Echoes of ‘Dead Ends’: Reflections on Making Sense

apostolos — Tue, 16 Apr 2019 22:25:09 +0000

From the cracks of sovereignty’s walls, blood is dripping: the color is bright red. Whose blood is it? Is it the blood of the revolutionary who was beaten to death at the prison where he was held in custody? Is it the transsexual’s, who was beaten till her bones were broken and nobody cared in Eryaman? Is it the young man’s who was shot by the police just because he did not obey the stop warning? Is it the child’s who was chased to death just because he was selling handkerchiefs? Or, is it the blood of the young men to whom guns are given while being forced to kill? Is it the blood of those who were condemned to civil death because of their refusal to kill and die? Is it the homosexuals’ who were killed in the crossfire? Is it the blood of all those people lost while in custody? Or is it the blood of the prisoners who were smashed to bits by bulldozers and bullets in order put an end to their hunger strike? Is it the blood of the woman raped to death? Is it the young boy’s blood whose body was shattered by rifle bullets while he was trying to hide behind his dad’s legs in fear? Or, is it the youngsters’ who were shouting their anger in their mother tongue? Is it the blood of those who were forced to abandon their homes, towns or villages, and found murdered just because of their ethnic origin? Or, is it the blood of my brother, Alexis, whose heart stopped beating inside his body but who gave a pulse to the whole world? Walls cannot hide the cruelty that is being concealed. Anger rises and it runs all over: the color turns to deep black. Our brothers and sisters in Greece showed us how we can light the dark streets of our hostage lives with bright fires while this anger overtakes us. We were feeding this anger inside ourselves before and we still do.

Avramopoulou, E. – To Archeio

Echoes of ‘Dead Ends’: Reflections on Making Sense