I was around 14 years old when I experienced my first raid at home by members of the state security apparatus. I still have a vivid memory of the dusty boot trails they left behind on the steps as they made their way to the upstairs of our home at around 1 am. Even saying it out loud at almost 35 years old, a small part of me still believes such a heinous intrusion and act of psychological violence was a normal part of life and how could one not.
That was not my first observance of such violence. Years before, at around 6 or 7 years old, I had seen my dad being pulled out the yard by police and holding on for dear life to the beams. These memories, as much as you comb through them in therapy, still feel so weirdly shameful and never actually leave. Though less painful, they still influence the way we internalise violence, stigmatise others and develop both trust and distrust in each other and in the state.
