(Screamers Post)
A muted sound, a painful plea for sanity... we wait and watch as the world we loved burns to the ground. This thing that haunts us grows all around us. Engulfing us, it devours our senses as we become numb. A scream... a bloody cry for help... as our original sin claims its prize.
When Bosnia erupted the world sat back and said it was simply civil war. The great western powers placed their bets and hoped their horse won the race. Nobody dared to lift a finger to stop it. Instead we watched as the barb wire was rolled out once again. Concentration camps were built on European soil and we did nothing. Thousands were slaughtered as snipers picked their pluck from the roost of Srebrenica. Serbian dogs began to devour the bones as we closed our eyes. Bosnia's incessant cries for help could not even merit a simple movement of our stiff upper lips as we slept the night away.
Now we face Syria in much the same way. This time the world covers their eyes with both hands as if not let even a glimpse of the violence in. The media hacks have taped our lips and plugged our ears as the flames of Damascus scorch our souls. The blood of thousands pours at our feet while our patient politicians place their bets and once again hope their jackass wins the race.
For nearly my entire life the world has watched Darfur burn itself into the depths of Hell. We have sat back and cheered the Burmese on as they rape and pillage the Rohingya. And all the while we try ever so hard to forget and deny any past wrongs we ourselves may have committed.
Deep inside I have always felt that blood curdling cry as it has clawed at my throat in an attempt to get out. I have never understood how a world so plagued by death and genocide could find any solace in looking away as it happens at our doorstep. It is almost as if we just deny anything has ever happened when we are faced with the victims in the light of day. We literally treat them as the battered wives who wear sun glasses to cover their blackened eyes. Let alone the fact we do nothing when we can hear them being savagely attacked or witness it with our own eyes.
Perhaps the need to scream is what gave birth to Alder's Ledge.
Whatever the reason, whatever the end goal might be... it is here. A faded light in the darkest night. A simple metaphor of what we would like to be... what we wish to become.
I'm writing this post because I can no longer find it in me to report the things I've seen. My eyes feel as if they could bleed as I dig up the images that haunt me. My heart has broken more times in this past year than it has in the rest of life thus far. And my soul needs relief.
It is in times like these that I find it impossible to imagine what life is like for the victims of these things I only read. That is why I have decided to write this post today. I'm going to ask this one time and one time only...
Alder's Ledge is looking for new writers. People who can honestly and accurately report on human rights abuses and genocides both past and present. There isn't any monetary reward for your labor... there isn't any gratitude from those who pass through this page and read your work. Alder's Ledge is looking for people who want to write from the depths of their soul. People who need to scream.
If this describes you please comment below. Your information will not be posted since comments have to be approved before they are posted.
We need screamers here at Alder's Ledge. Millions of people around the world need someone to scream for them as well.
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