echo DISCLAIMER: This is a fictional story that consists of a mix of elements based on several real life events, but is not fully faithful to the subject matter(s).
“ The flames danced in the soaring heat.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this.
Their sweat stained red on the bloodied hill.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this.
The children cried in the midst of grievened hurt.
It was never supposed to be like this.
Everything happened so quickly – first the begrudging tolerance, then the growing intolerance and consequent segregation, followed by the minor conflicts that occasionally turned violent, then came the failed negotiation, and the last straw – the raising of the flags. The raging of war. The Hounds watched in horror as men in uniforms of greasy green and muddy brown gunned down their families and friends. They huddled together in their little huts, awaiting the worst to come. Mothers and fathers cradled their children, their quivering lullabies a failed attempt at bringing some comfort to the young and innocent. All of them knew that genocides bring no survivors, only death.
The Hounds were an indigenous group of pacifistic beings native to the land of Hundstain. Unlike humans, they were part-dogs. They had the conscience and the intelligence of an average human being, but had the characteristics and physical features of dogs. They were two legged and stood on their hind legs, just as humans did. For many centuries, the Hounds had always lived in peace and tranquility. “Violence” was not a known concept to them… it was never even a word in their native tongue. They were a simple community that only did three things – forage, hunt and survive. Survival to them was always easy, for they already knew how to fend themselves from nature’s predators, how to build once again when wind knocks over their huts, how to grow and store their own food before famine. What they never knew, however, were gunpowder, land disputes, and blockages. War was unknown to them until the arrival of the Oafwig.
Several decades ago, a group of self-proclaimed “sophisticated” people set foot on Hundstain, claiming to have discovered the land. They were the Oafwig, arrogant and ignorant. They were loud and proud, and left whatever they brought with them wherever they went, as if they were marking their territory, like the predatory wolves and foxes of Hundstain did. However, the Hounds were hospitable, so they welcomed the Oafwigs with open arms. The Oafwigs were greedy and corrupt, so they slyly made themselves comfortable. A little too comfortable, perhaps. The Oafwigs criticised the less civilised lifestyles of the Hounds, calling them “barbarians” and “muddy mutts”. As months passed, the Oafwigs became morebold and crass, so they began preaching their ways of life to the Hounds. They began developing the land, promising the Hounds that they were just trying to help them become more civilised, as they were.
“We have discovered this lovely land, and we shall stay here forever!” a man in a tricolour military uniform exclaimed one day. He was a stout man, with greasy lips and stubby hands. He was gluttony personified. He wore a hat so large it was comparable to his ego. Along with him was a fleet of other military personnel who did his every bidding.
“And we shall name this new land of ours…” the man paused, as if he were thinking for the first time in his life, “New Oafwigton!”
By the end of that year, more settlers arrived at Hundstain to build houses and families. Their population grew and grew with each passing year. Decades later, a statue was built for the gluttonous Oafwig leader to commemorate his contributions to the development of “New Oafwigton”. Places of worship were built all over “New Oafwigton”, and little towns were built all around the land. Simultaneously, old Houndian murals of their deities and statues were defaced and burnt down, as they were said to be sacrilegious. The Hounds had no say in this. Over the years, several Houndian children were taken away from their mothers, never to be seen again. The Hounds had no say in this either.
The Hounds had no say in anything. They were silenced.
Though their situation became dire and bleak, they remained strong. When they were forced to assimilate, they refused to conform; when they were forced to settle elsewhere, they refused to do so. They were able to find a compromise, however. They ended up settling on the shores of Hundstain, far away from where they once were. The Hounds remained optimistic and thought that they, at the very least, were still able to live on their homeland, their Hundstain. Their initial settlement later became a city for the people of “New Oafwigton”.
As decades went on, the treatment of the indigenous Hounds worsened. They did not have access to the privileges of the Oafwigs as they were seen as inferior beings that are “monstrous” and “hideous” in the eyes of the pompous Oafwigs. So the Hounds proposed better ideas and signed peace treaties given by the leaders of “New Oafwigton”. Both parties were never satisfied. The Oafwigs and the Hounds wanted more of the land for very different reasons. The Hounds wanted their land back, but the Oafwigs wanted the land for themselves. Alas, the Oafwigs had more military power and therefore had the upperhand when it came to disputes and agreements.
Unbeknownst to everyone, one day, a young Houndian girl had had enough of their situation and decided to retaliate by setting a small fire in the city’s parliament house. The Oafwig ministers responded with the oppression of the Hounds. Military personnel were posted all around the homes of the native Hounds to “control” the crowds. Some men took advantage of their position in power and inflicted violence on innocents. All the Hounds had enough. And so, an uprising started. Peaceful protests turned into bloody fights and the loss of lives. The Hounds had enough.
“From the red on our flag to the red in our veins, we must defend our land of our ancestors, and never succumb to our oppressors,” said the de facto leader of the coup. “We may be a minority, but together, we are strong, like a bundle of sticks”
And so,
The flames danced in the soaring heat.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this.
Their sweat stained red on the bloodied hill.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this.
The children cried in the midst of grievened hurt.
It was never supposed to be like this.
My child, I wrote this so that you see for yourself
The erasure, the discrimination, the oppression.
My child, I hope you see that we are at fault, that you see
Our wrongdoings, our past, our cruelty.
You look at the burning villages, your eyes filled with fury,
You, the descendants of the past settlers, finally see the truth.
You finally understand the extent of this madness, the flurry.
You see the violent injustice play out with your heart of ruth.
The blood is on your hands, yet you do nothing.
The blood is on your hands, can you do something? ”
You set down the note written to you by your mother, a famed journalist in “New Oafwigton”, your supposed land of origin. But is it really your land? How is it truly your land if the Hounds were always there from the start? You always knew that your people’s settlement was corrupt, but you never knew the actual history. She had written this note for you hours before getting detained by the Oafwig Military, who had been threatening your mother after she exposed the cruelty of our military to the world. That is when you realise – the blood is on your hands, and you have indirectly inflicted cruelty upon the Hounds.
_________________________________________________________________________
“We have on this land that makes life worth living.” – Mahmoud Darwish
Written by: Julia
Edited by: Zhen Li
