" I remember Uncle’s eyes glittering with pain and anger. I remember something else, too. How I’d felt hearing about Abuji, the way he’d done nothing to help. Back then I couldn’t understand it. Why hadn’t he done something?

Those soldiers tonight, tearing apart our house. And me? I’d stood there, frozen. I hadn’t done anything—I hadn’t even said anything. And I’m three years older than Abuji was then.

I know now. What could he have done? What could any of us do? "

― Linda Sue Park , When My Name Was Keoko