War and what comes after | Clemantine Wamariya

翻译人员: Yi Lu 校对人员: Jianxin Xiao

Words matter.

言语很重要。

They can heal

它们可以治愈人，

and they can kill ...

也可以杀人。

yet, they have a limit.

但是，它们有个弱点。

When I was in eighth grade,

当我还在读八年级的时候，

my teacher gave me a vocabulary sheet

我的老师给了我一张单词表，

with the word "genocide."

上面有个词叫“种族大屠杀”。

I hated it.

我讨厌这个词。

The word genocide is clinical ...

这个词没有人情味，

overgeneral ...

太过笼统，

bloodless ...

冷酷无情，

dehumanizing.

剥夺了人性。

No word

没有一个词

can describe

能描述

what this does to a nation.

它对一个国家来说意味着什么。

You need to know,

你需要知道

in this kind of war,

在这种战争中

husbands kills wives,

丈夫杀了妻子，

wives kill husbands,

妻子杀了丈夫，

neighbors and friends kill each other.

邻里朋友之间互相残杀。

Someone

有些

in power

掌握权力的人

says,

说，

"Those over there ...

“那些人……

they don't belong.

他们不属于这儿。

They're not human."

他们非我族类。”

And people believe it.

然后人们就相信了。

I don't want words

我不想用言语

to describe this kind of behavior.

去描述这种行为。

I want words to stop it.

我想用语言去停止这种行为。

But where are the words to stop this?

但是这样的语言在哪呢？

And how do we find the words?

我们又要如何找到它？

But I believe, truly, we have to keep trying.

但我真的认为， 我们需要坚持尝试。

I was born in Kigali, Rwanda.

我出生在卢旺达的首都基加利，

I felt loved by my entire family

被我的家人，当然还有我的邻居们

and my neighbors.

关爱，呵护着。

I was constantly being teased by everybody,

其他人总是喜欢和我开玩笑，

especially my two older siblings.

特别是我的那两个姐姐。

When I lost my front tooth,

当我的门牙掉了的时候，

my brother looked at me and said,

我的哥哥看着我说：

"Oh, it has happened to you, too?

“噢，你也遇到同样的事啦？

It will never grow back."

它再也不会长回来了哦。“

(Laughter)

（笑声）

I enjoyed playing everywhere,

我享受到处玩耍，

especially my mother's garden and my neighbor's.

特别喜欢在母亲 和邻居的花园里玩。

I loved my kindergarten.

我喜欢幼儿园。

We sang songs,

我们会唱歌，

we played everywhere

我们到处玩乐，

and ate lunch.

然后共享午餐。

I had a childhood

我真希望

that I would wish for anyone.

其他人能拥有我这样的童年。

But when I was six,

但当我六岁时，

the adults in my family began to speak in whispers

家里的长辈开始悄声说话，

and shushed me any time that I asked a question.

并且每当我问问题时， 总会嘘声让我安静。

One night,

有天晚上，

my mom and dad came.

我的父母来到跟前，

They had this strange look when they woke us.

带着非常奇怪的表情叫醒我们，

They sent my older sister Claire and I to our grandparent's,

把我和姐姐克莱尔 送到了祖父母那儿，

hoping whatever was happening would blow away.

希望无论发生什么事 都能随风而去。

Soon we had to escape from there, too.

不久后我们也必须要逃离那里了。

We hid,

我们躲了起来，

we crawled,

匍匐而行，

we sometimes ran.

有时候还会跑。

Sometimes I heard laughter

有时候我听见笑声，

and then screaming and crying

在这之后紧接着是 尖叫声和哭声，

and then noise that I had never heard.

再然后是一种 我从没有听到过的噪声。

You see,

事实上，

I did not know

我不知道

what those noises were.

那些噪声什么，

They were neither human --

它们既不是人的声音——

and also at the same time, they were human.

同时又确实是人。

I saw people who were not breathing.

我看到了很多没有在呼吸的人，

I thought they were asleep.

我认为他们睡着了。

I still didn't understand what death was,

我依旧不理解死亡是什么，

or killing in itself.

或者杀人本身是什么。

When we would stop to rest for a little bit

当我们停下来小憩一会儿

or search for food,

或是搜寻食物时，

I would close my eyes,

我会闭上眼睛，

hoping when I opened them,

希冀着当我睁开双眼时，

I would be awake.

我会醒来。

I had no idea which direction was home.

我完全不知道家在哪个方向。

Days were for hiding

白天四处躲藏

and night for walking.

晚上才能开始夜行。

You go from a person who's away from home

你从一个远离家的人

to a person with no home.

成为一个没有家的人。

The place that is supposed to want you

那个原来应该容纳你的地方，

has pushed you out,

如今将你往外推，

and no one takes you in.

而且没有人想接纳你。

You are unwanted

你被所有人

by anyone.

排挤。

You are a refugee.

你是一个难民。

From age six to 12,

从六岁到十二岁，

I lived in seven different countries,

我停驻暂居过七个不同的国家，

moving from one refugee camp to another,

从一个难民营到另一个难民营，

hoping we would be wanted.

