Injustice
46 creative works found
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Let me take you on a journey. / It’s 2007 in the capital city of Rwanda, Kigali. / April; The month of mourning for the atrocities of the genocide 13 years ago. / A wonderful theory. / A hopelessly inadequate practice. / Mourn for only one month, the butchering of your family? / Oh well, at least the government is trying we reason. / I’m here with 15 others on an aid trip to the Democratic Republic of Congo and Rwanda in central africa. / Both tragic messes. / The trash can of the world. / Where other countries occasionally rifle through the litter to find gems – only to leave the remnants crushed up in their wake. / Messy business pillaging. / What do you do with all those annoying people? / This day we are with the Barakaboa Foundation. / A group of hopelessly under resourced Rwandans set up to deal with the ‘parent-less’ generation left dazed by the atrocities of the past. / On their ‘books’ kids as young as 10 raising kids younger than that. / There are no orphanages in Rwanda. / The government favours family upbringings. / A wonderful theory. / A hopelessly inadequate practice. / Who do you run to when your stand in Mum or Dad are 8, 10, 12? / Oh well, at least the government is trying we reason. / But how does that work you ask suspiciously? / If the genocide was 13 years ago, how are stand-in parents so young? / AIDS. / How handy Barakaboa was already in place. / They just swivel from one barbaric destroyer to the next. / We are to visit one of the families they support. / It’s hot, dusty and despairingly grimy. / We break into two groups. / I travel with my sister, a full time aid worker and her husband a doctor. / To a family in the city. / We feel uncomfortable. / We feel obtrusive. / We feel confronted. / We feel hopeless. / And we feel western. / We are all these things. / It is my task to record the event photographically. / My lens is worth more than they will make in a lifetime. / My feeble request for freedom to portray accepted with grace laced with exhaustion. / Our host is the woman in this shot. / I don’t even know her name. / It is dark and I can barely focus. / There is no electricity. / Torn material hangs inefficiently from the ceiling across glassless windows. / There is no breeze. / The air is stifling. / The atmosphere shameful. / The outlook hopeless. / In her one room home live herself, her two children and three adopted orphans. / Such is the way in Rwanda. / She has AIDS. / Her husband passed it on before he died. / Her 16 year old daughter has AIDS. / Most likely from rape. / Her fatherless child? / Who knows. / There are 6 people living here. / It’s tiny. / It’s tiny. / It’s tiny. / We ask how we can help. / Snap goes my shutter. / She needs medicine. / For all the stuff AIDS brings. / Colds, fever, nausea. / My brother-in-law writes a script. / We fumble around for some Rwandan money. / A wonderful theory. / A hopelessly inadequate practice. / She can’t afford the taxi to the pharmacy. The authorities supply AIDS medicine to those who’ll admit they have it. But not medicine for the ‘off-shoots’ of HIV. And the drug companies? Don’t even start me? / Oh well, at least the government is trying we reason. / Snap, another shot. / She has nothing on the walls except a crucifix. / She is a Christian. / She really is one. / Not just one for charity. / She asks us to hold her hand and pray for her. / She asks us to pray for her family. / She loves her family. / I look at my sister. / I look at my brother-in-law. / They stand up and hold her hands. / My brother-in-law bends down and checks the youngest’s eyes. / I love my family too. / We pray. / Then, snap, a family shot. / We leave. / With the promise we won’t tell the neighbors she has AIDS. / She is ashamed. / So are we. / Not of who we are or why we’ve come or what we’ve done. / We are ashamed and angry and affronted at the horrible, despicable and unacceptable inequality of gender and geography. / My sister and I share a glance in the silence on the way back to the mission hostel. / There but by the grace of God, that could have been us. Share. Please. You know the drill by now. All proceeds to charity.
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Our earth needs help, we’re destroying it more and more everyday with deforestation, global warming, polution, etc. Also the war, injustice, and poverty. Our world is hurting. Layers: 5 / Worktime: 4 hours
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A young man I shared a few minutes with in Rwanda.
