Dovide

“There are no civilians in war, no firewalls between the blessedly ignorant and those intimately connected to networks, markets of crime and religiosity.”
― China Miéville, Kraken

“We are silent when we see that all the money of all the nations has come into the hands of a few men; which we seem to tolerate and to permit with the more equanimity, because none of these robbers conceals what he is doing. CICERO”
― Mike Duncan, The Storm Before the Storm: The Beginning of the End of the Roman Republic

“Apocalypse?"
"Yes, apocalypse! What a silly word. I can tell you there's no word like it in Ojibwe. Well, I never heard a word like that from my elders anyway."
Evan nodded, giving the elder his full attention.
"The world was ending," she went on. "Our world isn't ending. It already ended. It ended when the Zhaagnaash came into our original home down south on that bay and took it from us. That was our world. When the Zhaagnaash cut down all the trees and fished all the fish and forced us out of there, that's when our world ended. They made us come all the way up here. This is not our homeland! But we hade to adapt and luckily we already knew how to hunt and live on the land. We learned to live here!"
She became more animated as she went on. Her small hands swayed as she emphasized the words she wanted to highlight. "But then they followed us up here and started taking our children away from us! Thats when our world ended again. And that wasn't the last time. We've seen what this....what's the world again?"
"Apocalypse."
"Yes, Apocalypse. We've had that over and over. But we always survived. Were still here. And well still be here, even if the power and the radios don't come back on and we never see any white people ever again.”
― Waubgeshig Rice, Moon of the Crusted Snow

“That anybody white could take your whole self for anything that came to mind. Not just work, kill, or maim you, but dirty you. Dirty you so bad you couldn’t like yourself anymore. Dirty you so bad you forgot who you were and couldn’t think it up. And though she and others lived through and got over it, she could never let it happen to her own. The best thing she was, was her children. Whites might dirty her all right, but not her best thing, her beautiful, magical best thing—the part of her that was clean. No undreamable dreams about whether the headless, feetless torso hanging in the tree with a sign on it was her husband or Paul A; whether the bubbling-hot girls in the colored-school fire set by patriots included her daughter; whether a gang of whites invaded her daughter’s private parts, soiled her daughter’s thighs and threw her daughter out of the wagon. She might have to work the slaughterhouse yard, but not her daughter.”
― Toni Morrison, Beloved