Human Rights Stories

For freedom

2018-12-14T09:58:00.000-08:00

Once upon a time there was Freedom.
My husband’s, Amin Abofetileh, 28 years old.
Mine.
That is, Kate Yang, just 20 years old.
We have tried so many times to ensure that our Freedom obtained the due certificate, but we have collected only excuses.
They say that, as refugees, we deserve to be treated for crimes against humanity.
Yet, Amin escaped from Iran in 2012 just to survive another persecution by his government.
We thought we were safe, here.
That's why we got married in 2016 on the island of Manus, in Papua New Guinea.
For us, for the love that unites us.
And for her, Freedom.
Or, Liberty.
Our daughter…

Kate and her daughter Liberty

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Universal declaration of human rights 70 years video

2018-12-07T09:51:00.001-08:00

The 10th of December 2018 we will celebrate the 70th

Anniversary of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights.
Storytellers for Peace, an international network born in 2016, formed by storytellers who tell stories through clips, made a special one for this great occasion.
The artists, as much the tales, come from all over the world and speak about justice, equality, human rights and peace.

The project was created and is coordinated by Alessandro Ghebreigziabiher, author, playwright, storyteller and stage actor from Italy.
Human rights regard all of us, not only artists or activists.
That’s why, Storytellers for Peace have involved in their new video also colleagues, relatives, friends, or anyone else who wanted to join the work.
Because, more than ever today, we have to say that this wonderful Declaration is still the best words we have.
The 30 articles are told in their respective first language from 31 artists, educators, teachers, journalists, or just persons who care about human rights from all over the world (the video is subtitled in English):

Famine is a weapon

2018-11-22T06:46:00.001-08:00

It is a bad story, this.
For how it started and, above all, because of the outcome.
It's an old one like the world itself, where someone wrote earth, you'd better read a planet at war.
However, like any storytelling that takes root in the viewer's imagination, convincing him that it is just another fairy tale he should get used to, it also meets the rules of box office success.
An evocative title: Famine is a weapon.
A simple and immediate synopsis, already used, but that’s why it’s a winning one: the usual powerful nations, as Great Britain and United States, sell weapons to the umpteenth brutal coalition, this time led by Saudi Arabia.
A plot that unfolds in a predictable, but linear way, according to the inhumane, modern logic: eighty-five thousand children have died since 2015 and at least five million are at risk of doing the same death because of the most effective weapon of mass destruction in history.
Hunger used like a weapon, yes its, exactly like the title.
Hence the final moral of this filthy feature movie: where the bombs will not be enough, starvation will defeat Yemen.
Yet, there is still time to get up from our comfortable armchairs, turn on the lights and stop this damn film...

How to help:
Save the Children

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The right words

2018-10-25T07:55:00.000-07:00

Once upon a time the US mission to the United Nation and its desire to eliminate the word “gender” from UN human rights documents.
Once upon a time, indeed, the aim to replace it with “woman”, seemingly a consequence of Trump’s plan to erase transgender lives on earth.
So, once upon a time the right words for the neofascist dictionary.
Where you might say good citizen, you should think about white and rich men.
And where you could imagine a criminal and poor guy, you must see an immigrant or just a man with African origin.
Where you want to figure out a normal family, you have to draw a whole blond group of smiling dad and mom, sons and a black maid, if you need it too.
And where you need to consider a perfect contrary example, you just have to change the color of the skin and the quality of the neighborhood.
Where you'll say peace mission, it will mean war, and while you'll hear screaming war, it will be so, but it will too late for running out of the nightmare.
Because every dictatorship, strong or soft it might be - like today is, it needs leaders and soldiers, but it should also know how to spread the usual, old and new right words...

