|   home   |   mainichi   |   contact   |

all images from museum brochure
 

It was almost like they spoke to us.  Cried to us.
Voices angry, fearful, desperate.  The torture chambers echoed with that past.
What the hell happened here?  What the hell went wrong?
And all their faces, black and white mug shots, so many doomed faces.
Too many to count.  Too many to love. Yet I said over and over again:
I am your mother, I am here, I will not hurt you.  Don’t be afraid….
 

I cannot say more.

I cannot talk about this.

Faces, really, is all it was.

And rooms.

And metal.
 

And their echoes.