Intelligence will have no weight, ever, in the judgement of public opinion. Not even for the blood of the Nazi camps, will you obtain
from one of the millions of souls in our nation, a single, clear and totally indignant judgement: every idea is unreal, every passion is unreal
for this race that henceforth lives dissociated for several centuries, that its gentle wisdom allows to live but that it has never freed.
Showing my face, my thinness - raising my lonely puerile voice - no longer has any meaning: cowardice accustoms us,
to seeing others die in the most hideous manner, with the strangest indifference. I die and that too harms me…
La Guinée (extract) Poésies en forme de rose, Pier Paolo Pasolini (Editions Gallimard)