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  • I was 10 years old when I learned what the word "genocide" meant.

    譯者: Teresa Huang 審譯者: Yanyan Hong

  • It was 2003,

    當我在十歲的時候, 我已認識到甚麼是「種族滅絕」。

  • and my people were being brutally attacked because of their race --

    在 2003 年,

  • hundreds of thousands murdered,

    我的族人因種族而遭殘酷的攻擊,

  • millions displaced,

    成千上百人被謀害,

  • a nation torn apart at the hands of its own government.

    上百萬人流亡。

  • My mother and father immediately began speaking out against the crisis.

    一個被自己政府親手撕裂的國家,

  • I didn't really understand it,

    我的父母立即出面發聲抨擊時局。

  • except for the fact that it was destroying my parents.

    我當時並不了解,

  • One day, I walked in on my mother crying,

    只知道我父母正因此飽受摧殘。

  • and I asked her why we are burying so many people.

    有一天,我撞見正在哭泣的母親,

  • I don't remember the words that she chose

    我問她為何我們要埋葬這麼多人,

  • to describe genocide to her 10-year-old daughter,

    我忘了她用了什麼字眼

  • but I remember the feeling.

    向她的十歲女兒解釋種族滅絕,

  • We felt completely alone,

    然而我仍記得那種感覺,

  • as if no one could hear us,

    我們感到孤立無援,

  • as if we were essentially invisible.

    彷彿無人聽到我們的吶喊,

  • This is when I wrote my first poem about Darfur.

    好像沒人看得到我們。

  • I wrote poetry to convince people to hear and see us,

    就在當時我寫下 關於達爾富爾的第一首詩,

  • and that's how I learned the thing that changed me.

    我通過寫詩說服人們 聆聽與關注我們,

  • It's easy to be seen.

    我也同時受到影響從而改變,

  • I mean, look at me -- I'm a young African woman with a scarf around my head,

    被看見很容易,

  • an American accent on my tongue

    看看我,一個包頭巾的年輕非洲女性,

  • and a story that makes even the most brutal of Monday mornings seem inviting.

    操著美國口音,

  • But it's hard to convince people that they deserve to be seen.

    我的故事會令最無情的 星期一早晨都散發出吸引力。

  • I learned this in my high school classroom one day,

    但很難去說服人們 去看見這些東西。

  • when my teacher asked me to give a presentation about Darfur.

    我在高中某天的課堂裡 領悟到這一點,

  • I was setting up the projector when a classmate of mine said,

    當時我的老師要我做一個 關於達爾富爾的簡報。

  • "Why do you have to talk about this?

    當我在架設投影機時 我的一個同學問道:

  • Can't you think about us and how it will make us feel?"

    「為什麼我們要講這個?」

  • (Laughter)

    「為什麼你都不考慮我們的感受?」

  • My 14-year-old self didn't know what to say to her,

    (笑聲)

  • or how to explain the pain that I felt in that moment,

    當時十四歲的我 不知道該跟她說什麼,

  • and in every moment that we were forced not to talk about "this."

    或是解釋我那一刻感受到的痛,

  • Her words took me back to the days and nights on the ground in Darfur,

    以及每次當我們被強迫 不准談論「這件事」。

  • where we were forced to remain silent;

    她的話把我帶回了 在達爾富爾的日日夜夜,

  • where we didn't speak over morning tea

    在那裡我們被逼著保持沈默;

  • because the warplanes overhead would swallow any and all noise;

    在那裡我們不在喝早茶時聊天,

  • back to the days when we were told

    因為在空中盤旋的戰機 會把一切喧嘩都吞噬;

  • not only that we don't deserve to be heard

    回到那些日子我們不僅被告知 我們不值得被傾聽,

  • but that we do not have a right to exist.

    我們甚至沒有生存權利。

  • And this is where the magic happened,

    此時奇蹟發生了,

  • in that classroom when all the students started taking their seats

    教室裡所有的學生開始在椅子上坐好,

  • and I began to speak,

    然後我開始說話,

  • despite this renewed feeling that I didn't deserve to be there,

    儘管我還是覺得我不配在那裡,

  • that I didn't belong there

    或是我不屬於那裡,

  • or have a right to break the silence.

    或擁有打破沈默的權利。

  • As I talked,

    當我在陳述,

  • and my classmates listened,

    並且我的同學們在聆聽,

  • the fear ebbed away.

    恐懼感消失了。

  • My mind became calm,

    我開始冷靜下來,

  • and I felt safe.

    並且我感受到了久違的安全。

  • It was the sound of our grieving,

    那是我們哀悼的聲音,

  • the feel of their arms around me,

    他們的手臂圍繞在我身邊的感覺,

  • the steady walls that held us together.

