"I LIVE HERE" awareness journey, PART 2.

There are moments in my life when I realise that
a) I know nothing, and
b) I was born into one the most privileged countries in the world.

The former is a flaw I seek to rectify. The latter is either a product of pure luck or fate. 

This chance or destiny, gave me a life of peace, hope, opportunity, safety, freedom and I’m starting to believe – responsibility; responsibility to my fellow mankind who through no fault of their own were born into a place of war. Their fortune is one of injustice, pain, confinement and death. They have fallen down the rabbit hole, not into a wonderland, but a dim pit of despair, forced to live the consequences of someone else’s fight, someone else’s hate.

What can I do? My first step is to listen.

“I live here” tell their stories…

Ingushetia…

 …The first collection of stories of four chapters in the “I live here” anthology. From the moment I crack open the first page, I am confronted with a strange vibrancy; a collage of fiery reds, white lace, silent tears, sad eyes and broken hearts. I flip the pages, flicking from the end back to the start. Half the book is made up of stories told in a black and white comic-strip, although one glance at the fine lines and intricate details tells me this is not a comedy- it is a graphic novella, “graphic” being the operative word. As I continue to flick the pages, the first half throws the colour of torment and bold truth in my face. Am I ready for this?

Ingushetia, the place where refugees of Chechnya flee to, where in leaking tents and abandoned factories, thousands of people like you and me rest their weary bodies in clothes they wore yesterday and the day before, because that is all they fled with- the clothes on their backs, and if they were lucky, each other.

Places of so little apparent significance that my google maps can’t locate them. A part of the Russian Federation, in a war I have known nothing about until now.

This isn’t even old news- It is happening now. The most recent problems in Chechnya’s long tormented history began in the 1990’s. Two decades ago- this is nothing really in scope of history, and it is not over. From my understanding (which may be wrong, as I may not fully understand) like most causes of war: either religion or power, power started this battle. And, also like most wars, it is the people on the ground who just want to kiss their children goodnight, snuggle their partners in bed, wake up to a shower and clean clothes and go about their lives that suffer, that are raped, tortured, murdered, forced to abandon their homes and live in destitution, to watch their families die.

I am reminded of the saying: "If a tree falls in the forest, and no-one sees it fall, does it still make a sound?"
People are falling. Just because we can't hear them, doesn't mean it isn't happening. And even if we close our eyes, close the book, close our minds, and step away from the forest- it's not going to stop them from falling. 

Some journalists were chasing the story in Grozny, because that is where the action is- the bombs that are going off, and guns that ring out in the night, the explosions and charred buildings. In Ingushetia the story is in each person- the bombs that killed their children, the guns that shot their mothers, the soldiers that took their fathers, the charred buildings that they used to call home.

Before reading a word, I could sense the weight of the book, not in my hands, but in my soul. It took me much longer than it should have to read. The writing itself is beautiful- bare, bold, truthful; almost to the point of discomfort, which is perhaps why it took me so long.

Everybody is somebody to someone; someone’s mother, someone’s father, someone’s sister or brother, someone’s lover.

I am being told the stories of loved ones. The someones who could easily be my own if I was given a different fate, if I were born in a different place. Not even a different time, just a different place. It could easily have happened. At 26 years old, this is my generation.   

I think that was the most startling revelation to me, was that this is not some war I’m reading about in a text book or seeing on a video of something from the 1700’s. How could this be happening in today’s society? While the rest of us sip our caramel latte’s, tapping away on our iPhones using the free McDonald’s Wi-Fi on our way to work in our big buildings with electricity, gas and crystal clear running water… How?

I will never know, even if someone explained it to me, it could never make sense, it is one planet with different worlds and no explanation will ever make that okay. I guess the only thing I can really say is that now that I know, what am I going to do about it?

I slip the book titled “Ingushetia” back into its sleeve, the first chapter of “I live here”, and I wonder: can I read the rest? Can I open my eyes and heart again to this? If this was just book one, what am I going to find in the others? More of the same, all around the world, today; the sheer scale is overwhelming. This is not history:  
this is history in the making,
and not the kind humanity should be proud of. This is no achievement; this is our greatest failure as a race. With all the advancements and privileges of our world, how can this be?

Can we really change it? I wish I had more optimism.

The “I live here” projects have faith; I must try to tap into that, and in the words of Australian Ambassador Mikarla Teague: Nobody can do everything, but everyone can do something.

Do something with me. As the saying goes, maybe together we can make a difference.

For more information on “I live here”, the work that they do, their current project and how you can become involved, please visit their website or facebook page.

Please stay tuned as I continue on my journey, my first action has been to listen to the stories and share them with you, and I in turn thank-you for listening to me.