by Philip Weiss on March 8, 2013 5
This is good: Israeli bulldozers demolish a dormitory in Harvard Yard so as to build another settlement. A Harvard satirical publication plays off the fake eviction notices posted on Harvard students’ doors by Palestinian solidarity activists, which so outraged the Anti-Defamation League. I wonder if the ADL will find that this satire also intimidates pro-Israel students?
It looks like comics are leading the way: Stephen Colbert and Saturday Night Live and the Onion are all on to the fact that the special relationship has made our foreign policy a laughing stock. Fools rush in where Chris Matthews fears to tread.
From Satire V (and thanks to Ahmed Moor):
The government of Israel yesterday demolished the freshman dormitory Wigglesworth, three days after eviction notices appeared on the doors of various suites within the building. Sources within the Israeli government suggest that there are plans to build a new settlement on the site, replete with solar panels, underground shopping centres, and an adult entertainment facility they plan to call Gaza Striptease.
Israeli officials have justified this sudden move by declaring that Harvard Yard is legitimately part of the Jewish Holy Land, that they are merely asserting their rightful territorial claims, and that residents of Wigglesworth were given prior warning. Many students, however, claim that they had thought the eviction notices “were meant to be a joke,” and were thus unprepared for the demolition.
Abe Liu (‘15/’16/’17/etc.), who lived on the sofa in Wigglesworth basement, exclaimed, “We thought it was just the Palestine Solidarity Committee trying to get publicity for their event. We didn’t actually believe Israel was planning to demolish our homes and seize the land that is rightfully ours. I was trying and failing to get swipe access into Annenberg last night, and when I came back, I saw these bulldozers had flattened my home.””
Rime Allaf
January 12, 2012
On January 10, while President Bashar Assad addressed his supporters in Damascus, Syrian authorities handed the tiny tortured body of a four-month old baby girl to her uncle in Homs. Arrested with her parents a few days earlier, one can only assume, knowing the Syrian regime’s documented brutality, that baby Afaf had been thrown into a cell with her mother and submitted to horrific treatment, terrorizing her and her mother and leading to her untimely death.
In its violent repression of the uprising, the Syrian regime has made no distinction between men and women or between adults and children. There has been equality in oppressing, and equality in suffering. But there has also been equality in protesting, albeit in varying degrees of visibility and in different forms.
For the last ten months of the Syrian revolution, many skeptics have repeated the tired refrain that women have been absent from the uprising and that it seems to be a male- dominated (read “Islamist-leaning”) protest movement. Such generalizations, meant to discredit the revolution, do much injustice to the women who have lived the uprising from the start at the side of their compatriots.
It is true that the initial Friday-centric demonstrations were, by default, overwhelmingly comprised of men. With no other possibility to gather freely, protesters met at the mosque and grouped at the end of Friday prayers to start marching and chanting, and week after week the presence of women in these demos was negligible. Moreover, there is little doubt that the sheer brutality of the regime, with its blind random shootings, would have led many men to insist that their female relatives remain at home in an attempt to keep them out of harm’s way.
In this, the Syrian revolution may have differed from others where women were visible from the start, especially as most other revolutions have begun in big cities. But no other revolution has been suppressed with the ferocity of the Syrian regime, nor has any other country (save for Libya after the military intervention started) endured so many casualties. Declaring the Syrian uprising to be woman-less, therefore, would reflect a rather skewed view on the situation and a superficial understanding of how the Syrian regime acts.
As repression got more brutal, the demonstrations spread throughout the country and extended beyond Friday prayers. This resulted in a noticeable increase of women on the streets of Syria, chanting alongside the men and running under fire alongside men. Some organized women-only demonstrations, others mingled in the mixed crowds and some took microphones to lead gatherings’ defiant chants, such as the woman who electrified Homs when she shouted to a roaring crowd that her children would not attend a school that had been used as a torture center.
Even when they weren’t taking to the streets, women’s participation in the revolution has been constant. They have made signs, helped give first aid to the wounded, and run charity networks to distribute aid to the neediest families under siege from the army. While these activities were not undertaken exclusively by women, they played an important role in the logistics behind the protests.
At the same time, civil activism began to develop into new forms, unveiling Syrian creativity and a pressing urge to raise the voice of the revolution. Initiatives included numerous film clips of women in nondescript interiors, their faces hidden with masks and scarves to protect their identity, holding signs that often centered around a single message that the viewer discovered as the camera went around the room. Such events made the rounds of the social networks in the most YouTubed revolution of the “Arab spring”, letting the internet amplify the power of these peaceful protests.
