Nine Eleven - The Pacific Solution

Now that the dream is over, slowly my eyes open. So weird those fucking visions, The hell if I know what did happen. My cheeks no longer soil the boards of our « Grand Saint Antoine ». They now muck the bridge of one European ship. Sarah tells me this Norwegian freighter, “The Tampa”, came to rescue us, as the sea was about to swallow us. I lay my eyes for the first time on the shambles in this place. I'm told the name of the captain, Arne Rinman who took us all onboard, while I was out in purgatory. We sought asylum to the Australians. But they sent us back to exile. Free to sail from haven to hell. The goddamn article number THIRTY-THREE of the Geneva Convention. It won't apply to us: - We are FIVE HUNDRED on a freighter chartered for FIFTY. - Disease and famine will be our lot. The so-called civilized promise we'll never tread on their lands, their own private place. ONE always needs monsters to hate, windmills to defy, slaves to evangelize; it flatters the soul of those who think they have one. And who said that what TWENTIETH century humanists cannot forgive to the THIRD reich is not the crime per se, is not mankind's demise, but the crime against the white man –when they applied a colonial process to Europe instead?