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HomeMy WebLinkAbout1999-05-04 Award 1999 Iowa City High School Human Rights Poetry/Essay Contest As part of the year long celebration of the 50th anniversary of the signing of the United Nations Universal Declaration of Human Rights, students from City High, West High and Regina were invited to participate in this Poetry/Essay Contest. This contest was sponsored by the: Iowa City Human Rights Commission United Nations Association-USA, Iowa Division Global Focus: Human Rights '98 - Iowa City Sub-Committee This program was made possible through financial contributions from the following: Iowa State Bank & Trust Mercantile Bank Hills Bank & Trust Iowa City Noon Optimist's Club AFSCME Local Twelve Jody Hovland and other anonymous donors WINNER OF POETRY CONTEST Maeta Mufuame West High School 11th Grade Freedom to Stay Near our town on the big lake, A boat going slowly, hit rocks and was sinking. It was full of people from way inside the country. They were having to leave their land. Those people are not around lakes, not around big water. They live by keeping cattle. On dry land they walk a long way beside their cows. They cannot swim. And it was so close to shore. Seriously, such a little way and they all drowned. They cannot swim. They keep cattle and they drowned. My father went with other men to get the bodies. They went out many days, looking. At night I was afraid those people would come out of the water. They could not rest in water. Their spirits won't, can't. I wanted the men to hurry and find them all. They could be at rest. They don't swim and the shore was so close. They need the freedom to die where their souls can rest. Where they walk on dry land, with their cattle. Freedom From Fear When we wanted to come back home We swam across a river. We paid men to help us. Up our bags went upon their heads. Up my younger sisters too. Just above the water. I was afraid about the snipers and my younger sisters up above. I was afraid of terrible crocodiles in the waters down below. Freedom from Fear and Want When we came back to our country after almost a year in Burundi, which was thought to be safer, People all remembered us now, as "skinny family". Fear wouldn't let us eat, even when there had been enough food. Freedom from Fear My little brother and I went into the central pan of town, around a corner, there had been a fight on the street. A store was blown up, the front wall fallen away. People were running in, taking things and running out. Someone shouted, "They're here!" Men came in with guns and started shooting at everyone. Children and women. There was the noise of guns and people yelling, "Don't shoot me!" Lots of people lost their lives. I ran with my little brother. We didn't yell anything. My little brother lost his shoe. WINNER OF ESSAY CONTEST Eric Peters City High School It Grade I h Erasing a Culture There have been numerous cases of human rights violations throughout the past century, but there is one such situation which sticks out in my mind---one that has been occurring for half of this century and continues to this day. The situation of which I speak is Tibet, which is approximately the size of western Europe. Since the Chinese invasion of Tibet ~'om 1949 to 1951, there have been numerous human rights violations by the Chinese government in Tibet, yet the rest of the world turns away, pretends not to see, and continues their relations with China. One main source of the human rights violations stems from the Chinese interfering with the Tibetans' ~'eedom of religion. It has been severely curtailed by the Chinese government. Of the six thousand Buddhist monasteries destroyed by the Chinese during their invasion of Tibet, only a few hundred have been rebuilt. During the destruction of these monasteries, irreplaceable jewels of Tibetan culture found inside were also destroyed. Tibetans are regularly imprisoned by the Chinese government for their political and religious activities, where they are poorly treated. During imprisonment, they are tortured and beaten, while Tibetan nuns are brutally raped by prison guards. In one terrible case in recent years, a Tibetan nun died in custody as a result of being beaten by guards. Not only is China impeding Tibet's human rights, it is also trying to rid Tibet of its rich culture. In recent years, China has gone so far as to promote the migration of ethnic Chinese into Tibet to help disrupt the Tibetan culture. The Chinese have strategically selected Tibetans to be taken to China to be educated and then returned to Tibet to take up positions within the Chinese administration in Tibet as cultural and political brokers. In doing so, a sense of distrust washed over the Tibetans, forcing everyone to keep silent rather than express their views against Chinese role. A person may wonder what makes the Tibetan situation any different ~'om that of others, such as the current situation in Kosovo. The point is that there isn't a difference. Tibet is just one example of the human rights violations occurring throughout the world today. The one thing that sets Tibet apart is the fact that the Tibetan people have endured these practices for halfa century, yet they remain strong in their determination to deal with their situation through nonviolent means. There arc currently numerous organiTations around the world to help fight Chinese rule over Tibet through nonviolent measures. However, nothing can truly be accomplished until the nations of the world open their eyes. Government leaders