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Willy Toledo freedom of speech

2018-09-13T05:22:00.000-07:00

Once upon a time a man.
Or whoever he might be.
Once upon a time Guillermo Toledo.
Or whatever his name could be.
Once upon a time a Spanish actor.
Or whatever his choice to express life would be.
He has got the natural freedom of speech.
His freedom is ours.
His losing freedom is ours too.
Even if he happens to offend your personal gods, with his maybe too much instinctive words.
Surely he doesn’t deserve to be jailed for that.
Otherwise, if you should be coherent with your beliefs, once upon a time another world.
A place where, considering to be arrested all the ones who daily insult your creator and creations with actions - not just a facebook post, there will be no more space in prison…

Read also Storie and News

Trump stops family separation? Children and parents are not bricks

2018-06-21T08:02:00.001-07:00

Children and parents are not bricks, like the wall’s ones, that you can pull up and then throw down, and raise again, depending on the umpteenth, delirious tweet of the moment, that you can spit out from your teeth and a moment later attribute to an elusive expiatory spokesperson, justify your word as the always useful misunderstanding. Or, at best, deleting it.

Parents and children are not a group of shares, which you can divide and sell in different markets, and then merge into a new business and if the stock requires to shatter everything and try not to end up in loss.

Children and parents are not those damn weapons, to be religiously disassembled and reassembled, cleaning and oiling the pieces properly.

Parents and children are not even the parts of your perennial presidential campaign monologue, to systematically disunite between them and above all from every sort of context, and then rekindling them in bulk, so that nothing could be understood and the obtuse cry could be heard everywhere.

Children, parents, children, parents, are not the protagonists of a video game, the designated targets, which as digital variables, in the form of sacrificial characters in a populist shooter, you can divide and add up without losing points.

When you remove a son from his mother, if you subtract a daughter from her father, when you break up a family, you can also try to remedy the crime, but the damage remains.

For that you will have to answer, sooner or later.
Better the sooner, though…

Read also today Storie and News

WW1 Centenary 2018 story

2018-06-08T07:07:00.000-07:00

Dear ancestors,

These lyrics are for you, that in two dissimilar lands refreshed, detached by a sea whose waters turn out to be each day more and more confused.
In life you have never encountered, and thanks to the freedom of a sheet and particularly the occasion to write on it - which we should continuously be thankful of, I see you joined, maybe standing in a normal living room, animated by the feeling of the instant and from the unavoidable amount of reminiscences to be traded.
Between the many, the one that happened precisely in July 1914, only to end, for favorable luck of all the characters, just over four years after…

From Storie and News

Human Rights Stories of immigrants and faith

2018-06-01T07:55:00.001-07:00

Thanks to a disturbingly eventuality the most racist governments on the issue of migration used to proclaim themselves as the most spiritual ones, including the new Italy administration.
A few days ago, I came in the Sanctuary of Rivotorto, in Umbria, and inside the so-called Hovel of Saint Francis of Assisi, even though knowing it, I read the Canticle of the Creatures, but with my actual eyes.
I am not a faith man, I tell you, but those arguments seemed to me further blessed, when modified to the necessities of the many mortified human creatures…

From Storie and News

Human rights stories from Haiti

2018-05-25T07:46:00.002-07:00

Lovely Earth, I imagine to write you from Jalousie, Haitian slums.
Outside the limits of world’s insanity, we’re living by aptitude, we endure by need.
We create real tales, for the sake of those looking for us, on the skyline that will have the blessing to appreciate the next dawn.
After the quake, after the wicked look that the unpleasant dice called destiny presented us, we are here, well joined.
Therefore, while in your nations your leaders aren’t able to decide on the authority increased over hate and dishonesties, we attempt to study how to change the rules.
When it will occur, because it will do, don’t recognize us.
Give us comfort now…

From Storie and News

Human Rights Stories about Syria

2018-04-18T07:46:00.002-07:00

The much exploited childish candor, unsuited to deal with the complexity of the global tangle of interests and power.
Otherwise, by facilitating the immature objection, you may find yourself in highly prohibited areas by government syntax.
Asking who manufactures chemical weapons and who finances them, who sells them and who protects their trade, who legislates in favour or just abstains hand and conscience.
This would lead to an unacceptable scenario for regime screenwriters.
The one based on the idea that things are much easier to understand than they seem.

