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  • Writer's pictureHannah Telluselle

A speech to Sweden

Have you ever felt filled with passion and the urge to take stage with a speech? Not scripted to fit the audience in ways of conformity and commercialism but to simply have your say. I do at times and then the speech comes to me. I just simply stand inside the apartment I'm living in, whispering it out loud, imagining a room filled with people at the Stockholm Dramaten theatre. It went something like this translated:

"So what do you expect now? You all believe you live in one of the most innovative and civilized nations in Europe, but you don't. Because no development can ever take place without taking our hearts into account. I don't see yours. In fact I have been fumbling in this darkness, stretching myself out so wide I can, just to see if I can touch base, but to no avail, no responses. There isn't even any resistance more than your verbal abuse. Fueling mine instead of listening with presence to what I have to say. Where is your integrity? Where is your boundary? So you can have your space and I can have mine and by the stop, become like the two trees, Rumi wrote a poem about, but to stand not as lovers, but to grow equally tall with the right to grow roots in the sun by equal right to existence and expression.

You who have never had to obey the higher power, just like I didn't before, who are you to think you can do what you want with no regard to your father, to your husband, to your manager and to God? Who are you to ignore mine or anybody else's needs? Not those that you believe you have, but the ones that you have taken for granted yourself. I can stand here before you in my own role, take any shape or form, use any voice or show any emotion in my face, but not in any other role than myself would you allow me, rather than impose the role you want me to play in your silent drama. I used to only be able to play roles on stage but now I stand here before you with only the Holy spirit guiding my lines as I let my soul speak. Letting it pour through me out to you, uncensored, uncut. I take it, it is to catch the passion and use it rather than let it burn you. But I don't see yours, I don't feel you express any at all. You all have cold hearts, you born Swedes. I put the Africans aside, just as I do with the temporary migrants coming to us to stir you. I am talking to you here, you who have never come to the realization of why I am here. I am the one carrying the branch from the olive tree, spreading a message of peace among the worlds, for you to see both sides or all sides. But you don't even listen, just close your eyes as if you all veiled yourself like Muslims. They hide and pray to not be used by violent force when it comes over them, but instead receive the tears of grace from Mohammed. You refuse to see, and refuse to take action, to stop the violence against me. How can it not then become turned against you all by the same grandiose enemy?

Words fly to me to be shared, not by your idols in the papers, but by Shakespeare in the meeting of my parents, how I was conceived. Perhaps it is like he has written - is it the pale afterthought that makes your forehead form such deep creases? When you have had the knowledge and the means all along! When you have known! Meet me not halfway, but third way, the way you have never tried. I bid you soon farewell Sweden, waving to you from foreign land when you have made me into your own refugee. The worst betrayal of all, you have succeeded."

Fool not yourself with displays of others' posing and number of followers.

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