,Don‘t let it come too close to you.‘
I often heard those words explaning my fellowmen the daily horror happening in Syria. Since the beginning of the uprising I‘m watching numerous mobile phone videos uploaded on Youtube showing undescribeable crimes against humanity. And I‘m always shocked in the beginning to see mainly minors and young men lying in the streets, on stretchers or in the living room of their mourning family, bleeding, screaming, shivering, dying, dead.
Some days ago I received a footage of a lifeless unborn whose mother was shot by security forces. Despite the terrible image I was confronted with I knew what to do: sending the link to the video to all news channels I‘ve listed. At least the only thing I can do sitting in front of my laptop thousands of kilometers away from the crime scene.
But there are moments my engagement is pending on a proof scale. Moments when one of the countless tragedies reaches my deepest inner, touches my heart, occupies my feelings, surrounds my soul.
The message of three murdered activists from Bab Sbaa, a district in Homs, was one of those moments. I‘ve seen no pictures how it happened, received only the sad news in my Twitter time line, apparently they were shot in the streets, the killers came and flew with a taxi. But it shattered me deeply. Thoughts were immediately with their friend who reported the tragic incident, with their families who‘ve lost their beloved ones, with their partners, their fellows, with everybody who‘d known them personally, direct or indirect.
What followed was a never ending moment of universal emptiness, I felt exhausted, no longer knowing what to say, what to do, how to react. Rage mixed up with desperation mixed up with anger mixed up with helplessness.
One part of me wanted to take a plane to go down there, somehow to get in the country, to stand physically with those who run their protests against the tyranny which has cost so many innocent lives up to now, to help them chase the ruthless morons who are responsible for that crime. Another part of me argued that it would me more effective to stay here, in the safety, where I can reach more continuing to spread the message of the courageous non-violent protest movement and the incredible regime violence and trying to raise more awareness.
Sometimes I became to hear that I should simply be glad being born and raised in a continent which has overcome the age of war. Sorry, I replied always, but the gift of freedom given me means not that I have to lay back on a cozy couch ignoring all those others who are striving and struggling for it. I‘m supporting the freedom movements worlwide, for example in Yemen, in Tibet and in West Papua. I‘ve accompanied the Egyptians protesting on the legendary Tahrir place as well as the epic Libyan freedom fighters getting rid of their narcisstic and completely deranged self-claimed Brother Leader. But the Syrians and their admiring protest against the dynastic tyranny are something special to me. Being confronted with sadistic security forces, random bombardments of their cities, mass arrests or sinister shabiha gangs only trained to terrorize their resilience and their will for political change is simply amazing.
The more tragic it is to face every day new victims. But the faith in the victory over injustice may never be darkened from the doubt that this world possibly never will change. I'm somehow grateful to all those giving me the necessary advice which is helping me to continue supporting the struggling Syrians out there in their fight against oppression and dictatorship. But it is also normal for us human beings to show sometimes an emotional reaction on that what happens and what we want to end. It makes us to those we are.
I often heard those words explaning my fellowmen the daily horror happening in Syria. Since the beginning of the uprising I‘m watching numerous mobile phone videos uploaded on Youtube showing undescribeable crimes against humanity. And I‘m always shocked in the beginning to see mainly minors and young men lying in the streets, on stretchers or in the living room of their mourning family, bleeding, screaming, shivering, dying, dead.
Some days ago I received a footage of a lifeless unborn whose mother was shot by security forces. Despite the terrible image I was confronted with I knew what to do: sending the link to the video to all news channels I‘ve listed. At least the only thing I can do sitting in front of my laptop thousands of kilometers away from the crime scene.
But there are moments my engagement is pending on a proof scale. Moments when one of the countless tragedies reaches my deepest inner, touches my heart, occupies my feelings, surrounds my soul.
The message of three murdered activists from Bab Sbaa, a district in Homs, was one of those moments. I‘ve seen no pictures how it happened, received only the sad news in my Twitter time line, apparently they were shot in the streets, the killers came and flew with a taxi. But it shattered me deeply. Thoughts were immediately with their friend who reported the tragic incident, with their families who‘ve lost their beloved ones, with their partners, their fellows, with everybody who‘d known them personally, direct or indirect.
What followed was a never ending moment of universal emptiness, I felt exhausted, no longer knowing what to say, what to do, how to react. Rage mixed up with desperation mixed up with anger mixed up with helplessness.
One part of me wanted to take a plane to go down there, somehow to get in the country, to stand physically with those who run their protests against the tyranny which has cost so many innocent lives up to now, to help them chase the ruthless morons who are responsible for that crime. Another part of me argued that it would me more effective to stay here, in the safety, where I can reach more continuing to spread the message of the courageous non-violent protest movement and the incredible regime violence and trying to raise more awareness.
Sometimes I became to hear that I should simply be glad being born and raised in a continent which has overcome the age of war. Sorry, I replied always, but the gift of freedom given me means not that I have to lay back on a cozy couch ignoring all those others who are striving and struggling for it. I‘m supporting the freedom movements worlwide, for example in Yemen, in Tibet and in West Papua. I‘ve accompanied the Egyptians protesting on the legendary Tahrir place as well as the epic Libyan freedom fighters getting rid of their narcisstic and completely deranged self-claimed Brother Leader. But the Syrians and their admiring protest against the dynastic tyranny are something special to me. Being confronted with sadistic security forces, random bombardments of their cities, mass arrests or sinister shabiha gangs only trained to terrorize their resilience and their will for political change is simply amazing.
The more tragic it is to face every day new victims. But the faith in the victory over injustice may never be darkened from the doubt that this world possibly never will change. I'm somehow grateful to all those giving me the necessary advice which is helping me to continue supporting the struggling Syrians out there in their fight against oppression and dictatorship. But it is also normal for us human beings to show sometimes an emotional reaction on that what happens and what we want to end. It makes us to those we are.
This post is dedicated to Mohammed Omar Tillawi, Samer Hismeh, Majed Jaboli
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