In her column “Children of the Century”, Nathalie Plaat invited you to repeat the exercise imagined by sisters Gabrielle and Véronique Côté by completing the sentence: “I am the daughter of…, the son of…, the child of… “. The “News from you” section provides extracts from your engaged responses.
I am the son of the post-war period, of a world in constant turmoil, the fourth of eight children, all living. Tossed between the first desired births and the last of an exhausted and valiant mother.
I am from the time when priests were knocked off their pedestals, from the time when we wanted and were able to study. I am the son of television and its magic. The land of men came to us without us taking a boat or a plane.
I am one of those who dreamed of a new country and who hit a wall.
I am a son of the time when we procrastinated to accept immobility, of the time of those who forget themselves, who tolerate, who adapt, who keep within, who do not make noise. I am one of those who surprise when, tired of fighting, we cry out our despair and our revolt.
I am the sensitive son, the one who sheds a tear when he is hurt.
I am the son of disappointment at the resignation of our leaders towards the challenges of our current world. Disappointment also from my peers who are satisfied with so little.
I am the son of a generation which was obsessed with a better future for its children and which, today, is abandoning the fate of this planet to its own after having squeezed all the juice out of it.
I am the son of a people who seek to be part of a world whose differences they fear, often calling them extreme. The son of a people who often lack self-confidence, but remain proud of their resilience. Of these people who would like to walk on water without creating splashes.
I am a son of all this and outside of all this. As much a witness as an actor.
I try to be honest, to be faithful to my values of justice and fairness.
I find the present time strange, a time that values individual success, but is not moved by the health of the community around it. We make ourselves beautiful, we bear witness to ourselves, but rarely to our neighbors, our loved ones, our human brothers and sisters.
Our greatest social consensus in recent years has been to facilitate assisted dying. When it comes to living assistance, we don’t get along so well. That says a lot about us.
Faced with violence, hunger, the lack of decent housing for everyone, we choose the “delete” button from our collective intelligence.
I am also a son of nature, of this group of living beings who share this universe with us. His observation pacifies me. There I find the womb, the enveloping uterus, rocking me with the song of the birds, the wind in the leaves, the beauty of the world.
I am the son of all possibilities who values hope as a generator of dreams.
I remain a child and refuse to grow old in my head.