Revenge is repeating a wrong
Healing is the release

Let me talk to you about revenge.
It is the voice that whispers when you are alone at night. Make them feel what you felt. Let them taste the wound they gave you. Do not let them walk away untouched. It is the sweetest poison. It promises relief. It promises justice. It promises that the one who hurt you will finally understand — because they will feel it too.
Strip it down. What is revenge, really?
Revenge is not justice. Justice is the righting of a wrong. Revenge is the repeating of a wrong. Justice says: This is what was done. This is what must be corrected. Revenge says: This is what was done. Now I will do it back. The difference is the direction. Justice moves forward. Revenge moves in circles.
The ancestors understood this. They did not build their communities on revenge. They built them on accountability. The elder was called. The story was told. The truth was spoken. The restitution was made. And then — the release. The community was restored. The cycle was broken. The ancestors knew that revenge does not heal the wound. It only opens a new one — and hands the knife to the next generation.
The coloniser understood this too. He knew that a people who are consumed by revenge cannot build. He knew that the wound passed from generation to generation is a wound that never heals. He knew that if he could keep us angry at each other — if he could keep us seeking revenge on each other — we would never turn our gaze to the one who actually wounded us. Revenge was not our instinct. It was his strategy.
The sovereign response to revenge is not to suppress it. It is to see it. To name it. To ask: What does revenge actually give me? It gives the illusion of power. But it does not give power. It gives the illusion of justice. But it does not give justice. What it gives is a chain — the chain that binds you to the one who wounded you. The chain that keeps the wound open. The chain that makes the enemy your master, even after they are gone.
So I ask you today: Who are you seeking revenge against? Not the polite answer. The real one. The one who broke your heart. The one who betrayed you. The one who stole from you. The one who wounded you in the schoolyard. The one who wounded your ancestors. Name them. And then ask: What will revenge give me? The answer is nothing. It will give you the same wound you already carry — but now you will carry it twice.
And the second question: What is the nation seeking revenge against? The coloniser. The betrayer. The one who stole the land, the language, the dignity. It is a just anger. It is a righteous anger. But revenge will not restore the land. Revenge will not restore the language. Revenge will not restore the dignity. Only building will do that. Only naming the wound — and then releasing it — will do that.
Revenge is not the enemy. It is the illusion. The coloniser taught us to seek it — because a people who seek revenge are a people who do not build. The ancestors knew better. They knew that the wound is real, but the healing is the priority. The healing is not forgetting. The healing is not excusing. The healing is the release — the moment when you stop carrying the wound and start building what was broken.
The door is open. The healing is possible. The chain is waiting to be broken. Choose the key. Choose the door. Choose the release.
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I. Ras Gad Shangox owned and operated a Taxi in Toronto for 28 years before 2016 when he sold his plate and became licensed as a delivery truck driver. His series “Pocket Wisdom for Sovereign Minds” was born of his curiousity about the relationship between individual words and their impact on human consciousness and behaviour. Shangox’ writing is founded upon his original ideas and then polished with AI.