On one hand there is the drama and horror of resistance to oppression taking place in occupied Burma while on the other hand politicians continue to debate the war in Iraq.
Back.
Images and stories smuggled out of occupied Burma show the people facing death in non-violent protest…they show monks sitting down in front of armed soldiers and bodies on the street. Mass murder by governmental decree just hovers over this situation like a pressure system waiting to break.
And forth.
Congress struggles to unite behind one position on the Iraq war while political progress in Iraq continues to struggle to gain traction.

Back.
So we debate our nation’s military support of a democracy movement that wasn’t in Iraq. Yet fumble and seem confused about what to do when confronted with images from a democracy movement in occupied Burma that clearly is.
And forth.
Politicians speak in terms of creating a vacuum of opportunity in Iraqi for democracy to grow.
Back.
While I think of a dear friend’s mother who fled occupied Burma and certain death without a dime to her name. She learned English in less than a year, worked to put herself through school, raised two daughters and volunteered to free the land of her birth. She supported human rights causes around the world and wrote to anyone, hell everyone…and listened for voices that had gone suddenly silent…and searched for loved ones who were suddenly missing…and buried her husband in the nation she made her own because even in death he could not return to the nation that was stolen from them.
And forth.
I fear that, for the people of Burma, life has now boiled down to liberté, égalité, fraternité, ou la mort.
Back.
And the whole world is watching.
The world is watching.
And forth.
Watching to see what becomes of a democracy movement that is.





Merciful God, what she must have been thinking…how scared she must have been and oh so confused…and yet she stood unbowed. She tried to enter the school but was turned back around…she was bumped and shoved and her way was blocked. Finally she sat at a bus stop...visibly terrified, totally alone in a sea of hate.
Someone finally emerged from the crowd and guided Elizabeth Eckford to a bus, most likely saving her life.
I know…and will always remember that Elizabeth Eckford faced that mob alone. 



























