I came to the conclusion that no one is just going to go look at a sigght because I tell them to. No matter how persuausve I think I can be. Instead, I have copied and pasted the story here. First is the Invisible Children story of Africa's longest running war:A HISTORY OF AFRICA’S LONGEST RUNNING WAR
The war in northern Uganda has been called the most neglected humanitarian emergency in the world today. For the past 23 years, the Lord’s Resistance Army (LRA) and the Government of Uganda (GoU) have been waging a war that has left nearly two million innocent civilians caught in the middle. The GoU's attempt to protect its citizens from this rebel militia has largely failed, resulting in an entire generation of youth that has never known peace.
The LRA rebel movement can be traced back to a woman named Alice Lakwena. In the 1980s, Lakwena believed the Holy Spirit spoke to her and ordered her to overthrow the Ugandan government for being unjust to the Acholi. Lakwena and her followers, known as the Holy Spirit Movement, gained momentum as resentment toward the government increased. When Lakwena was exiled and no clear leader of the movement was left, Joseph Kony, who claimed to be Lakwena’s cousin, took control and transformed Lakwena’s rebel army into the LRA.
Kony's LRA did not receive the same support as the Holy Spirit Movement from the Acholi people. With dwindling approval for their cause and heightened government offensives, the rebels resorted to abducting children and indoctrinating them into their ranks. It is estimated that more than 90% of the LRA’s troops were abducted as children.
In 1996, as a response to the LRA attacks in the villages, the Ugandan government forcibly evicted thousands from their homes, relocating them into overcrowded camps in hopes of providing protection. But over a decade later, roughly one million individuals still live in these camps and struggle to survive among the effects of abject poverty, rampant disease, and near-certain starvation.
In recent years more and more international attention has been focused on this crisis. In 2001, the US Patriot Act officially declared the LRA to be a terrorist organization - a huge step in drawing attention to the conflict and the atrocities committed by the LRA. In 2004, Congress passed the Northern Uganda Crisis Response Act, the first piece of American legislation to address this disaster. And in 2005, the International Criminal Court (ICC) issued arrest warrants for Joseph Kony and four of his top commanders.
Pressure from the international community (particularly from EU and Canada) combined with a strong desire to secure peace has brought the Government of Uganda and the LRA to the negotiating table on numerous occasions, though they have yet to find a peaceful resolution. The most recent talks commenced in Juba, Sudan in July 2006, and a Cessation of Hostilities Agreement was signed the following month.
In July 2007, in response to an increased concern for peace in northern Uganda by the American people, the US State Department appointed Tim Shortley to Senior Advisor for Conflict Resolution with his immediate focus on northern Uganda. This action solidified the US’s commitment to end this conflict peacefully. That same year, the United Kingdom bolstered their commitment to peace by allocating £70 million in aid, while Germany committed to a 25% increase in aid to Uganda by October 2010. Canada later became more than an international supporter of the peace process in February 2008 by joining the peace talks as an official observer (though the Canadian officer on the ground has since been removed from the region).
At this point in time, the Cessation of Hostilities Agreement has expired and Joseph Kony has failed to sign the Final Peace Agreement for a fourth time, proving his promises to be futile and ultimately disabling the peace talks. Uncertainty lingers, not only for the thousands displaced in northern Uganda but across the entire northeastern border region of DR Congo, South Sudan, and Central African Republic.
Since September 2008, hostility in the Orientale province in DR Congo and Western Equatoria in South Sudan has reached a feverish pitch. LRA attacks have become more frequent and hostile, provoking military action against the rebel group. In an unprecedented joint military operation, the governments of Uganda, DR Congo, South Sudan and the Central African Republic launched an attack on LRA strongholds within DR Congo. “Operation Lightning Thunder”, the name designated for the counteroffensive, was largely unsuccessful in light of both the failure to reach top LRA leadership and the onslaught of violence that followed.
One month later on December 24th, 2008, the LRA launched a retaliatory attack against the people of DR Congo. In apparent desperation and a renewed will to spread terror to DR Congo, the LRA murdered over six hundred and abducted more than one hundred and sixty children to fight amongst its ranks. More than 104,000 Congolese have been displaced since Christmas in attempts to escape the LRA forces.
