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.