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Elderly people are rare in Rwanda given the genocide. Makes this lady even more of a treasure. She’s praying.
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It’s funny the shots you end up liking isn’t it? / I just love this shot. / It’s taken in a remote area of Rwanda. / Kind of a scary area actually. (Remind me to tell you why one day). / Anyway, these kids were blown away that I had a camera. / And yes…blonde hair. Their energy and pure fascination was just so raw. So, I like the shot. I really do.
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These people had been run out of their village by militia and had just returned when we arrived in North Kivu province Democratic Republic of Congo. They are just some of the millions of displaced Congolese driven by fear of the horrific crimes carried out by the roaming militias. When we arrived it was chaos. People return to homes that no longer exists, and victims who are no longer as they were. HEAL Africa has started an initiative whereby the leaders of these communities from Muslim, Christian and indigenous religious groups come together to try and rebuild the community. Yep that’s right a Christian group working with others in a non judgmental socially progressive way. I just had to point that out :)
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Let me take you on a journey.
by Melinda KerrLet me take you on a journey. / It’s 2007 in the capital city of Rwanda, Kigali. / April; The month of mourning for the atrocities of the g…
This exists next to a picture in my folio. But just in case any of you missed it…
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The freedom of interpretation or the injustice of misinterpretation?
by Suzanne GermanIs there really such a thing as The freedom of interpretation? ...add to the mix – language and cultural interpretation….and how …
Interpretation – Perception – Lost Meaning – Questioning Meaning
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One of the young women working at HEAL Africa in Congo saw this line in a marketplace. / I thought it was brilliant. / They should know.
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withered beauty
by awsivsing little bird, / tell me your story / i’ll write it down / before you get buried / the words i write / will forever speak / of your long los…
the words are few… so read it slow…
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All proceeds to charity / helafrica.org
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Copyright  2008_CarolineCaux@AlphaShots – All Rights ReservedApril 21th
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HEAL Africa Hospital www.healafrica.org
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One of the Doctors examining a pygmy woman. Domestic violence was suspected. / He was with our group. Oh yeah, and he’s also my brother-in-law :)
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Zakopane, South west Poland. These were probably gypsies, I’m told – but it could be anyone on the wrong side of the tracks, anywhere in the world. J’ACCUSE [still in progress] ‘I should have more faith,’ Holmes said. ‘I ought to know by this time that when a fact appears opposed by a long train of deductions, it invariably proves to be capable of bearing some other interpretation…How often have I said to you that when you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth?’ - Sir Arthur Conan Doyle: The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes Dog, dogma: dogma, God. / Where is our constant friend? / Where has he gone today? / - Is he: / Hiding under the table, like Spot the Dalmatian? / - Is he: / Perched on the windowsill, like Wee Willy Winky? / - Is he: / Creeping upon the stair, like the man who wasn’t there? / - Is he: / Some malign force in the skull of a drowned pig, like Legion? / No. / His holiday haunt – just for this week – reposes in / “Our anthropic bias”: remote yet required, he is (like / Income Tax) and needed to explain / Why there’s so much soot in the cosmos. / Diligent astronomers line up, eager to assure: / It’s the Lord who puts lead in your pencil. How hard of heart you think I must be / To scorn the longings of good people. / Only – oh, yes – I crave eternity as much as / Any of them: yearning as much as any for comfort; / Or to be promised that their lives (as much as mine) / Were not in vain – were not shop-soiled, or naked, or / Somehow dirtied. And so there has to be an anger, / Not of contempt, but of infrangible disappointment: / As if for a love that was pledged, yet which / Could not be; leaving only the wake of betrayal. / It’s not annihilation that is unbearable, / But only the possibility of hope. There’s Samuel Butler, I suppose: / “Once we explain a thing, we must / Remove it from the sphere of divine action.” / You wily old snake, O Lord: whenever the glare of scrutiny / Dazzles you out, you bed down somewhere else. / “God of the Gaps” my logic tutor called you, / Slipping yourself into shadows, like a Spiv. / Concerning your account, too, the little question of / An infinite regress: / Of who created you – if it’s so bad to have / One uncreated thing; / Who fashioned the elegant architect, if elegance / Demands an architect – if brute coercion must, / For once, be beautiful? / / Miracles? For sure, they’re all around us. Each feather / Or each song of the lyrebird is one; and but for / Another (less strange, they tell me, / Than the forming of a soap bubble) we’d not exist / At all. To think! / There’d be no chance for speculation, and an / Inanimate void might shimmer in its fecund silence – / Saved from our dissimulation, spared at least / The prattle of precarious minds. “When I hear Bach, I know there is a God.” / No, Dr Einstein; you do not. When you hear Bach / You know there is a Bach. / Two things serve as the measure of humanity: / Compassion is one, and memory of pain. Yeah, yeah: blah, blah. We need an afterlife to / Square the circle, make those grand impostors fair. / Trouble is, God old boy, we clocked your number long ago. / You made us a mite too bright; we pried too hard. / For God so loved our world, that he made flies / Whose maggots crawl into a sleeping brain – / Eating it away from inside: / And a child’s mind slithers down her nose, like snot. / For God so loved our world, he fashioned other worms / That creep towards the sun on stalks of wheat, and then / They’ll hitch a ride, guzzling through one’s skin with acid spit. / Soon afterwards they’ll shred the victim’s lights and lungs: / A grown man coughs on bloody gobbets – and, as he chokes, / They’ll slide down to his guts, to make their / Home Sweet Home. I’ve seen the superhuman indignities of old age: / The long nights of senescent, emptied lives, / Meaning nothing, God, to you. / (Sparing that cracker-motto crap about the Hereafter / Wherein we rise, in a flurry of angels – / Preceded, inevitably, by choking on our false teeth. / It’s bollocks: like all your other, busted incentive / Schemes, that keep us lame, and tame, docile and debased.) See, God old Sport – me old mate, me old Cobber – it’s not / As if your cruelty were a necessary evil: / Something to make us think, or learn, or grow. / No. Sadism, for you (inventive in a way; / Not lacking in imagination)…it’s vindictive, / Petty, needless, squalid, nasty, cheap. / It lays waste swathes of decent souls, like a pandemic: / It’s undeserved, and makes good people stumble; / It saps them, soils them, makes them less than once they were. I know your meagre mind, O Lord, and your forbearance – / Thin as slime mould. You’re rubbish, God. God: you’re / Dead meat. Oh, and God? I spit on your grave. Man’s profligacy comes from loneliness. / Beyond Man springs the abundance of what was never / Meant to be. Here, beyond our fingers, is the reckless, futile / Richness of what was unplanned. Stretch out your hand. / Ours is the bounty of the bold insurgent, / Not the pasty gaze of slaves. Stephen Jackson January 2005 (Finished 2007)
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POINT YOUR FINGER!!
by Jane KeatsMany of us feel that the world is getting smaller and more open. We can connect to fellow earthlings from countries, indeed continents, ...
