The Good Samaritan

So a couple of weeks ago, I wrote a post where I talked about 3 petitions that I believed needed your help. Today I have just one.

I got an email from Amnesty International yesterday about the trail of a Japanese man named Hakamada. He is the world's longest prisoner serving a death sentence, which means that for the past 46 years he has lived with the fear of being killed at any given moment.

When I read that, I was astounded. If the death penalty isn't punishment enough, waiting with bated breath for you imminent death is cruel beyond belief!

I often like to imagine certain situations. I like to imagine how other people live and some of the experiences that they have gone through that I am fortunate enough not to experience, or hope never to experience. But in this case, I just can't imagine.

Though I'm slowly lessening the fear I have of death, the thought is still quite scary and I can't think on it for long times. I have no idea what it would be like to have that on your mind constantly for over half of my life!!

Not only is Hakamada's case tragic because, I believe, that the death penalty is hugely wrong, it is all the more disappointing to learn that Hakamada has not had a proper trial - a trail that could prove he is innocent.

For the moment, Hakamada is safe but he still needs help to prevent a re-trial that could have him wrongly convicted.

If you understand how life changing your say could be and want to help, here is the link to Amnesty's petition. Please, please, please Save Hakamada

Amnesty in Afghanistan

It's another Amnesty International awareness campaign this week focused upon Women's right's, our monthly topic.

I always find that there's alot of stigma surrounding Women's rights. Anyone fighting for women's rights seems to be automatically deemed a feminist, as thought they might be promoting legislation to wipe the Earth clean of men. Really, all most people are, are freedom fighters.

Women in Afghanistan have very little basic human rights, far fewer than anywhere else in the world. Giving women access to education, access to health services and security from rape and physical abuse isn't such a crime, is it?

For this month's Amnesty post I've just written a short story about a female victim of domestic abuse, and here it is:

She stood trembling. Her eyes barely registered herself. It was her normal morning self; slanted sleep-drugged eyes, straw-slung hair and a crusty trail at the corner of her lips. It was the same her, but just so so different. She couldn't quite pinpoint why. Why should one night change everything? Why shouldn't it change everything?

The mirror wasn't as kind as those ugly watery reflections of the mud puddles in the street. They contorted her in the most complimentary of ways. And now, as she gazed through herself, this clarity, this glass like still, took her exactly as she was. Completely broken and wholly fragmented.

A hole, just above her stomach bled cleanly through the cream of her jumper. She lifted it, savouring the woolen kiss of the fabric. Her breathing intensified. The moment was like the birth of a newborn; so fragile, breath-taking yet so irrevocably frightening.

It began to emerge. A purple stain with green smudged rims. The work of an inexperienced painter. She hazarded a touch, reaching so slightly forward with her fingers. Their cool tips stung the enraged heat of the bruise. She drew back quickly and tugged her jumper back down. How would she explain this one? How did anyone explain this one?