need to address the issue with China rather than mining their backs to the subject. There is nothing so great as peer pressure. Should the government powers (such as the United States, Great Britain, etc.) make an effort to force China to change its policy through nonviolent means, it would eventually help the situation. Sadly, I do not have faith in the countries of the world. They have demonstrated time at~er time that they are too concerned about their trade relations with China to express their opinions to the Chinese government about Tibet. Because of the lack of opposition from world governments and corporations, the Chinese government maintains it will not change its ways with regard to Tibet. According to Cben Kuiyuan, Party Secretary of Tibet Autonomous Region, "We will absolutely not allow Tibet to be split off tiom the great family of the motherland." This demonstrates China's unwillingness to change unless they are forced to through nonviolent measures. HONORABLE MENTION - POETRY Beth Kindig West High School 11th Grade Generation Baton Mud climbs my legs like a ladder, Covering me like a second layer of flesh, But I do not look at it, Nor anywhere else but ahead Besides, they want me to look at it - Feel like it - Die in it. I will not give them what they want. Bleached scenery is all I have To inspire dreams of color; My families of affliction Know freedom is a privilege, not a right. I have run a race my whole life, Knowing them is no finish line. Fighting for my offspring's glory Spitting at the purpose of my life. I do not mind running. At certain points my heart' s exhaustion Can mute my bawling belly, Only then can I dream I'm in your place. It is deathly cold, My eyes trickle with terror Of becoming too numb to move, Too numb to fight. My mothers and fathers have died, Passing the generation baton to me And all my brothers and sisters Who fight against our inheritance. Sometimes I will join hands with one Feeling the fight within them, Taking my eyes off the prize For a moment to marvel at their beauty. Some are icy-blue from the cold Others are starved to rib-revealing shadows. I allow their strength to lift me up And feed my determination My oppressed siblings Gather from all over Persecution running through our veins We were bom so they could watch us die I do not fear the rhythm in the distance Of their sharp steady footsteps They will catch me They will win - for now My sister is screaming, For she has fallen. They beat her into the mud Hoping she will think it is her home There is no pain she is feeling The tears are glorious The screams victorious She has passed her baton successfully A new runner has taken flight One much younger One much spirited Holding the dreams of generations in his hand I know my turn has advanced Their footsteps order my attention. I run faster than ever Knowing it adds seconds to our equality Their hands close around my neck And they fling my body back Diving my face into the mud Beating it in my head I do not listen I outcry their voices Using my last breath To encourage my family It is my voice that advances And I watch the baton carefully released Into another, stronger hand Then I am silenced, and I fall to freedom HONORABLE MENTION - POETRY Paola Moreno Senior High Alternative Center 11th Grade FROM KOSOVO TO EDEN (A prayer in the sunset) Eyes stare through my soul silence of the masses reveals slavery in chains and stolen human goods who have names and nationalities who beg for visas to survive and pray to Gods once more for endurance The rape of entire nations The tyranny the evil that feasts upon the weak cannot be forgotten Although soft-spoken vibrant memories roar From the deserts to the rain forest dirty feet and brows bleeding hard-labor pearls of sweat Testimony of diseases slipping inside the sun toasted skin of men and women To slander wet rice paddy dreams and force their children to leave illusions of a better future The wind will bring a million chants speaking native tongues Tales of unforgiven souls behind bars for trusting a thousand amendments now, hieroglyphs etched in the consciousness of others not behind bars but still captive Ancient dialects unravel to paint the portrait of classes in distinctions of separate walkways to salvation genetics uphold the oppression All facts in history dismembered have caused justice to surrender Before kingdoms or religious emblems It was preached as the right to existence it awakened the mind allowing you to sing your praises without a charge of treason The people will come from all and every nation to defend our flag of hope They will come to peal their fists against those who murder our hymns The people tumble down the walls of hate with signs of peace to seal our fate Shouts piercing darkness with colors of truth shouts to unwind the pain despite the sky turned gray with rain One day the earth will bear its seed it will erupt with choirs of valor to battle the enemy against humanity Dignify our star! Erase the shadows of hunger and agony of bombs and tombs of unhealed wounds past the soiled dignity of my Mother and missing body of our lost brother We will rewrite our existence The universal triumph of freedom from Kosovo to Eden. HONORABLE MENTION - POETRY Brie Nixon City High School 10 h Grade What is Human? A poem by Brie Nixon What is human? Am I not human when I am stripped of my dignity, thrown out on the street, naked and cold? Are my children less valuable when they sleep on cardboard and live in filth? Is there no worth of your hopes and dreams when your skin is