Many of us feel that the world is getting smaller and more open. We can connect to fellow earthlings from countries, indeed continents, that we’ve never been to! We can converse with old and young, male and female, rich and poor… While others get further and further away. Consider the Chinese families whose homes were knocked down by bulldozers to make room for the Olympic Games, the Games of peace. And what about Australia’s own denial of our aboriginal history? A story only now beginning to be recognised in it’s entirety and attempts being made at reconciliation. Most atrocities are found out, opened up and publicised, eventually at least. The perpetrators are consequently stopped either by their own people (in the case of a “free” country) or by International forces. So, how is it that in a world as open and connected as ours has become… How is it that there is a whole country that has become so disconnected because of an oppressive regime and our blind eye? As you flick through the possibilities of which country I’m referring to, remember:- / The Western world jumped into an Iraq war to overthrow Sadam Hussain. Was it done for the right reasons? Probably not. Was it the wrong thing to do? I don’t know that it was. The fact is, hundreds of thousands of families were suffering profoundly under his regime. Although many still suffer after the messy intervention from armies belonging to countries that just didn’t understand the Middle Eastern way of life. (Not such a small world yet, after all). But to return to the country of my concern, haven’t we all forgotten Sudan these days? The military regime fighting for absolute power of Sudan has been responsible for more than two million deaths over the last twenty years. In the last five years alone, more than two million people have been displaced from their property by way of looting, rape, torture and burning homes because they are not Arab Islamic. Please understand, this is not a reason to go about degrading or marginalising Muslim or Arab people. The Muslim religion is no better or worse than any other in my opinion. People have committed atrocities in the name of almost every religion known to man! But herein lies the problem, the world won’t get involved in Sudan because of the stupid way that people reacted to Iraq. And so, the Southern Sudanese go on running from death and torture at the hands of the tyrants who call themselves their leaders! Please use the connections in your world, our world, to publicise Sudan. Open it up again. Point your finger! Something must be done, I don’t know what, but it won’t be done if we continue to sweep it under the carpet.
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In the part of this universe that we know there is great injustice, and often the good suffer, and often the wicked prosper, and one hardly knows which of those is the more annoying. Bertrand Russell See my full portfolio here Shop Art by Category and/or Series Guide to the Silver Lining shirts
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Who's Sin
by CrowmanicWhat law, who’s words, who’s hymns are the true songs / to the gods, and the spirits of the land that we once belonged.
Once upon a time, I had a cousin, when we were young … he was murdered … I grieved for many years … then finally wrote this …
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UPON INJUSTICES
by caroline caux-evansInjustices! / We can understand that word in so many ways! / How do we respond to this? / To do so ,we need to get all the facts ,from all s…
Injustices! / We can understand that word in so many ways! / How do we respond to this? / To do so ,we need to get all the facts ,from all sides, analyse without prejudice for either party! / Injustices! / Why have so many great men or woman, have been put away, behind walls? / Forgotten by society, / Forgotten , by laws and rights, / Why do so many have to suffer for the sake of others? / Why are we growing cold? / When we see,injustices , / All over, / All around us! / At what ever level of society! / Injustices! / In-Just-cease / To see, / To ponder, / To analyse, / To make a choice, / To fight against! Caroline Caux copyright 2008 24th January
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To The tortured, massacred,spoilt of their dignity and rights, those suffering injustices!!!!!
by caroline caux-evansWalking on theSand Road! / TO ALL THE NATIVE AMERICANS, THE BLACK COMMUNITY, OR THE OTHERS, ERRADICATED , WHO HAVE SUFFERED…
Dedication to the LEFT OVERS FROM SOCIETY§ / THOSE WHO HAVE BEEN DECIMATED / TORTURED / ERADICATED / USED / THROWN AS GARBADGE / TO THOSE STILL SUFFERING / IMPRISONNED / REJECTED / LIED TO / UTILISED / AND THE LIST IS NOT EXHAUSTIVE
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GAP - In Trade
by anaisnaisUnmanned, unaudited and undiscovered / Children young as eleven and twelve / Work their tiny nimble fingers / Stitching richly embellished g…
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~ POETIC LICENSE ~
by Thomas Josiah ChappelleWill a Poet ever need license?.... / Would there ever be fines / For writing too few lines; / Something that just do’n’t rhyme? / Would it be…
TONGUE IN CHEEK HUMOR TO PRESENT POETIC LICENSE IN A DIFFERENT LIGHT
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Ripe for revolt
by croweThrough the slits in the drapes, a disinterested Paris sent the soft, orange light of a freezing Christmas Eve.
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