The pain makes me mute. Makes me mute, even though I should scream. It hurts even after ten years. And it hurts forever. Because there is no pain comparable to that of when a mother is robbed of her child. When our loved ones are killed with cold blood. And why? Because some of us think that they are more, superior people, and they look down the other to the dirt? There are people who think they have the right to what only God has: to take a life. They think they have the right to discriminate man from man based on ancestry and skin color, despite that God created us equal. But their God is Hatred. The stigma. The Murder. The inhumanity.
The pain makes me mute. Makes me mute, even though I should scream. It hurts even after ten years. And it hurts forever. Because there is no pain comparable to that of when a mother is robbed of her child.
I am a mother too. And I know. And the pain makes me mute. It suffocates me, it paralyzes me.
While something whispers, something demands: Protest! Scream!
Preach that: No! We don't let this happen!
Because even with a pinched throat, even while whining from helpless anger, even if my lips can no longer form coherent sentences, even with crumbling words and trembling voice, but it must be said. We need to talk about the unbearable. Because silence kills. It kills the innocent human inside us again and again. The tears not cried out burn the soul. And the hatred will strike again and again if we don't protest. The hatred, like a fire, burns, like a buckshot, it wounds us foully. There is no bigger killer than hatred.
I'll bleed out from a thousand wounds, but don't kill my children! Screams the mother.
Every one of us was born from a mother. Yes! WE, humans, are brothers and sisters.
Look at each other through the eyes of the mother. We share the same pain and the same joy. We make this world hell or heaven. No mother wishes her child suffering. Death. Look at each other through the eyes of the mother. This eye is teary. These are the tears of love and pain.
We are all children.
Yes, I admit, and I shout it to the world: Roma, you are my brothers and sisters! Yes, to me you are brothers and sisters and those who hurt You because of you being Roma, they hurt me too, and they hurt all of your not-Roma siblings too.
I know, a lot of people don't admit this brotherhood, furthermore...
Then I say, shout to those: this is the time. Because there is no such fire, no such shotgun and hatred that could destroy a brotherly love.
I will remember Robika as a hero. The killing of a pure soul, a child who didn't hurt anyone is a sin that falls back on the heads of the perpetrators and it shines a bright light to the disease spreading in the dark, the evil, murderous racism that is hiding in our everyday life.
Robika is the carrier of this true and strong light that uncovers sin. He will shine forever until we all admit our brotherhood and ever after. He became our eternal lantern, our eternally shining star. I say this even though I know that this is no consolation for the mother, because it doesn't give her back her child. I am also a Mother.
Today, with my remembering words, I would like to ease the pain of the mothers. Because there is no pain comparable to that... But even if words cannot heal, I believe that love can. All of us were born from a mother and WE, humans, are brothers and sisters!
If my Roma brothers and sisters are hurt because they are Roma, I remember Robika and I stand for you, brothers!