Syrian women have also been essential components of the now famous flash mobs that have so angered the regime with their speed and their efficient messages. Often, women will join the group and start chanting while wearing a headscarf, then separate at the first sign of the infamous “shabbiha” and yank their hijabs off their heads as they melt into the crowd.
Examples of such varied participation are plentiful enough and put to rest the shaky theories about women in Syria’s revolution. In fact, when considering the number of prominent female activists, Syria seems to be a leader rather than a follower, rightfully boasting of the women active in civil society and in revolution. Activists such as Suheir Atassi and Razan Zeitouneh, veterans on the socio-political underground scene at the grassroots level, and writers such as Samar Yazbek, have been part and parcel of the civil society movement challenging the regime openly from inside Syria. Since the revolution began, more women have become focal points for the protest movement, including actresses May Skaf, who was one of the first artists to participate in protests and to be arrested, and Fadwa Suleiman, who has been chanting defiantly from the heart of embattled and besieged Homs.
Moreover, the women who have been politically vocal and active in opposition, including in the main organized groups, seem to easily outnumber, especially proportionally, those in other revolutionary countries. There have been numerous Syrian women discussing Syrian affairs on pan-Arab media, and most are well-known among their compatriots.
While they never imagined that their children would be such easy prey for the regime nor intended them to be part of the movement, Syrian women have from the start been an integral element in the revolution. There is no doubt that they will also be an integral component of post-revolution Syria.
Published 12/1/2012 © bitterlemons-international.org
http://www.bitterlemons-international.org/inside.php?id=1483
- Role of women in Syrian uprising is little reported, but many have played a key part
- Syria no stranger to seeing women in high power roles: Lawyers, bankers, politicians
- As the unrest reaches its second anniversary, women are working as activists and medics
Editor’s note: Editor’s note: This feature, by CNN’s senior international correspondent Arwa Damon first appeared in Turkish Policy Quarterly.
(CNN) — The conversations with Catherine al-Talli over Skype were cryptic, no voice, only text, and they were deleted once the conversation ended. An anti-regime activist, there was no way I could have used her name in my report without putting her in danger.
In the summer of 2011, and I was in Damascus with a CNN team on the first official visas the Syrian government had granted our network since the uprising began around four months earlier.
We knew we were being watched: The intelligence agents in their drab suits trying to hide their faces behind newspapers outside our hotel were impossible to miss. Opposition activists warned us all phones were tapped, and suspected our hotel rooms were as well.
Catherine is no stranger to the ways of the Assad regime. Her father, a longtime activist, was detained in 1992 for eight years. Simply coming out to meet us was a formidable risk for her to take, considering the regime surveillance.
We’d previously arranged hand signals and a meeting point on a crowded street. I was with a female colleague, CNN producer Jomana Karadsheh. We pretended we were shopping, with a small flipcam buried deep in a handbag.
We tailed Catherine through the narrow alleyways of Old Damascus, nervously looking over our shoulders before finally following her into a dark apartment building, where one of her friends lived, and where we could talk.
Catherine, a human rights activist and lawyer, took part in some of the first demonstrations against the regime in Damascus in March. A couple of months later she was detained and imprisoned for 48 hours.
“I saw how they treat prisoners there, they don’t treat them like human beings,” she told us. “I saw how they forced a prisoner to drink toilet water, and I saw how they called a woman activist dirty words.”
She believes she was released because of her prominence as a lawyer, but it forced her to effectively live in hiding.
Like other Syrian women I met during the course of my reporting, Catherine was taking charge and playing a significant role in the revolution.
Protesters shot, beaten
Her focus at the time was to document Syrian government violations, to build a future case to prosecute regime officials and compile evidence of government brutality. She attended dozens of demonstrations, cataloging shootings, beatings, and detentions.
She recalls one protest where activists were chanting for the unity of the Syrian people, the unity of Muslims and Christians.
“Suddenly, the security forces guards jumped in front of the protestors, less than 10m away, and the security forces start shooting the protestors.” She remembered. “We were in the frontlines and at least five next to me were shot and killed at that time, I saw that by my own eyes.