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Human Righs Stories of Solidarity

2018-04-01T18:17:00.000-07:00

Once upon a time there was a law.
An equal for all one, otherwise what are we talking about?
Yes, what, I've been wondering that for some time.
The law for all was simple: giving support to a criminal represents an equally prohibited act.
Therefore, I understand the burdens of a pious heart, brother, and I am aware of the uncomfortable symptoms of the good-natured virus, sister. Setting aside for a moment the famous dictates of the philosopher Agostino,
deservedly practiced by Martin Luther King, about nobility of disobedience to a norm considered inhuman, where you find yourself foraging someone, always remember to check his criminal fed. Note to listening Christians: see it as a sort of unavoidable amendment to the famous, evangelical Works of mercy, on quenching and feeding the derelicts.
For all the others, just remember that, period.

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Human Rights Stories about poor and rich

2018-03-31T18:15:00.000-07:00

Let's face it frankly, okay?
Inequality was a state of affairs.
It was persecuted, sought with enthusiasm and commitment, I would say with extreme dedication.
Then, to be defended at all costs, as could be done with civil rights or democracy, in a naive story of romantic visions.
As proof of that, the most portentous claim didn’t concern the real distribution of fortunes, more or less lawfully earned, but the nature of the present and the future which the various citizens chose to commit their time for.

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Human Rights Stories of modern slaves

2018-03-30T17:21:00.000-07:00

Once upon a time there was a house as big as the world is.
Like any self-respecting home, worthy of a prime time spot, or a smiling box office movie, it was made up of rooms.
The rooms, despite someone is still claiming for the contrary, were inhabited by occupants of a purely transitory nature, like the clouds that sometimes cover the sky. You can easily see that the drawings are never the same and those who say otherwise are blind, or want to blind others.
In one room, the inhabitants from the terminal
Photo by National Crime Agency
eternity nourished the fruits of the earth, of every form and color, declared taste or temporally fashion, vegetable or animal conception without any solution of continuity.

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Human Rights Stories about Apartheid

2018-03-29T18:20:00.000-07:00

Rejoice.
I’m talking to you, my friend, that present time's law murders with deafening ease, and modern chronicle’s silence humiliates to the most obstinate recess of your soul.
Exult, since the unjust hourglass has a heart.
A slow and awkward one, but it beats.
Incredible in its pervading obsession in moving from the most servile side of the balance, the one where unqualified it polishes the golden wheels of the triumphal chariot.
Despite that, it has a logic, from this day.

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Human Rights Stories of poverty and hunger

2018-03-28T18:20:00.000-07:00

The World Health Organization and the World Bank declared yesterday that almost one hundred million people in the world are forced every year to daily choose between health and food, education and basic necessities.
For the rest of humanity, a hundred is just a number, as well as a million times as much.
Greatness doesn’t matter, unless it’s one and that one is you.
In this case, I choose, each day, each week.
Monday I ate, yes, I had to, I couldn’t help it.
A little and with joy, with extreme calm and attention to every crumb that could run away.

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Human Rights Stories about women in Saudi Arabia

2018-03-27T18:15:00.000-07:00

I.
Yes but…
I can.
Okay, but...
I can drive.
Certainly you can, however...
However, before you take breathe and steal time and page, I start and look for the horizon still to fill.
With one eye on tomorrow, the dreamed oasis, on the shore touched just within my imagination.
At the same time, the other half of my heart rejoices, staring at the missing rest that makes vibrating my chest and rubbing my hair.
Yes I can.

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Human Rights Stories about Nobel Peace Prize

2018-03-26T18:14:00.000-07:00

Look at Aung San Suu Kyi, and see how she contradicts herself and every principle that has made her a symbol of the whole world, showing an insensitivity worthy of the worst politician before the sufferings of the Rohingya, an unlucky minority imprisoned inside a brutal majority.
Do you think it's all accidental?
Do you think it's just an amazing paradox?
It would be nice, always paradoxically, obviously, because that’s a well-reputed and repetitive plot in the script of the so-called upper species.
Look, in fact, and see.

