Dear Aunty Pat,
As the voices of our ancestors, the young voices of silenced generations, the firm-footed of the unfairly removed, the reach of the retreated and the kings and queens of our descendants, we remember.
We remember the drama of our nation. We remember the first democratic election. We remember the rainbow nationism. The false payoff lines of perceived patriotism. We remember the call to celebrate our differences. We vividly recall being part of a new nation only to find ourselves wordless in a country with old norms. We see the crushing cruelty towards our aunts, uncles, grandparents. We see the money pouring into the seats of our culture, our lives, but we never see it stay. We see the betrayal, we witness no betterment.
We remember thinking that efforts to sustain, maintain, restore and revise our history were futile. We remember the devastation on the faces of a forgotten people staring from between the rails on the colourful cob
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