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.
Monday, January 15, 2007
Monday, January 1, 2007
through the border of Pakistan
Ahmed Sahlazian tighted up his boot laces as he sat in a dusty Pakistani bazaar. The locals paid little attention as he self-consciously tried to pass himself off as a day laborer or commoner. After only more than a week, he missed his home but turning back now was out of the question. Hundreds of miles took their toll on his appearance but not his determination. It was still a long way to Iraq from here and he planned to travel swiftly.
In his head, Ahmed could still see the ghosts of his uncles' bulletridden corpses. Hard to believe that was only three years ago. Seemed like decades until he could make good on promises to keep his family's honor, even if it meant forever abandoning the comforts of his parents, family and hometown. He was joining the ranks of the Mujahedeen.
Flashbacks of his youth returned, when the townspeople asked when Ahmed planned to settle down and raise children. A simple life would have been possible in another place, another time. Too many members of Ahmed's family were blacklisted for anti-government activities. And none had happy endings.
Executions were common punishments for those who dared speak out. Ahmed preferred to die in battle, fighting his country's brutal oppressors, rather than be slaughtered along with a host of other sacrificial lambs.
Ahmed's goal was to surpass the death hangings that would result from peaceful demonstrations. His chances of survival were slim as he joined forces with fellow militants in Iraq. But he was happy. His life might result in someone else's freedom.
In his head, Ahmed could still see the ghosts of his uncles' bulletridden corpses. Hard to believe that was only three years ago. Seemed like decades until he could make good on promises to keep his family's honor, even if it meant forever abandoning the comforts of his parents, family and hometown. He was joining the ranks of the Mujahedeen.
Flashbacks of his youth returned, when the townspeople asked when Ahmed planned to settle down and raise children. A simple life would have been possible in another place, another time. Too many members of Ahmed's family were blacklisted for anti-government activities. And none had happy endings.
Executions were common punishments for those who dared speak out. Ahmed preferred to die in battle, fighting his country's brutal oppressors, rather than be slaughtered along with a host of other sacrificial lambs.
Ahmed's goal was to surpass the death hangings that would result from peaceful demonstrations. His chances of survival were slim as he joined forces with fellow militants in Iraq. But he was happy. His life might result in someone else's freedom.
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