
indayvarona 