L's Voice
por Arthur KenwayMy brothers and sisters, gather close, for my heart burns with words that cannot stay silent. I stand before you not as a hero, not as a leader, but as a son of this soil, a Pakistani whose soul has been scarred by the hands of those who call themselves saviors—those Americans who came to our lands with their promises of freedom but left behind only ashes and sorrow.
Look at me. Look at my hands, calloused not just from labor but from clawing through the rubble of my home, shattered by their drones that hum like vultures in our skies. They said they were hunting "terrorists," but who paid the price? My family. My neighbors. The children who played in the streets, now silenced forever. They called it "collateral damage." I call it murder. I call it theft—of lives, of dreams, of peace.
They came with their boots, their bases, their smug faces, telling us they were here to save us. Save us? From what? From ourselves? From the lives we built with our sweat, our traditions, our pride? They tore through our villages, our markets, our mosques, leaving behind nothing but chaos and lies. They pointed fingers, saying we were the problem, while their bombs ripped apart our future. My brother, my gentle brother, who wanted nothing but to teach, to build, to love—he is gone. Taken by their "precision strikes" that know no precision, only destruction.
And what do they know of our pain? They sit in their glass towers, sipping coffee, signing papers that decide our fate. They don’t smell the blood in the air. They don’t hear the wails of mothers. They don’t feel the weight of a child’s lifeless body in their arms. To them, we are numbers. To them, we are "targets." But to me, they are the enemy—not just of me, but of every soul who has lost something to their arrogance.
I hate them, yes. I hate their lies, their greed, their indifference. I hate how they paint us as savages while they plunder our land, our dignity. They speak of democracy, but where is the justice for us? They speak of human rights, but where is the humanity in their actions? They have taken everything—my home, my family, my hope—and left me with nothing but this fire in my chest, this rage that will not die.
But hear me, my people: this hatred will not consume us. It will fuel us. We will rise from these ashes, not as their pawns, but as a nation unbroken. We will rebuild what they destroyed, not with their help, but with our own hands, our own hearts. Let them fear the strength of a people who have nothing left to lose. Let them know that we will never forget, never forgive, until justice is ours.
This is my vow, spoken from the wounds they carved into my life. We are Pakistanis. We are resilient. And we will not bow to those who tried to break us. Never again.