“You asked me about why I am going out when it’s really risky: Because it’s our country, in simple words,” she explained. “It’s our responsibility to make it better.”
A few days later we snuck out once again to attend a secret meeting of opposition activists held at a school in an upscale Damascus neighborhood. Again, they asked us not to use their real names.
Like many of the activists I have met, they have now disappeared, perhaps detained or perhaps, like so many of the more moderate voices of the revolution, driven underground.
One of the women, a Christian, going by the pseudonym Maria, said she used to demonstrate until she nearly died after security forces fired tear gas followed by bullets at a protest she attended.
Catherine al-Talli, Syrian activist
Another young woman, a lawyer and a Muslim, who asked to be called Sana’a, was briefly detained and began working behind the scenes to get other activists out of jail.
For many watching events in Syria unfold, mostly through YouTube videos, it would seem that women are not a factor. But delve behind those first appearances and you will discover that’s not the case.
They may not be as visible as their male counterparts, but women are playing a crucial role, one that is arguably going to grow even more critical. And the nation’s women are from all different backgrounds and beliefs.
Underground clinics
Back in Damascus, some six months after my first meeting with Catherine, I met three women, clad in black from head to toe, in the neighborhood of Kafarsouseh. They said that fear of sexual assault by security forces kept them off the streets.
“We want our voices to be heard, women also want freedom, this is our Syria as well,” they said, echoing one another.
They were from conservative Sunni backgrounds, but they insisted they did not want to live under Islamic law.
All university students, they had dropped out of school and now spent hours stitching together opposition flags, making face masks for the men to wear, and running secret underground clinics to treat the wounded, having gone through a crash course in first aid.
ide Syria’s detention centers
“It was a shock at first,” Insisar, at 19 the youngest of the three, said of seeing gaping wounds. “But we have a goal that we need to reach, so we have to deal with it.”
They also tracked down the families of the dead or detained to provide them with food, blankets and whatever financial aid they could.
Since our meeting, a year has passed, and the phenomenon of the “radicalization of the revolution” has ingrained itself. Extremist groups, like the Nusra Front which the U.S. recently designated a terrorist organization, are at the forefront of the rebel fighting force and seeing their capabilities, influence and ranks grow by the day.
In Aleppo in December a Salafist commander joked that the only thing between him and the Nusra Front was a cigarette. The Front does not allow its fighters to smoke, and he did not want to give up nicotine. That line is a widespread joke I heard more than once during my two weeks there.
We ended up walking with him into a former sweetshop recently turned into a field clinic.
He overheard a conversation I was having with one of the medics, a 19-year-old high school senior who asked us to name her Aya.
Fear and bravery
“You did what?” he asked her, his voice dripping with contempt.
Aya, glared straight at him, her dark eyes lined with bright blue eye shadow, her young face framed by a pale pink headscarf.
“I left my husband and came to volunteer here,” she responded, her voice quiet but defiant.
He gave her a look of utter disgust before he turned on his heel and stormed out of the room.
Relief spilled across Aya’s face, and the faces of her colleagues, but quickly gave way to anger: She was not about to let the Syria she was fighting for be ruled by the likes of him.
Aya’s English is nearly impeccable. She once dreamt of being a lawyer. A new bride, her husband had recently joined the free Syrian army and she left home — with his and her family’s blessing — to train as a medic.
Aya, volunteer medic
“With everything happening in this country, I decided that I am supposed to do something and I just can’t take a gun and fight because I am a girl,” she explained. “So I decided to come here and help in another thing, like… saving people.”
The first time she saw blood, she said she almost fainted.
“Of course I was scared, I scared too much, but there was something inside me telling me that there is something that I am supposed to keep doing,” she says softly.
“I can’t just be afraid and go, I am supposed to stay, and time after time I learn and I have more courage to do this.”
Freedom and democracy
Now, dealing with the influx of wounded has become almost mechanical, part of a macabre daily routine. Despite the horror of what she is witnessing, dwelling on her own emotions is a luxury she cannot afford.
Aya is from a conservative Sunni family, and when it comes to the future of Syria she is fighting for, she says she wants to see something of a blend of both an Islamic and a democratic Syria.
“But democracy is better,” she adds. “We need freedom, we need democracy, we need to say what we want without anyone saying to us, ‘Why are you saying this?'”
