#war journalist

[higherentity]

[shiolog]

The Problems With Israel's Version of the Killing of Reporter Shireen Abu Akleh — TIME

The Israeli state PR machine went straight to work to choose its deflection strategy

Israeli cunts

[humanwritingmachine]

As a kid I always imagined I knew about the world while the years of youth flew through me, I empty mindedly, naively saw it through a single lense. Day after day millions and trillions of thoughts rushing and racing around in my mind, and the first picture I see is me looking out my father's messy junk filled car's window. It reeked of expired boiling water in plastic bottles left behind by the countless so called "friends" of his and my brother and I. I remember him picking my brother and I up after school in the heat of the afternoon sun as our butts burnt a little when we sat on the cooking seats of the car. Excited I'd hop up and down in the back seat, after holding my mental enthusiasm back through the long hours of what I generally called a mental prison (school).

I stared out the window at the people, the beggars sitting under the cobri (bridge) that we drove through every day, I never saw the people as anything more nor did I see them as anything less. I saw people, I saw characters existing in a world that I existed in, I saw background noise. My life was never about me yet it was never about the people around me it was about the story I can make of it all, the poem I can take from it, or the book I can write out.

I dreamed of a world where one can be anything they want to be. I find that to be kind of funny today, as a child I don't ever remember having intricate thoughts and feelings yet I hear my mother speak about the different stories and letters filled with expression and thoughts as though it was not a six year old writing about reasons why she did not want her mother to talk to her anymore because her mother yelled at her.

I knew I'd wanted to write as a kid,  I grew older and my passion grew with me too, my love for simple words put together to create intricate ideas about love, life, and sadness and have the world read them and feel them and hear them in their hearts rather than simply look at them with their eyes.

  I discovered that we as people were more than capable of inhumanity and evil during the strange awkward stage of moving from Saudi Arabia to New Jersey.

    In my short 18 years of living I have no idea how or when the world I'd lived in reached to this extent of evil.

As this was an important discovery in my life, when I decided I was going to be on the part of the world that at the least spreads the truth, the truth of what is going on beyond these walls of invisibility, these walls that allows us to exist as human beings with lives and voices that can be so loud that can echo the streets for miles and miles that can make a change, these walls that are filled with food and houses and the natural riches of the trees and the colorful flowers and the running cold and hot water, behind these walls is a heaven, behind these walls lie schools and kids playing in the parks, teens partying till sunrise, music played for days, and snow was a joy filled with snow angels and building funny looking snowmen to take pictures with.

  I found that the images I had seen on the internet were of so much affect in our world, where we had a safety blanket that we hid under, I realize that as long as the people keep hiding under this blanket there will be no change. As long we continue to see all the wrongs in our own world we will never fix anything going on beyond it.

 

  I found myself practicing by seeing the images and the horrors of the world. What was happening to my people in my country for almost more than 10 years. More than 10 years of war, more than 10 years of death, I can only imagine that lands is now a completely different one. The neighbors that we used to go play with at their house on hot summer days are now infested with the smell of blood, the smell of death, settled by men with ugly beards and ugly hearts strangers from a world we had never thought would become the norm of a place I once called home.

  Part of me for a very long time felt the guilt of what do I know about pain? What do I know about being displaced? The guilt of being privileged enough to live here in a country like Canada, the guilt that ate me alive for years and years. As a Kurdish girl, I saw my people in Syria, as fighters, I had found myself attending protests and shouting in the streets at the top of my lung to fight with people fighting for their land on the complete opposite side of the world, I knew I had more ability to change what was going on, on the inside through speaking and being louder on the outside. Through using my words and my voice through adding for fuel to the fire of the passion of the Kurdish people.

I had become hopeless, as the people around me seemed to worry more about the sects, and the religion more than anything?

Why?

Why did it matter what sect I supported? Why did it matter whether I was Muslim? Suni or Shia? Kurdish? Lebanese? Syrian?

 

   I had read about the atrocities that Daesh, ISIS, the Syrian regime had done to the people. It hadn't registered in my head properly how the people around me here in Canada turned a blind eye when it came to the painful images.

I mean I understood it, who would want to see such disturbing images? That's just twisted right? To look at thousands and thousands of lifeless bodies of the dead children? To look at the rubble of what once was someone's home? The rubble that was once where a kid rested their head at and woke up early in the morning to go to school? The pictures of the rubble that were taken from a helicopter flying far away from it but just close enough to take a picture of the chaos that if you looked close enough at, you realize that between the rubble and the ashes are the bodies of women, children, young men, grandma's and grandpa's, people just like you reading this right now and me writing this.

And so I ask you as you read this, where did our humanity go?

Did we lose it in between our online posts about our prayers going out to the mothers and the children and the babies starving because their own government deemed them terrorists?

Did we lose our humanity as we went out on the streets filled with our fancy condos and our fancy cameras and our fancy cars with our friends and family laughing and playing around claiming that we are fighting for what's right, for justice all around the world but we refuse to look at the images? We refuse to educate ourselves and the ones around us, we refuse to realize our ignorance to the effects of war on the actual oppressed or the actual people that are actual suffering?

You tell me.

Tell me at what point did we deem this Humane?

