May 2011
I am angry.
You should be angry. We should all be angry.
It was breakfast in Tripoli when she burst into the Rixos hotel housing foreign journalists bleeding, bruised and burned by ropes. She went there because they would listen. She wanted to tell the world her story.
Gadhafi’s forces held her against her will for 2 days being tortured and ***** by 15 different men. Her body displayed the proof.
When she spoke up her government was quick to stifle her. Called her a *******. Questioned her sanity. Security suppressed her. Even her own people called her a traitor. She was drug off to a waiting car and we haven’t heard from her since.
She is the very definition of courage. She stood up for herself and her people, knowing the consequences of her actions might lead to her end.
She dared to stand in a crowded room, scream at the top of her lungs, and demand the world’s attention. And for so long, no one noticed. Until someone finally looked up.
I feel like I should be comforted by this fact. The fact that her story was told and now we know the disturbing way Gadhafi’s government operates. But it doesn’t change anything. I’m still angry. It wasn’t just her honor that was violated. It’s every woman in Libya. In Iraq. In Sudan. In Afghanistan. In America.
Every woman afraid to swim, paralyzed by the fear that they will create waves. Every woman in dangerous places seeking safety and security. Every woman who is disrespected and devalued and disregarded and dominated. Every woman who is made to believe she is inferior and that she is only worth what is in between her legs.
I want to do more. I want to bring change. I want to open eyes. I want to start a revolution. I want to teach women to swim so that they won’t drown. I want them to kick and splash and cause a tsunami and knock down societies that threaten the worth of a woman. I want to march into when Eman is being held and demand for her freedom. I want her integrity cleared. I want to beat down oppression with my own two fists.
But instead I sit in the dark and I cry and I pray. Watching the news, being angry and afraid. Her name was Eman al-Obeidy. She was a mighty and bold priestess. When they destroyed her temple, she stood up on the mountain and preached a message of justice and social change and necessity. And she was silenced in front of our very eyes. The memory of her face still fresh in our minds and her song resonating in our hearts saying, “TAKE ACTION.”
You should be angry. We should all be angry.
It was breakfast in Tripoli when she burst into the Rixos hotel housing foreign journalists bleeding, bruised and burned by ropes. She went there because they would listen. She wanted to tell the world her story.
Gadhafi’s forces held her against her will for 2 days being tortured and ***** by 15 different men. Her body displayed the proof.
When she spoke up her government was quick to stifle her. Called her a *******. Questioned her sanity. Security suppressed her. Even her own people called her a traitor. She was drug off to a waiting car and we haven’t heard from her since.
She is the very definition of courage. She stood up for herself and her people, knowing the consequences of her actions might lead to her end.
She dared to stand in a crowded room, scream at the top of her lungs, and demand the world’s attention. And for so long, no one noticed. Until someone finally looked up.
I feel like I should be comforted by this fact. The fact that her story was told and now we know the disturbing way Gadhafi’s government operates. But it doesn’t change anything. I’m still angry. It wasn’t just her honor that was violated. It’s every woman in Libya. In Iraq. In Sudan. In Afghanistan. In America.
Every woman afraid to swim, paralyzed by the fear that they will create waves. Every woman in dangerous places seeking safety and security. Every woman who is disrespected and devalued and disregarded and dominated. Every woman who is made to believe she is inferior and that she is only worth what is in between her legs.
I want to do more. I want to bring change. I want to open eyes. I want to start a revolution. I want to teach women to swim so that they won’t drown. I want them to kick and splash and cause a tsunami and knock down societies that threaten the worth of a woman. I want to march into when Eman is being held and demand for her freedom. I want her integrity cleared. I want to beat down oppression with my own two fists.
But instead I sit in the dark and I cry and I pray. Watching the news, being angry and afraid. Her name was Eman al-Obeidy. She was a mighty and bold priestess. When they destroyed her temple, she stood up on the mountain and preached a message of justice and social change and necessity. And she was silenced in front of our very eyes. The memory of her face still fresh in our minds and her song resonating in our hearts saying, “TAKE ACTION.”
