This is the problem of history. We cannot know that which we were not there to see and hear and experience for ourselves. We must rely upon the words of others. Those who were there in the olden days, they told stories to the children so that the children would know, so that the children could tell stories to their children. And so on, and so on.

History is Storytelling.

Og hvis han hamrede bogen ned i bordet, ville alle i rummet glo, og de ville ikke se andet end hans hudfarve og hans vrede, og så ville de tro, de vidste noget om ham, og det ville være det samme noget, som havde legitimeret at smide hans oldefar H i fængsel, men det ville også være anderledes, mindre åbenlyst, end det engang var.

We someone does wrong, whether it is you or me, whether it is mother or father, whether it is the Gold Coast man or the white man, it is like a fisherman casting a net into the water. He keeps only the one or two fish that he needs to feed himself and puts the rest in the water, thinking that their lives will go back to normal. No one forgets that they were once captive, even if they are now free.