No. Injustice never really goes away. In the paradise of illusions around us, sometimes it appears as if the world is a dynamite of filtered transparency and equality but in reality it’s not. It’s a filthy place full of filthy governments, institutions of violence and hubs of ignorance.
There are days when it’s all picture perfect and, then, one fine morning you wake up to the news of Ghaza blown to smithereens in the span of a micro moment. Cherry on the top the perpetrator is doing it and has been doing it for years in the name of justice. Is this the same justice that every Palestinian heart prays for while going to bed (which can be her death bed any second) every night? Or is it some other specie of justice? It might be the one I tried to ignore while passing a mean comment the other day. Remember when we all gathered and laughed on the ones who could never speak for themselves!
The voiceless plants in your backyard. The unheard lights of dreams. Those with wounded palms and empty eyes. Is their justice different from the justice that a Palestinian deserves? I don’t know the answer of all these questions but one thing I know is my inability to make sense of human inhumanity. What’s all it for, Foucault (?) when we are dying anyway?
While I am writing these words, hope must be hiding in her neck of the woods. Just like injustice you too never leave. Or do you? You stay. Linger like the helplessness of those who do not have the privilege of coping mechanisms. Right there. Yeah we know. Your sarcasm reaches us nonetheless, dearest, like the way you do.
(Picture taken by me)
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