sexta-feira, 2 de novembro de 2012


"We run along, and we come up with this idea to go down to the stream and check it out for fish. So we went to the river, downstream. And there’s half a foot of water in there. And a silver fish, but nothing substantial, until one of their boys calls us further down. Lying in the water is a wee foal, four or five days old. He was all skin and bones, a gray collar, and he has got flecks of blood on his coat, because he has cut himself up really badly on the sharp rocks. We’re just standing over him and you can see his back leg’s snapped. And he’s breathing, he’s alive, but just about. So this big conversation gets started up between the boys who suddenly reckon themselves the leaders, and deliberating as what we should do. Someone says “Drop a rock on his head”, but I’m looking in their faces and I can see they’re either scared, stiff or clueless; it’s all bravado. And this foal on the ground, in real pain, all this chitchat going on, going nowhere. Next thing, one of the priests sees us, sees the foal, tells us not to move and we were done for, we were really done for. Group of boys will always get the blame for hurting a foal. Group of Belfast boys will get a hammering for sure. So it’s clear to me in an instant, I get down on my knees and take the foal’s head in my hands, and I put him underwater. He’s thrashing around a bit at the start, so I press down harder until he’s drowned.

The priests arrived, Don. Just grabbing me by the hair, dragging me through the woods, promising me a proper punishment, but I knew I did the right thing by that wee foal, and I could take the punishment for all our boys. I had the respect of them other boys now, and I knew that. I’m clear of the reasons, Don. I’m clear of all the repercussions. But I will act, and I will not stand by and do nothing."

~Bobby Sands (Hunger, 2008)

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