    形成穩固的牆壁將我們凝聚在一起。

  • It felt nothing like a vacuum.

    我不再感到空虛。

  • I choose poetry because it's so visceral.

    我選擇寫詩是因為 它是如此發自內心。

  • When someone is standing in front of you, mind, body and soul,

    當一個人站在你面前,

  • saying "Witness me,"

    他的心智、身體、和靈魂 都說著「見證我」,

  • it's impossible not to become keenly aware of your own humanity.

    你不可能感受不到强烈的 自身的人性。

  • This changed everything for me.

    這徹底改變了我

  • It gave me courage.

    它給了我勇氣。

  • Every day I experience the power of witness,

    每一天我都在體驗著 強而有力的見證,

  • and because of that, I am whole.

    也因為如此,我找回完整自我。

  • And so now I ask:

    所以現在我問各位:

  • Will you witness me?

    你願意見證我嗎?

  • They hand me the microphone

    他們遞給我一個麥克風,

  • as my shoulders sink under the weight of this stress.

    我的肩膀因壓力的重量而垂下。

  • The woman says,

    一位女士說:

  • "The one millionth refugee just left South Sudan.

    「一百萬難民剛剛離開了南蘇丹。

  • Can you comment?"

    你可以發表看法嗎?」

  • I feel my feet rock back and forth on the heels my mother bought,

    我感覺我的腳跟在母親買來的鞋裡 不安地前後搖晃,

  • begging the question:

    想著問題論點:

  • Do we stay, or is it safer to choose flight?

    我們應該留下, 還是搭飛機離開比較安全?

  • My mind echoes the numbers:

    我腦海裡響著一堆數字:

  • one million gone,

    一百萬人不在了,

  • two million displaced,

    兩百萬人流亡,

  • 400,000 dead in Darfur.

    四十萬人死在達爾富爾。

  • And this lump takes over my throat,

    這巨大的腫塊盤踞在我的喉嚨,

  • as if each of those bodies just found a grave

    像是每一具屍體已找到安息之地,

  • right here in my esophagus.

    就在我的食道裡。

  • Our once country,

    我們曾經的國家,

  • all north and south and east and west,

    北方、南方、東方和西方,

  • so restless the Nile couldn't hold us together,

    全都不得安寧, 尼羅河都不能將我們連結在一起,

  • and you ask me to summarize.

    然後現在你要我作出總結。

  • They talk about the numbers as if this isn't still happening,

    他們說著那些數字, 彷彿這些事情已不再發生,

  • as if 500,000 didn't just die in Syria,

    彷彿那五十萬人不是 剛剛才死在敘利亞,

  • as if 3,000 aren't still making their final stand

    彷彿那三千人沒有在 地中海的海底裡,

  • at the bottom of the Mediterranean,

    找到了旅途終點。

  • as if there aren't entire volumes full of fact sheets about our genocides,

    彷彿那些卷宗沒有滿滿 記錄著我們的種族滅絕,

  • and now they want me to write one.

    然後現在他們要我再寫一筆。

  • Fact:

    真相是:

  • we never talked over breakfast,

    我們從不在吃早餐時說話,

  • because the warplanes would swallow our voices.

    因為戰機會吞噬我們的聲音。

  • Fact:

    真相是:

  • my grandfather didn't want to leave home,

    我的祖父不想離開家園,

  • so he died in a war zone.

    所以他死在戰區裡。

  • Fact:

    真相是:

  • a burning bush without God is just a fire.

    燃燒的荊棘裡沒有神 就只是一團火。

  • I measure the distance between what I know

    我思量著,在我知道的事實 跟麥克風之間,

  • and what is safe to say on a microphone.

    有哪些是我可以安全地說出口的。

  • Do I talk about sorrow? Displacement?

    我是否該談到那些悲痛和顛沛流離?

  • Do I mention the violence,

    我該提起那些暴力

  • how it's never as simple as what you see on TV,

    從來都不像是電視上看到那樣簡單,

  • how there are weeks' worth of fear before the camera is on?

    那是在被鏡頭拍到前 就已長期累積的恐懼?

  • Do I tell her about our bodies,

    我是否該告訴她我們身體的 百分之六十是水組成,

  • how they are 60 percent water,

    但燃燒起來如流木,

  • but we still burn like driftwood,

    作為燃料壯烈犧牲?

  • making fuel of our sacrifice?

    我是否該告訴她男人先死, 母親們被迫看著屠殺?

  • Do I tell her the men died first, mothers forced to watch the slaughter?

    他們抓了我們的孩子,

  • That they came for our children,

    將他們分散到大陸各地 直到我們的家園淪陷?

  • scattering them across the continent until our homes sank?

    連城堡都會因砲火的侵蝕而崩陷?

  • That even castles sink at the bite of the bomb?

