An Voice For The Forgotten

• Douglas Rintoul, Grade 11
• Short Story
• 2013

Before the white invasion began, nobody had ever let him speak – let alone believed in what he spoke. The rumours of his insanity grew so wild that people would cross the street to avoid him, and parents had warned their children to stay away from him. But after the first attack, there had to be at least a thousand people in front of him wherever he went, listening to his every word. During his first real speech, the man had stood in amazement for at least a full minute, still somehow unable to believe his eyes as the crowd stood in an almost hypnotic trance. They were desperate – begging for him to speak so that the words could give them a hope they had long since lost. He had regained his composure, taken a deep breath and begun to speak.
“People of the resistance…” His booming voice could cut through the low murmurs of a crowd like a hot knife through butter, making any eyes which were preoccupied snap to him. The cold walls of the old, warn building he called home would amplify his sound even more. “We are strong!” The crowd cheered as he raised his fist into the air, copying his movement in a symbol of uprising. “For too long we have been oppressed! For far too long, we have been shoved under the world’s feet to do its dirty work!” The crowd cheered once more at this, a crowd made up of filthy, underpaid workers and their families. “But from this day forth, we will not stand for this! We will rise!”
The man didn't see himself as a revolutionary, but as a spreader of hope. He spoke for the tribes exploited by Western civilisation, and whenever he spoke, people would put aside their differences to listen. The people who fought and lost their lives were honoured by him, and the families that struggled were helped by him. The man spoke for the people who couldn’t, and represented a generation of people long ignored by the world.

The day before he died, he gave one final speech to a younger generation. He told the tales of those who died for freedom, and of those who had sacrificed everything. He didn't have the same hypnotic effect, but even on a younger crowd he captivated and amazed. He poured everything into that speech, as a last attempt to help the world move forward. For the people who were forced into dangerous conditions to barely make a living, he spoke. For the families who had lost all hope, he yelled. And for everyone ever hurt by the world, he screamed and shouted. People didn't notice – people never do – but he was a beacon of hope during a dark time. He alone carried an exploited people through the biggest tragedy in human history, and he alone was a voice for the forgotten.