Also in Aleppo, I met a young woman who goes by the pseudonym Sama. She walked into the room at a hospital run by the opposition, sporting jeans and long mud-covered boots, her brown hair tied in a loose ponytail, carrying a computer and with a camera slung around her neck.
Having grown accustomed to hearing male voices narrating the various YouTube videos, and having only come across male “media activists,” we were surprised, to say the least.
Sama, in her early 20s, was living with the hospital “staff” — now made up mostly of young men and a handful of women, many of whom had no prior medical experience.
Rajaa al-Talli, Syrian activist
At the onset of the uprising she had been among the many who organized demonstrations at Aleppo University. With aspirations to go into journalism, she picked up a camera and began filming the dead and wounded. It’s something she says one can never get used to.
The day before we met an artillery round had slammed into a crowd of people waiting for bread.
“Despite all the chaos and the pressure around four to five times I just wanted to put the camera down and sit and cry,” she told us.
“But you think to yourself there is a message you have to get out, it is hard and harsh, but it has to get out, it’s your responsibility. You get depressed but then you force yourself to be strong again.”
Trading ideas, ideologies
Among her colleagues at the hospital are people of different backgrounds — moderate, conservative, Islamist, Salafi — and they debate what the future Syria should look like on a regular basis.
In some ways, the revolution has brought together individuals who would never have interacted, traded ideas and ideologies.
“We even shout at each other,” Sama tells us with a wry smile. “I was with the revolution from the start, the revolution is one line, it’s not Islamist, it’s for all Syrians, and Syrians are from all sects.
“At the end, the revolution’s original ideals are going to endure because we are here, those that started it will be there at the end,” she adds. “If something happens and this changes it means it’s our fault because we gave up.”
There is a growing sense of awareness among female activists about the need to ensure the empowerment of women, now more than perhaps ever before.
The fact that Syrian women were among the first to demonstrate against the regime is little reported.
The country is no stranger to seeing women in high power roles, as lawyers, bankers, and politicians.
But despite that, women remain grossly under-represented when it comes to the local opposition councils inside Syria and the opposition bodies that exist outside of the country.
Rajaa al-Talli, Catherine’s younger sister, was in the U.S. on a Fulbright scholarship, studying for a Masters in mathematics in Boston, when the uprising began. Since then she has co-founded the Center for Civil Society and Democracy in Syria.
Rajaa, now based in southern Turkey, has been researching the part played by her fellow countrywomen in the Syrian revolution, and running workshops focused on boosting their role.
Through her work and research with some of the underprivileged women at refugee camps, she found their main concerns for Syria’s future were education and the economy. Politically speaking, they wanted freedom, justice and dignity, though some believed that women should not have leading roles in legislation or governance.
Two-pronged battle
“Some are very inspirational and some are willing to learn,” she explains, speaking over Skype. “In Syria we are not exposed to politics and some women would really like to be involved, they just don’t know how, and we don’t have the advocacy or lobbying skills.
“The men, especially the men now involved in politics, they have more opportunities to educate themselves and gain experience.”
Rajaa is focusing her efforts on empowering women from different levels of society, giving them the skillsets to make their voices and their demands heard.
“My approach is that women are still not doing enough to advocate for themselves, and we are not lobbying each other,” she says. “If women don’t work for it, men won’t care about it.”
Just back from a recent Syrian women’s conference in Doha that brought together between 15 and 20 female activists, she said that among the many discussions was the role that women needed to play in a post-Assad era, from transitional justice, to rule of law, to governance, and getting women more involved in the decision making process.
The groups set an ambitious target: 50% representation for women in government, and to try to alter the dynamics of local councils and opposition bodies by demanding and working for more female representation.
“The pillars of extremism and radicalism are usually [used] to oppress women,” Rajaa says. “Having more women empowered is hitting one of the pillars that support extremism.”
She and others fully realize that the next set of rules may want to sideline them, to relegate them to the shadows.
For the women of the Syrian opposition, this is a two-pronged battle: Fighting for freedom against an oppressive regime, and battling just as hard to ensure that their individual rights do not perish in the process as the landscape and dynamics of the Syrian uprising shift.
It is by no means an easy goal, nor is its success ensured, but the majority of Syrian women I have met over the last two years through my reporting are not going to sit silently by and watch while their freedoms are stolen from them or their future dictated to them.