    我是否該提到老人們,

  • Do I talk about the elderly,

    我們的英雄,

  • our heroes,

    太虛弱而無法逃走,

  • too weak to run, too expensive to shoot,

    被當射靶又太不值,

  • how they would march them,

    所以他們被命令行軍,

  • hands raised, rifles at their backs,

    高舉雙手,背後 被步槍指著,走向烈火?

  • into the fire?

    他們的助行手杖被投入火中 使火不致熄滅?

  • How their walking sticks kept the flames alive?

    對聽眾來說,要消化這些 如吞下鐵線般,生硬且嚴酷。

  • It feels too harsh for a bundle of wires and an audience to swallow.

    如此殘酷無情,

  • Too relentless,

    彷彿山谷間充斥著 我們死亡時散發的腐敗氣息。

  • like the valley that filled with the putrid smoke of our deaths.

    假如放在詩裡會好些嗎?

  • Is it better in verse?

    詩篇可以用作為裹屍布嗎?

  • Can a stanza become a burial shroud?

    如果我輕聲細述, 心中刺痛會少一些嗎?

  • Will it sting less if I say it softly?

    如果你沒看見我哭泣, 你是否會更用心傾聽?

  • If you don't see me cry, will you listen better?

    當麥克風被拿開時, 悲痛是否也會離我遠去?

  • Will the pain leave when the microphone does?

    為什麼我說的一字一句 都感覺像我的最後遺言?

  • Why does every word feel as if I'm saying my last?

    三十秒的演講摘要,

  • Thirty seconds for the sound bite,

    然後現在是三分鐘的詠詩。

  • and now three minutes for the poem.

    我的舌頭乾渴,和我們死去時一樣,

  • My tongue goes dry the same way we died,

    在變成煤炭前已化為灰燼。

  • becoming ash, having never been coal.

    我感到我的左腳麻木,

  • I feel my left leg go numb,

    然後發現我雙膝已牢牢釘住,

  • and I realize that I locked my knees,

    抵擋著衝擊。

  • bracing for impact.

    我從不穿無法讓我奔跑的鞋。

  • I never wear shoes I can't run in.

    謝謝。

  • Thank you.

    (掌聲)

  • (Applause)

    我想在此留下一個樂觀的小結,

  • So, I wanted to leave on a positive note,

    因為這就是我人生裡的矛盾點:

  • because that's the paradox that this life has been:

    在那個讓我流最多眼淚的地方,

  • in the places where I learned to cry the most,

    我也在事過境遷後學著微笑。

  • I also learned how to smile after.

    好,開始了。

  • So, here goes.

    「你有一個巨大的想像力

  • "You Have a Big Imagination

    或是

  • or

    四十萬種哭泣的方式。」

  • 400,000 Ways to Cry."

    致席娜布。

  • For Zeinab.

    我是一個悲傷的女孩,

  • I am a sad girl,

    但這不反應在我的臉上,

  • but my face makes other plans,

    我想盡全力微笑, 不想浪費精力在悲痛。

  • focusing energy on this smile, so as not to waste it on pain.

    他們首先奪走了我的睡眠,

  • The first thing they took was my sleep,

    我的眼皮沈重但睜著老大,

  • eyes heavy but wide open,

    想著我或許遺漏了什麼,

  • thinking maybe I missed something,

    也許騎兵還會來。

  • maybe the cavalry is still coming.

    但他們沒有來,

  • They didn't come,

    所以我買了個更大的枕頭。

  • so I bought bigger pillows.

    (笑聲)

  • (Laughter)

    我的祖母可以治癒一切,

  • My grandmother could cure anything

    她的話語能讓萬物冉冉生輝。

  • by talking the life out of it.

    她說我可以讓一個倉庫裡的小偷

  • And she said that I could make a thief in a silo laugh

    在肆虐的戰爭裡大笑。

  • in the middle of our raging war.

    戰爭讓破裂的婚姻不再顯得憂傷。

  • War makes a broken marriage bed out of sorrow.

    你別無所求,只想消失,

  • You want nothing more than to disappear,

    但你的心已所剩無幾,無法離去。

  • but your heart can't salvage enough remnants to leave.

    但是喜悅──

  • But joy --

    喜悅是我們橫跨 破碎家園時戴著的盔甲。

  • joy is the armor we carried across the borders of our broken homeland.

    胡亂混雜著故事和面孔

  • A hasty mix of stories and faces

    在甘苦逝去後仍餘韻久繞。

  • that lasts long after the flavor is gone.

    身體記憶剋服了最苦澀的時刻,

  • A muscle memory that overcomes even the most bitter of times,

    但記憶裡的傷痕有著那些笑到流淚

  • my memory is spotted with days of laughing until I cried,

    或是痛哭到大笑的剪影,