As the motives of the LRA become more ambiguous and their crimes more horrific, Invisible Children remains committed to seeking sustainable solutions to foster an environment that encourages peace. We are supporting and equipping a generation ravaged by war so that they can finally know peace. Invisible Children addresses the need for access to education and economic development through innovative programs on the ground.
Now the story of Falling Whistles, concerning some of the children that are being abducted:This is the story of a single day.
A single, shape-shifting, life-changing, perspective-altering, never.be.the.same.kinda day.
Originally I went to Africa to put shoes on kids' feet. My friend built a company grounded in giving and there I was, on the ground, giving.
After the shoe drop, I went wandering. Sometimes with friends, sometimes alone, sometimes safe, sometimes not. I wanted into the wild. And wild it was.
"It is not down in any map; true places never are." ~ Herman Melville
I yelled at thieving monkeys and saw Nelson Mandela yell from a stage. Cried in refugee camps and laughed during moonlight tribal dances. Witnessed a baby born and parents buried. Climbed south to the bottom of the world and headed north to see Ugandan kids become visible. Slept inside mansions and on mud, ate porridge and gazelle, fended off pickpockets, swam with otters and rarely stopped, showered or stood still.For two months, there was death and destruction, failure and fear, adventure.wonder.motion. But all around was a pervasive hope moving steadily toward what could only be described as progress. Stories of change everywhere to be found.
Until I walked into the chaos of Congo. The so-called Democratic Republic of Congo, home to one of history’s deadliest wars. Strange circumstances led me to her doorstop, but there I stood ready to see what she might show my western eyes. The following is what they saw.
I hope to one day tell the story in full. For now, peek into this single chapter.As I’m writing you, the sun is setting just over the central lake in Goma. My computer screen blurs. I cannot help the weeping that hinders my vision and falls on the keys even as I type these words.Bob Dylan said something along the lines of "People tell me it’s a sin, to hold so much pain and hurt within." I suppose I’m wondering if they were right. We originally planned to spend the day tracking down the rebel leader Nkunda. We had arranged an armed escort to take us into his territory. However after speaking with a Congolese military journalist who had just returned from that area, we decided to postpone the trip.He said the upcoming Peace Conference had infuriated Nkunda’s rebels and they had gone mad with drugs. He told us it didn’t matter who guarded us, the sight of our white skin would enrage them and they would fire. "Another day, but not this day" was his advice. We thought it prudent to take note.Instead, we caught back up with the 5 boys that had just escaped two of the rebel armies. BuscoBahatiSerungendoClaudeSadikiWe found them in a filthy cell at a military encampment called Titu; a prison. The boys had been forced to spend the entire night standing up straight. None of them were over 15 years old. None had ever chosen to fight. Still, they were being treated as Enemies of the State. Yesterday each of them were giving praise to God for their rescue from the rebels. Now they're wondering if the National Army is any different. It's a common problem here in Congo. There is more sexual violence here than anywhere in the world, but no signs that any one of the armies are any better or worse than another. All the soldiers rape. All the soldiers pillage.
All the people suffer. There is no refuge. Not the victim-side-of-a-gun anyway. As we dug further, we discovered that the boys hadn’t eaten in 48 hours and had been beaten all night long. The soldiers forced them to blow up their cheeks and then punch them in. These boys, who have already been through a deep kind of hell, were trembling with fear.
Lindsay convinced me and we went to buy them food, clothes, shoes, soap and a toothbrush. Bare materials that grant us small dignity. They fell on the gifts like wolves, smiling, laughing and thanking God. The bones of their ribs showed through their rags as they ate. The bananas in their hands were the first non-rotten food they had eaten since they had last seen their families.
While we waited for the UN, who had promised to rescue them, we spoke with the boys individually. Each had been abducted. Plucked from their homes, schools or farms. Each had been tied up and beaten. Each had been forced to kill. Sadiki had been dropped in a hole, deep in the ground. Nearly 300 boys were forced into the ditch for 20 hours of the day. They sat and slept in their own excrement. Slowly, they awaited the other 4 hours of the day when they found themselves tortured and trained to fire a gun. Only to be dropped again into their own filth. Many of us have heard the stories of child-soldiers. Invisible Children and stories such as A Long Way Gone have been groundbreaking in granting us glimpses into their tortured lives.
I had heard.known.cared. I had even reacted and raged. But when these boys told me of the whistle blowers, the horror grew feet and walked within me. Captured by Nkunda’s rebel army, the boys not big enough to hold a gun are given merely a whistle and put on the front lines of battle. THEIR SOLE DUTY IS TO MAKE ENOUGH NOISE TO SCARE THE ENEMY AND THEN TO RECEIVE - WITH THEIR BODIES - THE FIRST ROUND OF BULLETS.
Lines of boys fall as nothing more than a temporary barricade. Those who try to flee are shot at from behind. The soldiers call it "encouragement" to be brave. Without a gun to protect themselves, the smallest boys are placed between the crossfire of two armies - forces fighting for reasons far beyond their ability to understand. WITH FALLING WHISTLES, THEIR ONLY CHOICE IS TO FEIGN DEATH OR FACE IT."WHAT THE HELL ARE WE DOING HERE?" Am I even capable of doing anything to help such madness? Busco's the oldest of 8 children. Many times he watched that number dwindle to some soldiers petty fire. His only wish is to go back to his farm, because he's sure his parents need his help to raise the family. For quite some time, they have believed him dead. As with us all, the boys gained freedom from sharing their stories. Tears turned to smiles and smiles to laughter. Little in our respective lives was similar, but storytelling is strange and powerful. Surrounded by angry and onlooking guards, we found some small comfort in one another. The only Rwandan of the group was sure that he had fought against Nkunda's army - the very same rebels that had abducted these Congolese boys. I asked if that made them enemies. He looked at me, laughed, and kissed Sadiki. "We are only boys. How can we be enemies?"
As the day turned to dusk, we all grew worried the UN wouldn't come to pick them up. Their hands and eyes betrayed their dread at staying yet another night, standing among these merciless guards. We started making some calls only to discover that the UN had passed responsibility of the children to Unicef, who had then been turned away at the prison 4 times. The soldiers wanted the children to stay for another night of entertainment and weren't prepared to have them released. Lindsay hit the phonebook for some frantic politicking with our newfound connections. Finally both the Unicef and the UN trucks were admitted inside the Titu compound. I'm not sure what changed their decision. But I suppose I don't care. We quickly loaded the boys into the trucks as the soldiers prepared to block our exit. Just because the trucks had gained entrance didn't mean they'd allow them to leave.
Halfway through the camp they demanded the truck stop and empty out. Again, politicking and protesting with all the Americana authoritarian aristocratic animated attitude we could muster, the boys were finally allowed back in the truck and set free. Weeks ago they had each planned out their escape. Praying they'd be rescued from their mad dash out of Nkunda's camp. When the Congolese army picked them up, they thought their dreams achieved - only to be corrected by dark fist in the night. As we watched them leave Titu, we knew we were seeing their escape finally fulfilled.The burden of their lives weighs heavy on me tonight. I close my eyes and see whistles falling from palm sized hands. And I haven't the damndest idea what to do about it. I have to share their story. But haven't a clue how to pull it off. I know simply that this cannot, cannot go on.
And I know we're gonna need a lot of help. From a lot of you. There is a Peace Conference starting tomorrow, regarding decades of war and millions slaughtered. Yet I’ve seen no other westerners. No American media. No Muzungus. Nothin. We are the land of the free and the brave and seem not to notice that the brave here have never been free. But today was a start. Five are safe at least.
It's a beginning I suppose.
hs and an ass. I am shapely and have always been (that is me to the right). I always grew up feeling like it was some sort of handicap. My dad was harsh about it, threatening to take pictures of me in my bathing suit and hang it over a mantel. He would tell me how a girl my size wouldn't find love. Just recently, I spoke with my Mexican grandfather in Texas whom I haven't spoken with in years. He asked me, "you still big or you pretty now?" I said, "Ummm...." and he responded with, "I bet you like 400 or 500 pounds now. Big girl. No fellas. Lonely life." followed by chuckles. My grandmother on my mom's side would constantly tell me how much prettier I could be if I just hopped on a treadmill.
could hear my father's voice in the back of my head. Glamour recently ran an ad that most people know as The Girl on Page 194. It was a picture of a girl who is size 12 naked (picture left). She is sitting down and her tummy rolls over and she has clear curves and definite meat on her bones. The reaction to that picture was more positive than anyone expected. Men wrote in to say how beautiful she was, how that was their ideal shape, not the size 0 models most magazines picture.
the paintings of Vermeer were not so well-fleshed: slim meant poor at the time. And sometimes in other countries, it is the same.