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Human Rights Stories about playing kids

2018-03-25T18:14:00.000-07:00

Take away and see.
Erase and hope.
Turn it off and wait.
Back and forth, like a dance stealing life or lighting it up.
Right and duty of each soul at the start of the journey.
The magic of a hand that could create and destroy, without any guarantee of eternity.
Take the game away from anyone who would have all the seriousness of the world to appreciate it and respect it, and you will see. You will see someone who will have no consideration for any supposed concreteness of your life, because he could never give it a delicate form in his own mind.

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Human Rights Stories of war and peace

2018-03-24T18:09:00.000-07:00

Once upon a time there was the innocent until proven otherwise.
Ignoring the facts, until a disadvantageous phone tapping came out.
Accountable for them, but times were different, isn’t it?
You cannot judge the past, some say, because you cannot change it.
But you can listen to it.
The swish of the yellowed pages that suffocates under the weight of a confused present, seem to rumble, at a very first glance.
It sounds like astride ravings spoken in a dead language, if you relate it to the simultaneous chatter which, within a click, we condemn the fate of whole peoples with.
However, if you can just tilt the digital hourglass, you could follow the accusing finger that accuses the usual, peaceful coexistence’s serial killer.

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Human Rights Stories from Africa

2018-03-23T17:08:00.000-07:00

Quickly.
I have to be quick before it's too late.
Before I get used to the thing, and it will decide to stay.
The thing, yes, I don’t have to give it a name, otherwise it gets familiar, close, mine.
I cannot afford it, not now, not me.
And what can I do?
Here it is, I look at it for a moment, with strictly fixed-term feelings and thoughts.
A woman burying an only three years life under a bush.
Done.

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Human Rights Stories of World Hunger

2018-03-22T17:07:00.000-07:00

Once upon a time there was a story.
A short one, don’t worry.
Indeed, what do we really have to worry about?
It takes a little, believe me.
Five minutes, six at the most.
This is the time I've used to write it.
Nothing, isn’t it?
And when time is zero, what's the problem?
Yes, seriously, what is it?
Anyway, you’ll need less to read it.
Two minutes, one and a half to be quick, just one for those with fast eye and easy brain. Which may also mean light, but without offense, trust me.

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Human Rights Stories of poor kids

2018-03-21T18:06:00.000-07:00

Hildur is five years old.
Souley too.
Hildur is a child.
Also Souley, but life is strange, isn’t it?
Almost like stories, right?
Hildur closes his eyes and dreams of things.
Souley dreams, period.
Hildur looks at his continent from the north, or above.
Souley looks at the world neither from south nor below.
Because his world is all there, before him, made of visions and hopes, however naïve.
Hildur plays.
Souley plays.

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Human Rights Stories of women

2018-03-20T18:05:00.000-07:00

Greetings, Mother.
To you, dear, on your last day, and those to come, especially the latter.
Because the thought that truly pleases someone's name and story is made up of unique and special matter.
You will find the vibrating echo of a voice that excites by exclaiming the right words, where a moderate and accurate silence is the most in-demand dress. The reverberation of the light from a careful and curious look, ready to illuminate the ignored traits by our fake dignity, though they are often on the surface. More than anything else, the deep grooves on the common way impressed by those who are willing to risk every step below to give meaning to those same traces.

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Human Rights Stories of children

2018-03-19T18:04:00.000-07:00

My name is nobody.
My name is nobody, and as much I might be an ingenious hero, this will not save me from the third millennium Cyclops. ecause the modern one-eyed creature is also deprived of heart and mankind.
My name is nobody and nothing is my job.
That is to say, to go down there, where nobody goes, precisely me, to allow the schizophrenic two-faced monster - psychotic corporation on one hand, indispensable to consume and be consumed from products, on the other one, to continue its perverse path on earth.

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Human rights stories of Sinixt First Nation

2018-03-18T16:54:00.000-07:00

The picture is naked.
I hope it is now clear.
Unveiling the mystery, the phenomenon is today under the sunlight, clear in its tender melancholy,
but don’t think we will stop.
We won’t go back either.
Nowadays persevering in our perpetually staring at the horizon it is understandable.
Crossing it with sharp eyes and no more labored, no longer afraid, hungry breath too.
Here and now you know why we wake up first, and never go to sleep.
Present day it is obvious why we enlarge eyes before the normal things.

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