Joey

I'm sitting on my bed surrounded by photos of my brother. I've been going through boxes and pulling out all the photos that he's in, as a child and as an adult. It feels like he's dead and I am creating a shrine in his honor. In some ways I think a part of him died a long time ago. Perhaps there's a hole in his soul where self-worth, self-respect, and self-esteem used to be. I think that my dad took those from him a long time ago.
The photos of Joey are no substitute, and do nothing to dull my sadness. I want to hear his voice. I want to tell him how much I love him. I can't imagine what he's going through right now. Is he in shock? How does one surrender a year?
My mum, my brother, and I went to the sentencing knowing that he might be taken into custody. None of us really wanted to say that though. Seven inmates were brought into the courtroom for arraignment or sentencing. They were all wearing Oakland County Jail jumpsuits, and were shackled together. I wondered what they had been accused of doing, where their families were, whether their families felt as helpless as I did. In the end my brother was handcuffed and taken out of the courtroom along with the other inmates. I wanted to call out his name; to say goodbye. He didn't look back though. I cried and shook as they took him away.
I wish that I could vomit and it would take away this sick feeling. I wish that I could pull the weight out of my chest, so I could breathe again.
How do people do this? I can't imagine the suffering that is felt by the loved ones of those who are locked away for much longer. I'm just hoping for small things now. I want to send him a letter and some photos. I want to be able to visit him. I want him to get into the work release program. I want all the drugs to be out of his system. I want this experience to change him for the better.



Wednesday, September 08, 2004

Death in Gaza

I just watched the documentary Death in Gaza for the second time. It was so powerful that I wanted a friend of mine to see it. The movie focuses on the lives of children living in the West Bank and the Gaza Strip. Most of the movie takes place in Rafah.

It is useless for me to try to explain how powerful and moving this movie is. I cannot begin to explain what you see if these children's lives. Ahmed and Mohammed are 12 year old best friends. Part of the time they seem like children, and part of the time they seem like a part of the resistance. And, in fact, they are both. They make homemade hand grenades, and Ahmed works as a scout for militants, telling them whether it's safe for them to come out on a particular street.

At one point Ahmed says, "Why would they want to shoot me? I'm just a little boy." And at another point Mohammed says, "Martyrdom is not just for adults. It's for young and old alike." Najla, a 16 year old girl, talks about how 8 of her young relatives have died. She says that everyday when she walks to school she fears that she'll be the next to die.

The terror, pain, sadness, and anger that these children posses is incomprehensible to me. Any problem that I may have is dwarfed by what goes on in the lives of these children. The filmmaker was also supposed to also film Israeli children, but he was shot and killed by Israeli forces, and the film ended.

Although I cried through the 2nd half of the movie both times that I saw it, I would watch it again. Despite the overwhelming death, destruction, and desperation in this movie, it is a necessary film to see. People living relatively privileged lives need to see things like this in order to understand even a fraction of what goes on in war and conflict zones.

War is not glorious. War is not heroic. War is death, murder, and destruction. Martyrdom is not glorious. Martyrdom is not something that 12 year old boys should be hoping and preparing for. Death in Gaza is still playing on HBO. Watch it. Learn. Tell others.

Sunday, September 05, 2004

fuck

i am getting a really horrible pain in my right temple. it feels like something is under the skin, trying to get out. my migraines are already bad, but it's a special treat when i get some debilitating, nearly unbearable pain in addition. sometimes it feels like knives are stabbing my brain, or electric worms are burrowing in my head. fuck.


Saturday, August 21, 2004

Red, red wine.

Hmmm... been feeling kind of low. Not a constant low, more of an ebb and flow. Distraction helps. Tonight's distraction has been red wine, selling things on ebay, and watching Arundhati Roy speak about her new book. Last night I hung up 8 of my antique Chinese advertising posters. God, I love these things. My room looks so much better than before. I need to unpack more, organize more. Sometimes I just don't know how to start. Next week I am leaving for a trip to New York City! I am so fucking excited! I want to wander around the city for a couple of days, and then I'm going to the protest against the RNC. This will be the first big protest I've ever been to. Full speed ahead!