All those years before the revolution the Old Man begged our people to Come Home. Begged and pleaded, cajoled and cursed, berated and mocked and threatened, anything to get them to come to the Homeland. Most of them sat on their lazy asses in the United States for how many years? Five, ten, fifteen? When at any time they could have gotten up, packed their gear and come to our people’s Home, legally! Now our people from all the world over risk their lives every day to come here. In some countries a white person can be sentenced to death for any attempt to emigrate to the Northwest Republic, sent to prison for so much as speaking about it. In the United States it’s a felony hatecrime. You know, sometimes I wonder if there are any of those left back there who heard the Old Man’s call back in the old days, when they were young? Who didn’t come when all they had to do was pack their suitcases and hire a moving van? And now, if there are of those old people left, do they turn on their TVs and see white people running the border, the mines and the sensors and the fences and the razor wire, the helicopter gunships and the machine gun nests to get here? I wonder what goes through their minds? I wonder if they understand what a precious gift they threw away in their confusion and their laziness, back in the early part of this century when all they had to do was to cut out all their stupid crap and listen to that one voice of desperate illumination calling to them for the Northwest?
--“The Hill of the Ravens”, pg 253
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment