The Terrorist...

Incorporated into this piece is rubble from the Chch earthquakes - in a tiny and impudent gesture of solidarity.

This is closest that I, in my privileged life in New Zealand, can come to empathising just a tiny bit, with the reality of these peoples' lives.

Broken bodies, tortured souls, hearts

ruptured beyond repair.


When driven by pain, fear and hatred, the destructive and unyielding power of humans to inflict 'pain, fear and hatred' upon their neighbours, is extraordinary.


Forgiveness, compassion and humanity cease to exist.

These qualities that make us 'beautifully human' are replaced with guns, terror and bloodshed.

Each 'side' justifies their actions with the re-igniting of age-old feelings of injustice and hatred. Memories of stories told of their fathers' sins.


The moulding of 'Tomorrow's Terrorist' is simple when using these tools.

The child thrust to the forefront of the battle, screaming for his mother from who's arms he was plucked.  The poor little bugger doesn't stand a chance.

Like the Monarch that can never escape the clutches of fate to become it's beautiful best, so the child is trapped.

Destined to become Tomorrow's Terrorist. 


He hides, hidden behind his gun in the ruins of a building.

The Terrorist

Ghosts of the past lay buried within the ruins. The sins of the fathers - the hatred and fear that inform the actions of today, have their foundations buried deeply in the past.

The Monarch awaits, curled within it's cocoon.

Without conscious thought, it anticipates living the 'promise' of it's potential. 


As it finds it's world, not warmed by the heat of the sun... but a world scorched from war.

Instead of finding safety in a garden full of wonder that will nurture it's youthful exuberance... it

finds only pain and fear.


The die has been cast. It is trapped.

The reality is, it's potential has been inextricably changed forever. It's innocence wrenched from it.


It does not know what it once had the potential to become - it only feels a sense of loss, longing

and pain.

No intervention now can allow it to soar and become the most beautiful and fragile creature it could have been.


As much as it craves the freedom to become the beautiful creature it's potential had whispered to it,

This Monarch will never fly. Again, the die have been cast.

The child.

Beautiful, innocent, broken.


His face and body torn apart by strangers.

His eyes will never see the world the same way again,

Nor will his heart ever feel the same way.


His trusting, safe world is changed forever. 

His 'potential' has been forcibly dictated by the actions of strangers with hatred and fear in their hearts.


He too, is now trapped in their world full of helplessness, fear and pain.


A battle of injustices and promises unkept.


The key in the child's hand symbolises the 'Right of Return' - one historic 'justification' used by one 'side' for today's killing.

The Star of David, laced in wire, represents another historic 'justification' used by the other 'side' for today's killing.


Each side has it's own legitimate perception of reality. 

Each side has it's own sense of 'right and wrong'.

Forgiveness is a million miles away when pain and memory persist.


Buried in the rubble is the out-stretched hand of a child - forcibly separated from her mother who lies beneath her. The mother's dead eye frozen in the moment of horror of her inability to protect her child against the hell that rained down from the beautiful blue sky.


The dice in the child's hand speaks of the the game of shear luck that she played and lost.

A game the child was unaware she was even playing.

  • facebook-square
  • flickr-square
  • Twitter Square

© 2014 by Diana Nicholson-Plank