It's easy for us to turn a blind eye, and ignore it all. Living here, honestly like forget being Kurdish what about the Humanity?? Where is our Humanity? How did giving zero shits about the world around us start becoming a trend?

Sure we live on a piece of soil and nothing matters and time is a flat circle or whatever tf people say at this point, we are humans after all, we exist on this piece of soil this supposed useless piece of soil has  its people, has its stories and histories, it has homes and farms, and living breathing beings with their own lifes and dreams and ideologies, who tf are we to ignore their existence and to ignore their pleading for a simple human right to live while we sit here demand justice in the comfort of our democracy and so called non existent oppression?

[asvicetempo]

the story about blue meets brown: harley keener & peter parker

"Peter, this is Harley Keener," MJ started the introduction.

"Harley, this is Peter Parker," closed Harry Osborn nicely.

"We hope you two could get along,"

"Enjoy the night, lads!"

They leave two man in the middle of Gala.

—————

"So, what are you into?"

"Modelling, you?"

"I'm seeking the truth and take some photos,"

"Sounds fun, but I don't like journalist so much,"

"Well, I'm not the one you'll hate, darling,"

"Then, which one are you?"

"War journalist, actually,"

"...Sounds fun,"

—————

Photographer/War Journalist!Harley Keener and Model!Peter Parker, because why not?

Playlist:

Push My Luck - The Chainsmokers

Adore You - Harry Styles

You Are In Love - Taylor Swift

Sunflower - Post Malone, Swae Lee

Yellow - Coldplay

Little Things - One Direction

Better Man - 5 Seconds Of Summer

Body - Julia Michaels

...

[still adding]

Main Idea:

They first met at the popular award for photography and their friend introduced each other. Both of them easily fall in love. Their job is not so much different, but Harley always at least five in year have to 'go to the war' for reporting the current situation and some memorable pic from what had war done. Peter hate and feels anxious when Harley about to go, 'cause the image of losing him is scared him more than he ever experienced. Harley himself feels jealously when Peter go abroad for the job and the fact he's so smart and one of the beautiful human in Earth there's so many probability someone tried to asking him for date or else Harley can predicted and wish never happen.

---

In their apartment, Harley welcoming Peter with all of the stress and afraid he got all day long. Peter stood up in front of Harley, his boyfriend is undescribed.

"Don't say anything. Let me talk first," Harley start the conversation.

"Harley, I...,"

"I've been calling you all day, you didn't answer your phone. You can't do that. And this fire thing happen. I've been calling five place. Five! I've been calling the police stations, the firearms, your company, Harry, Ned, May, everything that related to your job and those thing, I..."

"Harley, Harley, honestly, just relax, I'm fine,"

Harley stop and look at Peter with tears that almost fell feom his eyes, "Cut the bullshit." his voice sounds horrible, "What kind of fine? You always got home late when I'm not here? You tried too hard using your binder for better proportion so I could found your clothes with a few blood in it? You coming to May few days ago and not telling me your problem even you know our rules? That's not fine." Harley shakes his head, "Peter, you have to tell me what's going on. Just lay it out. It's just me and you,"

"I lost my job." His first tears come down.

"What? Oh, baby, what happened?" Harley come close to him and hugged Peter, rubbing his back.

"I get into fight with the others 'cause he's always spreading gossip about me and bullying me. I tried so hard to not listen but I want to do this project too. And you know, I can't keep my emotions and I-I lost everything,"

"Shush, baby. I'm so sorry this happened to you. Why didn't you tell me?"

"I-I can't, I didn't want to tell you, 'cause I don't want you dragging me off from this company. Also, we didn't get along for almost a month and I'm too fucking coward to tell you, cause I don't want to lose you."

"Oh, baby," Harley kiss Peter's head softly, "I'm so sorry, I'm not here with you when you need me, I'm sorry,"

"Thank you,"

"You take a shower while I'm making dinner, okay?"

"Okay..." they look at each other, "I love you, Harls,"

"I love you too, Petey,"

---

One day, there's a problem and almost makes them split up, but it solved with some sacrifice. But, one of them making it acceptable, so the others not feeling too sad. Both of them loving each other. Both of them afraid of each other. But, that's makes their relationship stronger time by time.

The End

[healveterans]

Women journalists who covered the Vietnam War…they had to find their own way to the war.

Read more via New York Times. (from Nov 2017)

[kb-p2730]

Ernest Hemingway

[canvas-of-sunrises]

Utter chaos.  The jagged, charred remains of homes, offices, shells of their former glory.  A desert, devoid of life excepting the occasional fighter.  Everyone  armed to the teeth with the death of trust and community. You move among this dangerous wasteland, eerily silent.   Accompanied by friendly fighters who risk themselves to show the country’s misery. Hospitality extended even with their modest means and heavy risks. Shuttled from house to house on dusty roads.  Camera snapping videos broadcast to the world.  You tell the stories of endless tragedies, suffering.  Wounds that reopen with each blast and tears of frustration at the authorities who can stop it but don’t because they only care about chess games of power. Fiery emotions overwhelming the chest like an overflowing cup, at the destruction of the country you loved even though it wasn’t your own. It is a never-ending hurricane, downpour of shame and violence. How wide is this spiral, behind which hides the sunshine?

War, Hsiyin

[undrstatedelegance]

Robert Capa