Niamh Burn The Barlow RC High School

Niamh Burn

The Barlow RC High School

Today was meant to be the day. The day everything changed. The day everyone looked down on, would stand together. The day we would finally make a difference.

Butterflies were zooming around my stomach. I was so excited. Wish I knew. I wish I could have stopped it. I could have stopped my Mother and Father from taking us. We would all have been ok.

We left first thing in the morning. I’ll never forget the feeling of happiness and excitement that we were finally free to say what we wanted. Now it is replaced with a deep sinking feeling of dread. We didn’t mean to start a fight. We were just peacefully protesting. When we got there hundreds of people were already gathered. There was a buzz of excitement throughout us. We had been waiting for a day like this our entire lives.

People were swarmed like bees in the streets, weaving in and out of each other, completely unbothered and unaware by the world around us. Maybe that was the problem. We were in denial. I will not let my hope and excitement make me stupid again. Ever again.

The protest began. It was incredible. Hundreds of different people joined together all with one thing in common: we were all poor. We were all looked down on by society. We were all stuck at the very bottom of the social ladder.

We were all stood together, willing to fight to make a difference and it ended in death and violence and horror. All we want is to be people. People with rights to speak up. People with rights to an opinion. People with rights to a life. I can’t forget it. The way my Mother held so tightly to my hand. Her eyes sparkled with hope that one day me and my brother would have chance in a world where so many of us are overlooked because of the way we dress and act.

Because of where we come from.

Thud. What was that sound? People looked around curiously. Anxious and confused glances exchanged. THUD THUD THUD. Again. Only this time we knew what it was. The soldiers. Charging in on us like we were a huge enemy. Like we were threatening their country. Like we weren’t part of their country.

Why were they doing this?

I felt my Mother grab my hand again. Only this time it wasn’t excitement. It was like someone had taken every ounce of hope and excitement and replaced it with a cold deathly fear. People running. Shouting. Screams of fear and agony. Pleas for mercy. Crying out for help. Silence. I don’t remember it. Almost like the memory has been put in a small box and buried. Far out in the desert. Deeper and deeper until I am no longer able to grasp it. Maybe I don’t want to remember the frantic running. Maybe I don’t want to remember the fear I will have seen in my Mother’s eyes as she tried to shield me from danger. I’m not sure. But I do remember the feeling of complete betrayal.

We had worked for so long and it was all ruined. We’re people too. We just wanted the freedom to speak out and to try and better our world. I just want to live in a world where I can go out to protest my own rights, without the fear of being trampled by drunk soldiers on horses. I want to be seen as a real person, not just as poor hooligan who is always in trouble. I want to be free.