Little Farzina rode along on her father's shoulder through the crowded Washington D.C. square. Her hands and feet were freezing this September as she scanned across stern faces. She looked up at the platform and couldn't help but notice a man wrapped in an army green jacket. The crowd seemed to chant the cries from his bullhorn... "Palestine, Palestine, Palestine!" She didn't understand what the chants had to do with a burning statue a few meters away, hung in the midst of another crowd. It was evident people were angry, and they carried a similar intensity of the faces she caught on television. She would watch her parents' faces grow long in shock at the people on screen. Throwing rocks, setting fires and shouting with signs in their hands.
Farzina's thoughts became dissheveled, and she was more concerned about her frozen fingers. It would take nearly three decades to sort out the confusion. Just as things began to seem clear, she envisioned herself on stage. This time she would convince the crowd what those strange people wearing army green jackets had in her youth.
War was created by design. It was easy to foster a threat by robbing people of an honest living and wiping away their future hopes. If give them freedom, you'll lose this war.
No comments:
Post a Comment