Once in Jukistopia, a farmer’s son stepped on a snake. The snake, in turn, inflicted a fatal bite on the boy. Grieving over his loss, the father set out to kill the snake. In his rage, he struck—but missed its head, cutting off only its tail.
The snake, in outrage, slithered away and began biting the farmer’s animals. Loss begot loss. Pain multiplied pain.
Realising the destruction would not end, the farmer sought reconciliation. He gathered honey and other sweet offerings and took them to the snake, hoping to make peace.
The snake, slightly hissing, replied:
“Whether I accept your gifts or not, there can no longer exist true peace between us; for whenever I see you, I shall remember the loss of my tail, and whenever you see me, you will be thinking of your son’s death.”
There is a lesson here that is as uncomfortable as it is true: no one completely forgets injury while in the presence of the one who caused it. Memory does not negotiate. It does not dissolve because hands have been shaken or because cameras are rolling. It lingers—quiet, patient, and dangerous.
And so we must be wary of those who ask us to believe too quickly in political friendships forged in the shadow of unresolved conflict.
Warlords of post-election violence
The men who stood on opposite sides of the 2008 post-election violence now stand shoulder to shoulder, asking for trust, asking for votes, asking us to believe that yesterday’s enemies have become today’s allies. But history—like the snake—does not forget so easily.
The hatchet may be buried, yes. But its location is not forgotten.
These alliances are not born of healing; they are born of necessity. They are stitched together not by reconciliation, but by the arithmetic of power—numbers needed to win seats in the August 2013 general election. And once that objective is achieved, what then? They will get onto each other.
And when they do, it will not be because they have suddenly rediscovered their differences. It will be cause those differences never truly left. They merely went quiet—like embers under ash—waiting for the right wind. Alliances built on convenience do not erase memory; they suspend it.
And in that suspension lies the greatest danger: a nation lulled into believing that reconciliation has taken place, when in truth, it has only been postponed.
Jukistopia must therefore learn early what the farmer learned too late. The lesson is this: some wounds, once inflicted, alter the nature of coexistence itself. True peace is not the absence of conflict, nor the performance of unity, but the difficult, often uncomfortable work of justice and healing.
Without it, today’s handshake becomes tomorrow’s clenched fist.