dark, the color of rich, watered earth? My hands are strong, yet empty. I have no dollars to pay the umlung [white man] when they come at night It starts with the bark of a dog, then louder, the motors of cars and pounding on doors. Screams and shrieks pierce the night, And the Peri-Urban (police) round up all that aren't in order. My rights are gone, yet I am alive. I have my life and family and I feel fortunate. The black passbook each adult must carry must have the correct papers or you will go with the rest to the tribal land and farm for no pay. My body stands proud yet I am naked. I have no clothes to protect me from the white man's sjamboks [whips] that sting my back and legs. The front door caves in, and my beautiful son is kicked against the wall, so hard he is unconscious, bleeding and choking from the steel-toed boots You see, when you are five you cannot fight back. When you are thirty, it is no different My life is bruised yet time goes on. Someday we will all be free and equal to every man and woman. The tin walls and street furniture are bent and shattered. I am taken from my bed, whipped, beaten, taken from my wife and children on a PUTCO bus far away. My freedom is there, yet it is tainted. I cannot fight back to save myself from pain and suffering What is human? HONORABLE MENTION - POETRY Christopher Fuller West High School 12th Grade The Depict: The poem "Man's PuDpet" is metephodcly expressed. The poem is talking about the Human Rights of a person and what happens when alienation occurs. This poem relates to all articles in the "Universal Declaration of Human Rights," the article that this poem relates to the most is Article 1 :Right to Equality. Man's PuDDet My life is like a puppet's Needles and hands shaped me Desecrating life to Humiliate me You twist me, turn me, break me, As though my life means less than yours You appropriate other life; to create me! A monstrousity upon my life The arms of the trees that reached out for your support You murdered a part of me : The cotton from a cotton tree just to shape me My body nothing but fabrics and wood Should I thank you or hate curse you for my life The search for my soul comes from my making I linger in the comer waiting patiently for you to play with me You twiddle my strings in your finger tips Playing God for you made me I have no soul inside of me No heart that can beat with feeling You throw me around as though I am nothing You scar me from the inside, out, When I'm left alone with my emotions A puppet is what they call me A face of many faces Mine is as common as the one before me And I am damned by the hands that shaped me I am many lives that formed mine. The creation, a gift perhaps Hell has tightened my stdngs And my face is too hideous to be seen By the scars that you gave me The cotton that holds me Breathes my breath of fresh air My chest rises and lowers Depending on how you hold me And then no breath--just silence-- Except your own who created me Life-less ! lay still in the darkness Tyranny is upon my face with the mask of paint Which wears me I don't wear it When they look at me, they faint The shrieks, cries, remorse, I hear through life The wood, the cotton, which forms me The simplicity of me, is what scares them the most They touch, I prick them with my fright I gave pain in their hands that shaped me The life calls out to me Wanting me to join this obscure world I lay still, breathless watching them create me I'm a puppet, that they have created Dead, before alive, and dead again in a matter of time No, Thanks! I would rather be a branch of a tree, Living life running through me My heart beating as I am alive With passion and desire As the wind blows through my hair A cotton wood perhaps Breathing life while I form a tree I was part of my' mothers womb, when' l was a seed But then time took my mothers life after she saw me As do you because you are fudous with me Because I won't join you in life All creations destroyed by mans hands Just to shape and form this hideous body Which at one time was glodous and a splendor to be seen And I'm damned to hell To the darkness that is all around Because I am nothing, not even a sound Just a puppet hanging by stdngs HONORABLE MENTION - POETRY Elizabeth Dunbar City High School 11t Grade Freedom to Change While you dream of true fantasy Someone across blue oceans Is dreaming your reality Your wings of freedom just sit on your back Your heart beats consistently It has no fear of stopping Anytime soon You look at your hands Hands that perhaps play music Or write an assignment Hands that have never held A dying child In your head there are no true fears Just little worries Of failure, expectations to live up to Deadlines to meet Thoughts of nothing very deep You think your life is Average, nothing special Someone far away would tell you Your standards are so high They'd reach the stars and beyond And nothing can really reach the stars There are people that would tell you They can't sleep at night For fear of waking up to Screams and bombs and Gunshots and cries and The look of death In their children's eyes They would tell you But they can't Deadlines are not due dates But lines of the dead Someplace where genocide Is a reality, and not A word in a history book While you open your mind Listening to words of the unbelievable truth Others are forced to close theirs Because what's the use Of thinking and Growing intellectually When you can't express yourself?. Check the internet The current world population is there It's growing You remember growing up Growing