The first step in liquidating a people is to erase its memory. Destroy its books, its culture, its history. Then have somebody write new books, manufacture a new culture, invent a new history. Before long that nation will begin to forget what it is and what it was. The world around it will forget even faster. Milan Kundera, Book of Laughter and Forgetting Today is my last day in this city. Tomorrow this city would be clean of all traces of my existence. And like a tiny unconcerned snowflake whirling down to add its insignificance to an indifferent snow blanketed Takht e Suleiman[1], I too might reciprocate the indifference of this city. But for now, my rage can’t make peace with the rage of this city. Or to the rage of this country. My rage is ancient, it’s different, and it’s beyond the rage of this city. ***** Neruda didn’t…

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