A must see , due to Mr Kilo’s frank, no holds barred statements in it. Note his repeated insistence on rejecting the qualification ‘speaking as a Christian?’: “I am not a Christian, the very last thing that i care about is being a Christian, I am a Syrian national (nationalistic Syrian?) I speak as a democratic nationalistic Syrian one of whose descriptions is that he was born to a Christian family,…and who cares about the interests of his people, every single individual of his people regardless of which grouping the individual belongs to…”
He has strong words about and for the MB, along with advice.
“Today there is no danger to Christians from Muslims, Muslims are their brothers, and like them, are part of the Syrian people, demanding their freedom… and I believe that Christians must join in this demand for freedom because it is not reasonable, tomorrow when the regime is gone, when we have everywhere thousands of youths who were martyred for the sake of freedom, it is unreasonable that those who did not join in and contribute to this struggle and fight for this freedom to enjoy these full freedoms without having given any sacrifices (for these freedoms). From a moral and patriotic point of view it is an unacceptable position. He who witnesses the battle for freedom without taking part in it, who will go on to gain his freedom like all others, is committing an immoral act towards his country and towards his other fellow countrymen. He must join them (now) to deserve this freedom and for this freedom must be of the making of his own hands not the result of the sacrifices of others whose positions he never tried to understand.”
Mr Kilo’s comment applies to all Syrians who are standing on the sidleines, whether Christian, Sunni, Alawi, Druz or Kurd, or whatever…(cousins, are you listening???)
by Allison Deger on March 6, 2013 41
Huwaida Arraf and Adam Shapiro
(Photo: IMEU/Facebook)
Israel’s deportation policy entered a new phase on Monday when Huwaida Arraf and Adam Shapiro, co-founders of the International Solidarity Movement (ISM), arrived at Ben Gurion airport and discovered an entry ban on Shapiro, despite inquires made in advance by a lawyer for the couple. Arraf and Shapiro, now expecting their first child, are perhaps the most recognizable pair in the Palestine solidarity movement, and architects for building an international activist presence on the ground since the beginning of the second Intifada.
At the airport on Monday afternoon Israeli authorities informed Shapiro that in 2009, unknown to him, the Israeli Ministry of Interior issued a 10-year entry ban for him. Initially the border police “weren’t making much sense,” Arraf told Mondoweiss, but then Shapiro was taken to jail where he remained for two days until he and Arraf were briefly reunited at a court hearing Tuesday.
After Shapiro’s Monday arrest, Arraf sent a letter to friends and supporters on her husband’s arrest:
Adam and I are expecting our first child, a boy in about 5 weeks. As joyful as this blessing is, we’ve had / we have to make some difficult decisions (besides what to name our son that is!) I am an Israeli citizen (in addition to a US citizen). This fact has made it possible for me to continue accessing my homeland all these years in spite of some attempts by Israel to kick me out. Israel did however deport Adam in 2002 because of our human rights work and banned him from re-entering the country (including the occupied Palestinian territory) since, which is why we’ve had to spend so much of our married life apart. In order for us to ensure that in the future, if Israel remains the racist, apartheid state that it is, it won’t deny our son the right to visit his homeland and all his family in Palestine, we’ve had to think about getting Israeli citizenship for our son. However, because I’m Palestinian, and not a Jewish citizen of Israel, our child will not have the automatic right to visit the country or to claim citizenship. The only way for me to pass down my citizenship to our son is to have him in Israel.
Arraf explained that in Tuesday’s court hearing the state claimed that Shapiro was presented “a document all in Hebrew” that stipulated a 10-year entry ban when he was detained by Israeli authorities in 2009 and “they said that Adam refused to sign.” But Arraf says Shapiro was never given such a document, “this is the first time he’s been told he has a 10-year ban.” Yet at the trial, Arraf says the state’s attorney produced a copy of the letter, “it’s the state’s word against Adam’s.”
“When the judge ruled, it was basically a technical ruling,” explained Arraf. He “wouldn’t listen to evidence on the ban itself, whether it is legal,” and Arraf summarizes it was clear “they did not want Adam to enter the country.”
