Tomorrow, 30 years would have passed since the sinking of the Rainbow Warrior.
To those who don't know, The Rainbow Warrior was a ship named after a
a North American Cree Indian prophecy: “When the world is sick and dying, the people will rise up like Warriors of the Rainbow…”In July 1985, it was docked in New Zealand, protesting against the French Nuclear testing in Moruroa Atoll. The attack came at midnight, two explosions, one after the other.
The whole ship sank, not to mention Fernando Pereira, a 35 year old photographer who was there to photograph the nuclear testing and show the world it's horrors.
He was only 35 years old. He had a whole life ahead of him. He had a family, he had a job, he had a life. But apparently, the French Secret Services did not think of that. Their only objective was to stop the voices trying to save the planet they lived on.
I am aware of how furious New Zealand was about this. I am aware that not all French people are like this. But don't you get it? Fernando Pereira will be forgotten in the pages of history over the course of years. This whole fucking incident will be forgotten.
I know that it has been 30 years. And the only reason I write this post is to honour the man who died in the battle. And the children he left behind.