there’s something in the air today. it’s something subtle, but pungent, like the naughty smell of a calleryana tree in the spring time. or, more like the sharp, metallic taste of blood in your mouth.
can you feel it? can you smell it?
it’s the stink of colonization. it’s the rancidity of culpability.
but you see, someone unfamiliar with the patterns of colonization could easily mistake it for something else. one could smell this stench and call it something completely different. something like “war” or “self defense.”
but those familiar with the topic—those whose countries have been victims of western imperialism, those who can recall intimately the quiet violence of american terrorism, those whose parents’ home countries were defiled by the politics and missiles of the cold war—can smell this smell and tell you exactly what it is:
they smell an apartheid. a propaganda campaign. an ethnic cleansing. a genocide.
the smell is everywhere—literally impossible to ignore—and it’s burning my nostrils. it’s driving me crazy, to the point of madness. it makes my head pound with a violent exhaustion and a sad anger.
now, don’t feel bad if it’s not a smell you know how to identify. don’t feel bad if you can’t even smell it. it’s actually in your best interest that you don’t talk about it. just take in a quick whiff, let it pass, and don’t say a word. lest you risk your reputation, your job, your life. just close your eyes, plug your nose, and open your wallets filled with american tax dollars.
and if you can smell it, it might even be wise to actually pretend it isn’t there. to call the folks who call desperately attention to this stench mad. call them crazy or, better yet, call them anti-semitic. the guilt of colonial violence can be easily silenced by fragile tears of victimization.
or, if you’re not the confrontational type, instead, feign incompetence. say that it’s far too complicated of a conflict for you to pick a side for. pretend you don’t see the bombed buildings and bodies buried in rubble. say that you had never known about the last 75 years of unrelenting and unforgiving violence. emphasize that the news coverage happening today is too violent and shocking for you to even consume. make sure you mention how distressed the mere thought of beheaded babies makes you feel.
but the tricky thing is, these tactics only work for so long. give it ten, fifteen, maybe even a hundred years. give it until the history books begin writing themselves down. give it until we see a people’s liberation or a people’s elimination. give it until your children are old enough to ask you questions about this time. at that point, the guilt of imperial violence be rotting. the smell will be so vile that you’ll be spitting it out of your mouth. it only took the seven years for vietnam. it only took seventy years for algeria.
but, don’t you worry. bide your time and enjoy the moment. because, one day, it will free itself. the stories, the mourning, the guilt. they’ll come bursting through the floorboards and they’ll show you their ugly face. and at that point, you won’t be able to look away. you’ll be suffocating.
do you smell it? something rotten, something guilty.
nhiều chuyện, by angel lin 