Arraf is Palestinian with U.S. and Israeli citizenship, and Shapiro is a U.S. citizen—facts that dictate the couple’s ability to live together, travel together, and now will impose a separation during the birth of their first child after 11 years of marriage. Because of Arraf’s Palestinian national identity, she traveled to Israel late in her pregnancy so she could give birth to her son in country, ensuring she could bequeath her Israeli citizenship. Although it is technically possible for Arraf to transfer citizenship abroad, for Palestinians it is an arduous task. By contrast, children of Israeli-Jews born outside of the country can be issued Israeli identification numbers, even in instances where the child is not registered by the parents. This past year an American activist born to an Israeli father told Mondoweiss that despite never applying for citizenship, the Israeli Ministry of Interior told her she was already registered in the system. They said it was illegal for her to enter on a U.S. passport as the state already considered her an Israeli citizen.
Last month a lawyer for Arraf and Shapiro twice inquired with the Israeli government on Shapiro’s ability to enter Israel. Both times Arraf said Shapiro “was never given any written notice that he has a 10-year ban.” In addition, in 2008 Arraf wrote a letter to the Ministry of Interior to inquire into Shapiro’s travel status. At the airport on Monday, border officials produced a copy of the letter and told Arraf that she should have waited for a response before entering. “Well it’s been five years, you want us to wait longer for a response?” said Arraf.
Arraf and Shapiro’s current predicament dates back to 2002 when Shapiro was working in the West Bank as a human rights activist. After an arrest that led to deportation Shapiro discovered he was persona non grata, when attempting to re-enter through an Israeli controlled border. Over the next ten years he tried to enter the country three times. The pair was advised that Shapiro had been issued one of the notoriously vague 10-year entry bans, typically given to activists without notice, or formal explanation. Indeed Shapiro was never officially told he had a 10-year ban, but it was a logical deduction.
Later in 2009 while aboard the flotilla to breach the Israeli sea blockade of the Gaza Strip, Shapiro was taken into Israel by Israeli forces against his will and was again deported. According to Arraf, at the time the judge in that case acknowledged that Shapiro did not intend to enter Israel and was taken into the country while under custody of Israeli authorities. Now the state is alleging a new entry ban was issued at that time.
Because Arraf and Shapiro have been in communication with Israeli officials about their travel plans, Shapiro’s secret 10-year entry ban is especially alarming. The couple seems to have taken every measure to ensure Shapiro could be present for the birth of their son. But with Shapiro’s looming deportation anticipated to take place this evening, their case demonstrates that Israel not only issues entry bans, but also conceals them until the time of arrival.
“A couple of years ago,” said Arraf, “a lawyer once told me that [the 10-year entry ban] is not in any official Israeli law.” Yet, the threat of a 10-year ban is considered a final banishment doled out to the most high profile activists. It is viewed as a punitive measure for internationals who are known supporters of Palestinian rights, a fact that is underscored by the fact that only Palestine solidarity activists have received it.
Because of an Israeli policy that allows for anyone who is a perceived “security threat,” to be denied entry on spot, Arraf was aware her husband could face complications upon arrival. It is not uncommon for activists working in the West Bank to be deported from Israel, even without ever exiting the airport. This policy was employed en masse in 2012 and in 2011 when dozens of internationals were denied entry when traveling for a “fly-in,” a protest against the Israeli occupation of Palestinian territories.
“I’m usually very optimistic” said Arraf in regards to Shapiro’s ability to be present for the birth of their son. But with “all of his human rights work and his activism the state doesn’t like him.”
Arraf has a reputation for hopefulness and resilience, and it is not surprising that despite this situation she is still committed to working for the rights of Palestinians. I interviewed her after she was arrested on the 2010 flotilla, and Arraf told me that the Israeli police beat her until she was concussed, ultimately dumping her from their car. She regained consciousness while medics put her on a stretcher after seemingly being left for dead in the middle of the desert. Arraf was then taken to a hospital. After treatment she left on her own and walked until she found a phone to call her family. She didn’t know where she was, or how much time had passed.
But a few days later Arraf was back on the ground, demonstrating and fighting for her cause. Now, just as in 2010, she moves forward even though her husband’s case will likely become a benchmark for secret travel bans.
“We continue our work on the larger picture,” wrote Arraf in her latest update to friends. “If our situation can be used to help shed more light on the racism and inhumanity rampant here (as well as Israel’s contempt for human rights defenders), with the goal of changing the system someday for the future of all the children of this region, that would be one of the best things that we could hope for.”
“After Aaron”: Late Activist’s Campaign for Open Internet Continues at Freedom to Connect Conference
DEMOCRACY NOW : CLICK ON IMAGE
band annie's Weblog 