On the occasion of Holocaust Memorial Day I remember my own family: those who perished in the camps; those who fled and disappeared, never to be seen again; those who hid and were hidden; those who were taken; and those who, with luck and kindness--or with great and terrible foresight--survived.

I was taught, as a child, never again. Never again will the world know such horror, such suffering, such death. And not only has it happened many times over--it continues. 

On the occasion of Holocaust Memorial Day, I remember. And I pray only that others remember, too, how easily, how quickly, fear and hate and suspicion turn to evil.

On the occasion of Holocaust Memorial Day, I say Free Palestine. I say No Ban. No Wall. 

Never Again.

i have been chased for two nights straight--killers, teenagers, the police...

last night i dreamt that a child of about 14 was encouraging another to buy and take cocaine. i tried to talk to them, but they disappeared at some point. when i found the first in an abandoned victorian-style home, he was pretending to study. he sat on the roof, just outside a tiny attic window, with his notebook unfolded on a tiny desk. i said hello, carry on, and turned around. i knew he was hiding the second boy somewhere.

i approached a small shape covered by a heavy blanket and uncovered one end. the second boy was face-down on the floor. i could see white powder around the side of his face... his skin had a strange bluish tint. i knew he'd overdosed. i even--i'm ashamed to say--kicked him, in an effort to wake him up, but he was heavy as rock.

i felt the boy on the roof watching me as i left. i acted as if nothing had happened, but i took my cell phone out too quickly, before i was hidden by the fence. i started to run while calling the police. i tried to calculate how long it would take him to get downstairs and catch up with me. i wondered, in my terror, how he'd sat there so calmly--as if he was impervious to the death.

the dispatcher i spoke with was laughing at something.. she couldn't stop. i think it was the frustration that woke me.

...

last week there was a disaster of some sort, and everything around me was in ruins. later, i flew above the city--as always, much too fast, much too high, in a bizarre upright position. the people on either side of me were supposed to be friends, but i was afraid. deeply afraid.

Oshima Ryota

هیچ یک سخنی نگفتند
نه میزبان و نه میهمان و
نه گل های داوودی

[translated by Ahmad Shamlou]

No one spoke
The host, the guest,
The white chrysanthemums.

[translated by Kenneth Rexroth]

love that my mother's reasons for calling last night included the following:

- to point the phone at the TV so i could listen to a tribute show for one of our favourite russian singers

- to discuss what rafsanjani's life/death means for reformists in iran--and for iran in general

love that she always, always calls after having a political discussion with an iranian colleague

phrase of the day: miigwech ["thank you" in Ojibwe]

farzaneh recently asked if, growing up, i ever ("in a million years") imagined i'd be a voice for the palestinian cause.

no, i never did. i mean, i never thought about it. the issue was too "black and white" to warrant attention. i wonder how many there are, like me, who look back on at least a decade of inaction with the shame of ignorance.. the shame of turning a blind eye.

new year's resolution: be less "me."

all i do is hurt myself.

happiest new year, my lovelies

wishing you all everything beautiful on this earth