Mina wanted to say that safety was not neutral; that some safekeeping puts things behind glass and makes them into exhibits rather than anchors. She wanted to say that the primer belonged to the people who needed to touch it, to read the small notes aloud in tents and on benches, to find themselves in its smudged lines. But she remembered the silver-haired man tracing his finger over a name, the child's small voice learning a new word, the way people had learned to say aloud that they had been afraid. She did not know if keeping it accessible to a board of officials would mean more people could see it or fewer.
Memory, they discovered, was not a thing to be kept in one place. It was a practice: saying names until they grew roots, making copies until the originals could rest, reading aloud until the small facts of life outlived the rubble. han kang human acts pdf
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