strong Growing smart Growing beautiful But more importantly growing ideas You know that you are always growing And that growing means changing There are countries that are growing Growing bigger Growing more powerful But will not grow respect Because they are afraid Of change, and won't allow it Ideas for change Just die away You worry about decisions Decisions that will change your life Forever But across cold oceans And the other side of the equator People wish that they could Make decisions Choose what they want And some don't even know What "choice" means You complain about going to school Everyday, but don't know How lucky you are Free education Is only a dream Not too far away from here You go home everyday To find everything the way you'd left it Someone would tell you how The government robbed them And took away their home Technology is advancing So fast Faster than people Learning to accept each other Those that dream Of your reality Would do anything To show you their reality They would see past the bad To see you, the good If you would see past the good To see their reality Even if it's a nightmare They would listen and Think and change and Open their minds and Paint wings on their backs Just like yours They would if they could They might die if they try Real tears like the ocean that separates you Appear on your face as you realize Your mind can think and open Your mouth can speak your mind Your hands can help someone And you Can change the world HONORABLE MENTION - POETRY Kara Callahan West High School 10th Grade Freedom From Fear The mothers of the world are off to work. Deep, in the back of their minds, they are penetrated by the low rumble of bombs somewhere far away. Subconsciously raising their school-aged children, they are unaffected by the overwhelming instinct to cry. Meanwhile, the fathers of the world are off to kill. In the name of America they hide, clinging to the imaginary safe places in their minds that reality has mortified. There is a certain fear in the men who have never used guns or felt hatred toward their brothers before. Trying to ignore the fear, they gape at the shells in horror that rain just yards from their trembling hands as they try to load another round of ammunition. These men look and listen as the gray, twisting sky cracks and twirls with burning flashes of light. A brown skinned man cowers in the brush nearby, a small infant the same color as he lie giggling in his arms. The child squeals with delight as the colorful fireworks silhouette the tanks that shake the earth, and reaches out a tiny, plump hand to the sky as if trying to touch whatever is up there. He is unaware of the terror in his father's eyes. A piercing light floats toward the baby, and as his smile widens with wonder and amusement, the light exudes a high-pitched whistle that blends with the screams far off in the jungle. Then, in a mass of fire, smoke, and hell, the baby was gone. His father had not had a chance to say goodbye. Somewhere, the poor, powerless mothers are off to work. Echoes of foreign pain ring in their ears as they wake up alone... again. HONORABLE MENTION - Essay J. Ashley Calkins City High School 9t Grade Broken Threads A thick rug is swirled with vibrant colors. Different shapes leap across the material. Giggling children lay on the rug dreaming about foreign places and holidays that have been imagined from the design of the rug. What keeps this rug together though, is the thread. Although not so noticeable, the thread is what binds the cloth together and makes it strong. When these threads get worn or if they break, the rug falls apart. In 1996 women in Afghanistan lost all of their rights. Now they cannot vote or leave their homes without a male relative. Women and girls c,:_n't go to school or work outside their house. The threads of this very large rug are being cut. This violation of rights in Afghanistan happened when the Taliban government, which is an Islamic fundamentalist militia, took over the government. Afghanistan Women can't speak in public or even where shoes that make noise when they walk. Rules change from week to week, and since many women don't have access to the news, they get killed or beaten for something they don't know about. A fifteen year old girl in Kabul said, "They shot my father right in front of me... they came to our house and told him they had orders to kill him because he allowed me to go to school." The Taliban government says they are based on pure, fundamental, Islamic ideology. I say that Afghanistan women are having their own rights greatly violated every day. The Taliban government speaks of freedom of religion but in fact women are not free to practice their own religion the way they want to. In many Islamic nations, women are allowed to work, earn money and have a life in public. The Afghan people could follow the Islam religion while still giving women basic human rights. Countries around the world need to have more conl~erences to talk about achieving human rights while respecting religious beliefs. "If this was happening to any other class of people around the word there would be a tremendous outcry. We must make sure these same standards are applied when it is women and girls who are being brutally treated," Eleanor Smeal. The United States and United Nations have the power to send peace keeping troops into Afghanistan. They also have the power to hold trade embargoes or to negotiate with Afghanistan. The United States has not made a good enough effort to stop this treatment of women in Afghanistan. Why