Column | Koppen closed – NRC

This week I had a column about Faber and child refugees early, but the words in it didn’t really go smoothly. I wrote a second about wolves and hunters, but that also didn’t make me happy. The whole writing seemed like a meaningless activity. The deadline approached and I had to choose. When I put the lyrics side by side, I saw the common denominator. In both cases, the party wants to take away something with power and without losing anything – Faber and hunters – from a vulnerable party that is mainly concerned with survival – child refugees and wolves. In both situations, the powerful players have access to microphones and media and use them to imagine their selfish, cruel plans as necessary and inevitable with flawful language. Neither child refugees nor wolves have access to microphones.

There was some hunting baron at Sven Kockelmann. What that man did with words must have nausously left every language lover. For the shooting of defenseless animals, he used words as ‘excellent nature management’. I had not yet recovered whether a prominent-pushed, Wilders or a VVD minister, not that it will make it further-was a question about the red line in front of the camera to pull away from the Palestinian victims. You had to put the red line on October 7, he thought. The fact that Palestinian children create on every other day, and certainly afterwards, by human actions, did not seem to be able to bother him enough.

I am sick and tired of microphone charmers, it must come as a result that I have lost my feast for words. I can no longer hear a coward swim about the Netherlands as a moral precursor, while this coalition does nothing but collaborate with genocide. I can no longer hear a politician who designates migrants as a cause of housing shortage in a country where millionaires are multi -millionaire to houses. I can no longer hear a minister of war on weapons for peace. No more politicians who attach more importance to how it comes across than drinking water, nature or the future of his people. I can no longer handle an announcement of an investigation to do not have to do anything. No more a word of those who are unbridled for rich and claims to do so for the Dutchman, the hardworking one. Nothing anymore who measures with two sizes, talking with two mouths and keeps dry eyes. The orange tyrant on the other side of the ocean even manages to rape the word genocide by sticking it on the inconveniences of friends of his house billionaire. I can no longer hear European crawl leaders who still call it an ally.

In fact, I no longer draw any ruler who claims a microphone to broke his lies in it. Just as little as microphone managers who don’t seem to have a choice than behind that rogue leadership. I no longer tolerate that everything that is quiet and vulnerable is murdered by creeps with insatiable power hunger, deep pockets and zero compassion.

I can use this space, this microphone and this amplifier, but actually I don’t want to say anything anymore. I want to remain silent. I want everyone who works to lie with reinforcement, keeps his head for a moment. I want two minutes of silence for a truth. I want to hear the playing of WolvenWelpen in the forest, the silence of wounded children in microphones and the silent wind from bombarded cities where debris is no longer cleared.

Carolina Trujillo Is a writer.

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