A letter to my son

Yarn Spinner

In 2001, I wrote  this letter to my son, the war had just begun.

My son, your birth began on the day American and British warplanes started to bomb Afghanistan. I cried out of joy and fear. You were born at 04.05 GMT, in Manchester whilst the American and British warplanes were reloading for another bloody sortie. Alas my son, you had to be born into America’s ‘war on terror’. A war, we have been promised, like no other we have ever seen – one without end.

Now my son, you have come into a world, where millions of hungry are fleeing in terror, from those who claim they are out to defend freedom and civilisation. You have been born in a world in which a white life is worth more than a black one; a world in which American life, is worth more than a country and even perchance the…

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