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Outside, the country applauds “order” and “control,” comforted by charts that rise and fall in the right direction. Inside, a mother rehearses her story in a language she barely knows, a child counts the days by meal trays, and a soldier stares at a screen, wondering when “just paperwork” began to feel like complicity. Between prosperity and pain, a question lingers: if suffering is hidden well enough, does anyone still feel responsible?
