After a crucial and very sad week for American efforts in the Middle East, I wanted to share this poignant photo essay I came across through the Interfaith Youth Core. After the tragic death of the U.S. Ambassador to Libya Chris Stevens, it is far too easy to blame Islam, Muslims, and Middle Eastern Nations as a whole. It is so terribly wrong though, and few things anger me more than hate among religions and individuals believing and preaching that an entire religion is to blame for the conflict. In the eleven years since 9/11, Muslims continue to be targetted and blamed for an act that extremists committed. I've witnessed this blame occur, and find it to be extraordinarily hate-filled and incorrect.
http://www.buzzfeed.com/jtes/12-photos-of-benghazi-citizens-apologizing-to-amer
It's unbelievably tragic that violence continues to spread throughout the Middle East, I see so much misunderstanding in the conflict, so much confusion and oppression by government and society in revealed through war and protests.
Perhaps the inclusion and acceptance of religions many of us dream of will not occur in the next decade, half-century or century. Perhaps never in our lifetime. Perhaps this war on terrorism supported by a request for democracy from Middle Eastern nations between drone strikes brings an issue that is so much larger than any of us.
The terribly insulting video made by an extremist American denigrating the prophet Muhammad is just as angering and disgusting, and brings fuel to the fire. Just as select Americans target Muslims, select Muslims target Americans.
It's difficult to imagine what will happen. While I have no experience in International Relations, I wonder if leaving Middle Eastern nations entirely to govern themselves at such a crucial point is best? It;s so challenging to see though. While the lives of American service men and women would undoubetdly be saved, innocent families and individuals of Middle Eastern nations would certainly be killed, and our own safety and security could be at risk.
It becomes far too easy to turn a blind eye. Clearly, I don't know myself how to feel or how to view it. The injustices that remain live strongly everywhere though, and become topics we barely can discuss in pleasant company or politeness. Conflict continues to prevail as together we fear discussion, information and education about our outside world.
As I've said before, I know this blog is mainly a Scotland/St. Andrews/travel-like blog, and I hope it doesn't anger anyone or bring controversy, everything above is obviously my own opinion and how I view the conflict.
In other news, I was able to explore the department of English more yesterday and pick up a few of my books. I began reading sections of an enormous short story collection I'll need for creative writing, and have been working more towards my own poetry and creative writing. Often, imagination and word choices that interest me are all I need to begin. Much of what I write focuses on nature, New England, seasons, and summer turning to winter, life to death, and light to darkness. I often find a lot of symbolism and sometimes what I write can provide explanations I don't know if I naturally write depressing words, or if I just enjoy the change of season and life through words and descriptions. I try to follow the 'Write what you know' rule.
While I tend to be extraordinarily guarded and uncomfortable with every piece of creative writing I do, (maybe because unlike journalism it brings forth so much about you? It feels too revealing...) I know I need to change that! Especially as I'll be doing a lot of it this semester and need to seek improvement and constructive criticism. A few tiny chunks of things I've written in the last year are below.
Lit by the dark summer skies, I've danced with towering pines in July and trekked through half-shoveled snow to the branches of birches, folded over beneath a thick layer of ice in December.
Purple sunsets in August and bright mornings in May, I know the deer, the bear, and the bumps of the backroads.
I've worn deep red fleeces and coats in October, gathered crunchy leaves, and let my fingers ache for wool to warm them.
Deep within a field of poppies, a thistle's majesty bestows.
Alone amid deep golden bursts, originality creates its own.
Gone are the days of blinding light,
come slowly creeping navy skies.
Out beyond a forests width lie dying clover, rose and mint,
Snow settles blindly upon the moss, few stars can illuminate the night.
The School of English.
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