Imagine our lives as scattered chapters, a shared story moving forward. With each turn, we believe characters can choose the greater good. We, the public, hold the pen, shaping this narrative, seeking closure for the noble pursuit of justice.

Many of us carry unspoken terrors, shared wounds, and lingering guilt. We shift between masks – perpetrator, victim, hero – depending on the scene. Some distort memories of violence, painting stark landscapes ignoring our collective forgetfulness.

Across the globe, monuments stand, silent witnesses to atrocities. Built by the hands of victims, families, and those who care, they offer a space for memories to collide, forge uneasy bonds between past, present, and future. Yet, decades later, the act of remembering fades, leaving families and survivors holding the vigil.

Is commemoration, the public acknowledgement of these dark chapters, only for them? Must we celebrate through triumphant stone while mourning through embodied absence? Or can we, as a collective audience, embrace the shared burden of remembering, ensuring history whispers not just to families, but to us all?