aren't they taking action? For the United States to celebrate freedom, they must help countries all around the world as best as they can to achieve it. Ignoring the problem in Afghanistan is almost as immoral as the act of discriminating against the Afghan women. Eleanor Smeal said, "How can women be safe anywhere if some governments can carry out gender apartheid with impunity?" A thread binds together the rug, working to keep all the parts lined up. Without the thread, the whole rug will fall to shreds, no longer a piece of art but only scraps of fabric. The people of the United States need to work to make our whole world an interconnected rug. I have only given one example of somewhere that needs help sewing themselves together. HONORABLE MENTION - Essay Shikha Bhattacharjee West High School 9th Grade Remembrances of Calcutta The smell grows dank, as the streets become narrower. Wells are replaced by trickling streams running along the side of the road Children dart around the rickshaws, bicycles, and the occasional car as garbage piles rise in the streets. The piles steadily grow higher, mocking their patrons in doing the impossible: rising from the streets where they began their life. In a day to day struggle, children grow up quickly, too quickly, though the rapid ascent is not swift enough. In a world where meals are uncertain, there is little room for childhood. Responsibility is required, the burden forcing backs to grow strong. Girls are married immediately upon crossing the threshold of physical womanhood. Once married, she is no longer a mouth to be fed, making the transition from dependant to provider. Looking out the doorway upon children of her own, she wishes for them a childhood better than the one laid upon her, but without money to send them to school, the cycle will continue. The laughing eyes are quieted as all focus now belongs to me. I am conscious of my clothes, showing no signs of wear, in a dark contrast to threadbare coverings, draped loosely over bony shoulders. My bracelets jingle, as earrings bob from my ears, the polished silver reflects the dusty streets and empty stares. I am ashamed of the sparkle, as new sandals protect my lily petal jlet j~om the heat of the sun beaten ground My feet are kept cool, as the breeze gently tickles. This same playful breeze does nothing for my burning face, as it is warmed by the army of stares. The home of my Father's Aunt is shown to be spotlessly clean by the light creeping in through the solitary window. With the living area smaller than my present bedroom, I am ashamed of what I have, and even more so, of what I wanted. Savory aromas fill the air; I am hungry. Summoning my voice, though it is weak from the burden of a new perspective, I think to voice my hunger. Hunger: the young mother huddled at the street corner, reaching out with a hand hardened by work, begging alms* while gesturing towards her child Dropping the coins into her hand her leathery touch clings to my~ngertips. The eyes plead to me as I allow myself to remember: I am not really hungry, I do not know what hunger is. At night, when the darkness is full, and the sound empty, I return to the place of remembrance. I tiptoe through its streets, a silent visitor, watching the struggle for all that I have ...... Memories weigh my head, reminding me to look straight. The sight is beautiful. My life is happy. I live in a beautiful home. I am never hungry. Nine pairs of shoes lined neatly in a stacked closet: because of this, I am not completely at ease. My days harbor constant reminders of the injustices in this world. I want the pain of knowing; I keep it as a reminder of the good that cares enough to hurt. I do not wish to portray my India like this. I can set this scene over and over again, from the villages of Central America to the City of New York where the people straggle daily to rise. Right to Adequate Living Standard ...... Right to Equality ...... Right to Education ...... Riglat to Desirable Work ...... Right to Rest and Leisure ....... Right to Bodily Integrity ...... Right to a Childhood ...... *alms - charity (usually in the form of food or money.) HONORABLE MENTION - Essay Anna Kudsk City High School t 10 ~' Grade I was watching the six o'clock news one evening. Interrupting my normal television-watching comatose state, the anchor began to tell the story of James Byrd, a black man hitchhiking in Texas, who was picked up by some white supremacists. He was beaten severely, then chained to the back of a pick up truck, and dragged through gravel for three miles until he was decapitated. I don't ever remember having a physical reaction to the news before, and I hope it never happens again. But after hearing the story, I became ill. My stomach churned and I had to consciously hold down my dinner. This was a totally new experience for me. I am usually so indifferent to what is going on around me, because the events on the news don't happen to us. They're just stories that get shoved into my brain along with my biology homework. Thinking about it, I can tell that it's true, but the facts still don't effect me, because I have become numb. Perhaps it's numbness, and perhaps it is a bit of laziness. Speaking to my baby- boomet mother and her friends makes me feel envious, frustrated, and inadequate. They grew up in a time when it seemed that young people spent their energy trying to right wrongs all over the country and the world. My uncle was a freedom rider during the civil rights movement, my mother and grandmother protested to get a swimming pool