Empire doesn’t just kill people. It kills memory. It silences the past so thoroughly that even the bones forget how they broke.
https://x.com/nxt888/status/1943024775645008328
Empire doesn’t just kill people.
It kills memory.
It silences the past so thoroughly that even the bones forget how they broke.
That is why every Palestinian who still holds a rusted house key is dangerous.
Why every Iraqi who remembers 2003 is a threat.
Why every Vietnamese who remembers 1968 carries something the empire fears more than weapons.
Because the empire depends on amnesia.
Its story only works if no one survives to contradict it.
If no child grows up hearing what Fallujah smelled like.
If no grandmother can point to the crater that used to be her village.
If no farmer can describe what Agent Orange did to his soil.
If no father can name the warplane that killed his son.
Empire counts on silence.
It needs the victims buried, their memories blurred, their testimonies lost in the static of media cycles.
It thrives on a world where grief has no witnesses and crimes have no names.
But memory is resistance.
Testimony is survival.
And truth is the one thing empire can never fully conquer.
So long as someone remembers, the lie remains unstable.
So long as someone refuses to forget, the blueprint of domination begins to crack.
That is why the empire fears the old key.
The photo in the wallet.
The name carved into a bullet-riddled wall.
The stories passed down in whispers, across generations.
Because in the end, it is not the bomb that wins.
It is the voice that survives it.
And sometimes, that voice is born with a name.
A name like Xuân Thăng.
Spring Rising.
Given by revolutionaries.
Born in 1976, when Vietnam stood whole again.
When the empire fell, and the memory lived.
Let them fear the names that remember.
Let them fear the children born from victory.
Because memory, like spring, always returns.
And we were named to rise.
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