“Four martyrs step into a rodeo. It's a joke. The killing kind. The kind where you ain't laughing much but see something a little different after the punch has lined. Where life is precious, life is precious. And surely that's not here. Type of courage most ain't lucky enough to see. It's a full crowd that seen it. And it's more protesting outside the arena than cheering in. Maybe something right coming, maybe we'll see something different, but for now, we forget all that ain't the ladies' death” (p. 377).

Nana Kwame Adjei-Brenyah creates a (not so distant) world through beautiful, devastating poetry where the shrouded becomes spotlighted. We see it all. The response? No shame, just shameless consumption. Our desire to see consumes us; a terrible lust. Eyes are not inherent tools of progress—just as easily can they deliver us to a place of informed complicity. What would Timothy Pachirat have say about this book?

To be seen, is not to be known. To be known is to be loved. In a complex, accountable sort of way. So much love in this book. So much love for this book.

“I have made myself some ‘ice cream’ for tomorrow after all the court hearings. Using a more advanced recipe, I have added prunes and walnuts and adjusted the proportions of butter and sour cream. I boiled and stirred it all for a long time. When I come back tomorrow, I'll change my clothes, take out my ‘ice cream,’ and lie down to watch myself being called a fascist and a traitor on television” (p. 156).

As someone that has been trained to reject binary thinking and always, always seek nuance in my work, I was fascinated by Nalvany’s untouchable belief in his rightness. Even after four years in prison, right up until his death, he never wavered. He showed that there is nothing to be compromised to authoritarianism. This story is an antidote to apathy and handbook on how to live boldly by your values. Most of all, it was a grand display of love: to culture, country, family and political community.

It also made me laugh.