integrated, and they were all successful. As I was talking with my mother and her friends, I told them that I wish I was part of a generation that realized human rights issues are in every city in every country across the world, and actually feel that we could and should reduce prejudice, discrimination, and injustices. Perhaps I'm not giving my friends and myself enough credit. We have accomplished things. I spent the summer after my freshman year volunteering in San Francisco for AIDS clinics, and nursing homes in impoverished neighborhoods. I remember in my eighth grade leadership class we had to report on what we thought was the biggest global problem today, and invite a speaker to come talk about the issue. We had experts come in to discuss teen pregnancy, and homelessness as well as several other topics. Having lost an uncle to AIDS in 1992, I asked a person living with the virus to come in with his doctor and speak to the class. And just this year, motivated by Helen Finken's "Facing History and Ourselves" class about genocide; two City High sophomores started the first Amnesty International club at the school. They plan to start letter-writing campaigns to various countries to free political prisoners. · By talking to my mother' s friends, I came to understand what is missing from myself and my peers. Learning about the civil fights movement and the radical sixties led us to think that each protester or activist was making a huge difference. However, in reality, the changes during that time came from all the small things that added up. I think that what we still need to realize is that just a simple change in attitude can effect the future. Every little extra effort we make really matters. Not because changes will come immediately, but because by making that effort, you prove that you are no longer indifferent. So now, all we have to do is begin. HONORABLE MENTION - Essay Christine Bursch City High School 9th Grade Living In Oppression By Christine Bursch Living in Oppression Growing up in a place like Iowa City, I as a teenager have been guaranteed the right to education, freedom of speech, leisure time and a seemingly endless list of things that have been given to me just for being a person. Living with the family I do, I know that those rights will never be violated. Ltnfortunately not everyone has the same privileges as I do. I think Iowa City is a very sheltered town and that is why I believe that people my age take for granted the things that they believe will always be with them. They test the system and try to push it to its limits. They don't seem to realize that we are living in an exceptional community where we have almost no reason not to trust somebody. Outside Iowa City there is a whole different world. If I were a teenage girl living in Afghanistan right now, my life would be a completely different story. The women living in this country' fight now have had their basic human rights taken away from them almost over night. Ever since their · civil war started in 1979, the world's governments have been pouring out support to various groups throughout the country, fueling the war. In 1992 new elections were held in an attempt to stop this ongoing battle. While news coverage has since died down, the war is still going on. Laws have no meaning and innocent civilians are taking the toll. ~ations such as Saudi Arabia, Iran and Sudan have been sending the government weapons of all levels of destruction for years now. Because the Afghan government is in shambles, the weapons have been taken by the Taliban and are being used in the name of religion for the torture of the people. There have been at least 10 direct violations of the Llniversal Declaration of Human Rights. The right to freedom from torture and degrading treatment, right to own property, right to · education, all these basic human rights are ignored. The women of these towns aren't allowed to g:o to school, go to work, or even leave the house without a male relative at their side. They aren't allowed to be e×amined by a male doctor and because there are practically no women left in the work force, health care has become extremely scarce. Women have become so depressed at their current situation that the suicide rate among women has soared. The government has lost all power to several different military groups who find pleasure in taking hostages, raping women, and killing people in front of their families. The governments of the world have done so little to help these oppressed women and children who can't even leave their homes to get food. American companies have even made deals with Afghanistan giving these military groups more and more money to fund their rebellion against the government. :~ am so luc~ that :[ am able to hold a job and go to school to become something and somebody or to just walk outside in the fresh air. Ever since i heard about these women who have had their worlds taken away from them, :[ have both thanked C;od for the privileges :[ have, and i have gone and researched the Afghan situation to try to help their cause. Enclosed to the back of this sheet is a petition to help these people and every signature can help. When ~I get it back it will be sent to President Clinton in Washingcon D.C. it will be used to help get the Llnited States involved enough to give aid to these people and prevent companies from making deals with the Afghanistan government. Whether you choose to sign this petition or not, could you please get this back to me through Cit~ High or send it to my address, thank you.