Location: Southeastern, United States

Monday, May 16, 2005

A i mohio a Hohepa ki ona tuakana, ko ratou ia kihai i mohio ki a ia.

I refuse. Take it back. I will not look on your face, I will not stare into your eyes. You are the beloved alien. The touch of your hand, the minute vibrations of your voice makes my skin crawl. I will not be torn from myself. I do not believe in you; I am not of you.

I refuse. Take it back. Maybe I have to be practical; maybe I am twenty, and sensible, with a housefrau bun and modest clothing and a habit of working too much. Maybe I am accomodating, bourgeoise, counter-revolutionary. Still, I refuse. There are more things in heaven and earth and the human soul, Horatio.

You brothers, you Americans, you soul raised close to mine under the shelter of the same flag - I will not let your fundamentalisms tear you down, and I cannot stop loving you, beloved other, American, brother. I cannot argue with you wrapped in that flag. I cannot look you in the face as you advocate a world without hope. I don't know what to do, brother. We are from the same people.



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