The Nobodies

Fleas dream of buying themselves a dog, and nobodies dream of escaping poverty: that one magical day good luck will suddenly rain down on them–will rain down in buckets. But good luck doesn’t rain down yesterday, today, tomorrow, or ever. Good luck doesn’t even fall in a fine drizzle, no matter how hard the nobodies summon it, even if their left hand is tickling, or if they begin the new day with their right foot, or start the new year with a change of brooms.

The nobodies: nobody’s children, owners of nothing. The nobodies: the no ones, the nobodied, running like rabbits, dying through life, screwed every which way.

Who are not, but could be.
Who don’t speak languages, but dialects.
Who don’t have religions, but superstitions.
Who don’t create art, but handicrafts.
Who don’t have culture, but folklore.
Who are not human beings, but human resources.
Who do not have faces, but arms.
Who do not have names, but numbers.
Who do not appear in the history of the world, but in the police blotter of the local paper.
The nobodies, who are not worth the bullet that kills them.

These thoughts hadn’t gone from my mind, and on my way back from seminar, I heard that news that there was a bomb blast, and 30 people died.. In my mind it came that 30 nobodies dies, who appeared in the headlines, no mention of who they were, no one knows what they could have done in their lives.. It’s a small example, and there are hundreds, and thousands of nobodies in the world that are being discriminated against, treated badly, even killed without reaching their potential. It’s easy to close eyes and not think that there isn’t much I can do about it, however I don’t think that it’s right.

The purpose of writing this post is to acknowledge and remind myself of the nobodies that exist in our society and keep asking myself that; what is my role and what am I doing, and what can I do? These are uncomfortable and unsettling questions, and I hope that I can continue to ask them and navigate through these…

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