I am Sara the Syrian. I am looking for my body in a mass grave


  I am Sara Jamil, I am not Tina Modotti, and I know nothing about the revolution.             On Good Friday April 22 2011 I saw people dressed in grey. Their eyes were like the eyes of good wolves that lost their will years ago. The clamour was like a moaning, an echo refracted from the sleeping, waking mountain: “Freedom…Freedom.” The Syrian regime is aghast. Fear of the regime is its omnipotence, and the collective strength its gallows. The protesters can only suppress the bitterness by being found guilty.                 I spent my days alone in my home close to the gateway to... more
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