There’s Blood in The Soil

I’m so glad I live in Canada

-well, are you?

A/N: A journal I wrote for an Honors seminar about race and memory

On the 3rd of June 2019, a report came out stating that up to 4,000 indigenous women and LGBTQ+ individuals have been either killed or gone missing since 1980. This issue is rightly being called a genocide and the report [carried over three years] has since then forced Canada to grapple with its turbulent and horrifying history. Upon reading about this issue, I am not surprised or shocked to learn about the details of the report or the ways in which Canada has reacted to it being dragged so forcefully to the forefront of their minds. There is an Igbo [Eastern Nigerian] proverb that says, if a deceitful person buries himself, one of his arms will stick out—the truth will always find its way out.

The past can never be obsolete; the nature of being present, of happening and existing is so perpetual and it can never be challenged. The past returns to the present, to our news cycle because it is its destiny to do so. There are certain pasts that demand to be acknowledged and there are injustices that force their way into reconciliation. Even if they don’t get to their final destination, once they burst through the seams, they will never leave us alone. This is the reason why racist tweets cannot simply be laid to rest; a moment can never be snatched back from the fabric of time.

This class is already teaching us to take things with a grain of salt because one of the fundamental things about memory and the act of remembrance is the fact that its bears a different taste on the tongues of different people and also that this taste is determined by those with power and influence, those who get to do the remembering. This class teaches us to search behind the curtains, peer into the fire and most of all, dig up the earth and take a closer look because there’s blood in the soil.

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