Yvy Truong

From reading Silencing the Past from Trouillot… I can’t help but feel a bit nervous about all the things in history that we don’t know about and the things that we might perhaps never know about. One question – and I can’t remember specifically what the question was, but the gist of it was why and how those in power (be it kings, queens, royals, leaders, etc.,) alter the past in attempts to make themselves look better in the future. That makes me nervous for some reason because I think why people would try to alter the past to make themselves look better for the future is because, I think we all fear death and we all want to be remembered once we do die. And I sometimes think that whatever we attempt to do is out of the fear of being forgotten.

On another note, I raised a question on the role of social media in the role of history. Since we are actively involved in history and the way we are involved has certainly changed (for example: facebook, twitter, pinterest, tumblr, this blog, wordpress blogs, etc.,)… could it possibly detrimental? Not to discredit social media, I believe that we get to be involved in current events more so than before where information was limited and where information was restricted. I believe we have access to a fuller picture and where we are allowed to form our opinions rather than have major networks to form out opinions and I much rather this than having out view restricted with limited lenses. But I don’t want to give social media too much credit either. Yes, the way information travels is much faster than how it did before, but with that said, the speed of false information travels rapidly as well. What I worry about is that we might trust it more and not view it as sceptically as we should.

I think I’ll end this post with a little poem…

Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night by Dylan Thomas

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on that sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.