希望我们会被接纳。

My older sister Claire,

我的姐姐克莱尔，

she became a young mother ...

成为了一位年轻的母亲…

and a master at getting things done.

也成为了处理事情的好手。

When I was 12,

当我十二岁的时候，

I came to America with Claire and her family on refugee status.

我和克莱尔以及她的家庭 以难民身份去了美国。

And that's only the beginning,

那仅仅只是个开始，

because even though I was 12 years old,

因为即使我已经 12 岁了，

sometimes I felt like three years old

有时候我觉得自己像 3 岁，

and sometimes 50 years old.

有时候又像 50 岁。

My past receded,

我的过去已消逝，

grew jumbled,

变得杂乱，

distorted.

扭曲。

Everything was too much

一切都太多，

and nothing.

又一无所有。

Time seemed like pages torn out of a book

时间像一张张从书上撕下来的纸，

and scattered everywhere.

四处散落。

This still happens to me standing right here.

我现在站在这里依旧有这种感觉。

After I got to America,

到了美国之后，

Claire and I did not talk about our past.

克莱尔和我都没有提起过往。

In 2006,

在 2006 年，

after 12 years

我和我的家庭

being separated away from my family,

分离了12年后，

and then seven years knowing that they were dead

在 7 年前得知他们已经过世，

and them thinking that we were dead,

他们也认为我们已经死亡 这样一个状态下，

we reunited ...

我们团聚了…

in the most dramatic, American way possible.

用了一种最戏剧化、美国式的方式。

Live,

通过直播，

on television --

在电视上——

(Laughter)

（笑声）

on "The Oprah Show."

一个叫《奥普拉脱口秀》的节目。

(Laughter)

（笑声）

(Applause)

（掌声）

I told you, I told you.

这是真的，这是真的。

(Laughter)

（笑声）

But after the show,

但在这个节目之后，

as I spent time with my mom and dad

当我花时间陪着我的父母，

and my little sister

我的妹妹，

and my two new siblings that I never met,

和两个从未见过的弟弟，

I felt anger.

我感到了愤怒。

I felt every deep pain in me.

我感受到了内心深处的伤痛。

And I know that there is absolutely nothing,

我也知道

nothing,

没有任何事情

that could restore the time we lost with each other

能弥补我们失去彼此的那些日子，

and the relationship we could've had.

修补我们本来可以拥有的关系。

Soon, my parents moved to the United States,

不久后，我的父母搬到了美国，

but like Claire,

但是他们像克莱尔一样，

they don't talk about our past.

从不提起过往。

They live in never-ending present.

他们活在永无止境的当下。

Not asking too many questions,

不去问太多问题，

not allowing themselves to feel --

也不允许他们自己感觉

moving in small steps.

正在一小步一小步移动。

None of us, of course, can make sense of what happened to us.

当然，我们没有一个人能解释 发生在我们身上的事。

Though my family is alive --

虽然我的家人还活着——

yes, we were broken,

但是，没错，我们已经支离破碎，

and yes, we are numb

没错，我们已经麻木，

and we were silenced by our own experience.

我们因自己的经历 而不得不保持沉默。

It's not just my family.

不仅是我的家庭会这样。

Rwanda is not the only country

卢旺达不是唯一一个

where people have turned on each other

人们互相攻击

and murdered each other.

和互相残杀的国家。

The entire human race,

整个人类，

in many ways,

在很多层面上，

is like my family.

都很像我的家庭。

Not dead;

不是死去了；

yes, broken, numb and silenced by the violence of the world

没错，而是崩塌了，麻木了， 并且因笼罩着世界的残暴

that has taken over.

而沉默了。

You see,

要知道，

the chaos of the violence continues inside

暴力的混乱依旧存在于

in the words we use

我们的言语

and the stories we create every single day.

和我们每天创造的故事之中。

But also on the labels that we impose on ourselves

但同时也在我们给自己贴上的标签

and each other.

和给别人贴上的标签之中。

Once we call someone "other,"

一旦我们称一个人为“别人”，

"less than,"

"比不上”，

"one of them"

“他们中的一个人”，

or "better than,"

或“比什么好”，

believe me ...

相信我…

under the right condition,

在适当的条件下，

it's a short path to more destruction.

这是一条通往更多毁灭的捷径。

More chaos

更多混乱，

and more noise

还有更多

that we will not understand.

我们不会理解的嘈杂声。

Words will never be enough

言语永远不足以

to quantify and qualify the many magnitudes

对人类造成的破坏程度

of human-caused destruction.

进行量化和定性。

In order for us

为了让我们

to stop the violence that goes on in the world,

去阻止暴行在全世界肆虐，

I hope --

我希望——

at least I beg you --

至少是我请求你们——

to pause.

停止吧。

Let's ask ourselves:

让我们扪心自问：

Who are we without words?

抛开言语，我们是谁？

Who are we without labels?

抛开标签，我们是谁？

Who are we in our breath?

我们呼吸着谁的呼吸？

Who are we in our heartbeat?

我们心跳着谁的心跳？

(Applause)