So that we never forget.
These are our people. The voices you will hear on this site are not strangers. They are
Rohingya mothers, fathers, sons and daughters, speaking in our own tongue about what has
happened to them. In Arakan. In the camps of Bangladesh. On the sea. In every country where
we have been scattered.
This site exists because forgetting is easy. Far from home it is easy to blend in, to
borrow another name, another nation, another story, and to slowly stop being who we are.
Some of us have grown quiet. Some of us pretend the suffering belongs to someone else.
It does not. It belongs to all of us.
We do not show these tears to make you feel helpless. We show them so you feel something,
because a people that stops feeling for its own has already begun to disappear. This is not
a stranger's grief. It is your mother's face. Your brother's voice. Your own blood, in a
place you may never have seen and still come from.
You can change your accent. You can carry another passport. You can build a life so far
from Arakan that none of this reaches you. You will still be Rohingya. That is not a wound
you inherited. It is a people you belong to.
Know who you are. Then live like it.