Wednesday, February 10, 2016

How we killed Rohith Vemula

Till recently, I was very unaware of my own caste privilege. And I have been trying to come to turns with it, trying to understand, to learn.

I mourn Rohith, and I feel guilty for his death.
We forged the scythe of our hate and fear
In fires of contemptuous fury and flaming prejudice
We cooled it in bitter callousness
And pretended it wasn’t a weapon. 
And we cut the grass, instead of burning it
We saved it and let it dry
And strand by bitter strand we wove it
To help our victim die.

Read the rest here.

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