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OSMAN: ONE POSTCARD AT A TIME
By Franny Osman/ Guest Commentary
Zaman, Turkey
Nov 9 2006
Last month I joined a student fast to bring people's attention to
the genocide now happening in Darfur, Sudan ... even though I am not
a student, and despite my skepticism that my fast could make anyone
aware of anything except me to my stomach's grumbles.
On the way to the school bus stop, I mentioned the dilemma of
the ineffective fast to a neighbor who suggested that I buy some
postcards and sit in front of the supermarket and let people write
to our lawmakers about the atrocities. Yes! Instead of one letter
from me, there would be many. Now, to prepare.
I spent two hours on the Web, mostly at savedarfur.org. I collected
president and congress addresses. I printed sample letters and current
articles about the rape and torture, 400,000 dead in three years,
more than two million civilians forced from their homes.
The first genocide of this century. I cringe as I write, "the first,"
as if I fully expect more to come. May it never be.
I recalled the advice of an activist friend, "You can't get it if you
don't ask," and made the dreaded call to the manager of Roche Brothers
to request permission to sit outside the store. I was so afraid I would
be rejected from a place on the sidewalk by a frustrating policy. But,
as they have so often in the past, Roche Brothers proved extremely
helpful and friendly. "Just not political campaigns," the manager
explained. "No, it's not. As long as you're against rape and murder,"
I said, and he agreed with an ironic laugh.
When I bought the postcards, I explained my plan to the clerk who said,
"Darfur? That's familiar. What's that?" That communication was the
first positive result of my morning's work: one more person reminded
of what is happening right now, today, to human beings.
By the time my preparations were complete, I had only half an hour to
sit that morning at Roche Brothers. I hung cardboard signs from the
card table. "Write postcards here, now, about the genocide in Darfur,
Sudan." It was hard for me to sit there, embarrassing. How much do
I know about this? I can't tell others about Sudan unless I am a
complete expert on the matter. What if someone asks me a question I
can't answer?
Socially, it was a study in balance, wanting to catch people's eyes and
say hello but not wanting to put pressure on busy people. I know more
than anyone how hard it is to see tables in front of the supermarket,
want to stop, but have a soccer team waiting for oranges or be on a
break from work.
During my short stint, I had only about four visitors, but they meant
a lot to me and I hoped they would relate the information to their
friends at home. One man took a postcard and promised to use it. He
said he knew genocide; his family had lost 129 members in the Armenian
genocide in the early 20th century.
Another man with a grey beard said he traveled to Sudan when he did
the Peace Corps in Northern Africa many years ago. He wrote a card to a
Sen. Edward Kennedy. Two women spent a long time reading the articles
I had printed, and wrote postcards to lawmakers. One even asked me
a question I couldn't answer. "What is the Clinton amendment within
the Defense Authorization bill?" she asked, referring to one of the
sample letters. Neither of us knew which Clinton wrote it and what
it said. I simply told her I would check, at home. Not so shameful.
One mother entered the store with her little girl. When they wheeled
their food out a while later, the mother said she had her work cut out
for her with all the daughter's questions. That was it for contact
with the public during that one "pilot" half hour, outside of many
curious stares from rushed shoppers and basket-toting employees.
I had reached a few people and sent a little more conversation about
this present-day horror out into the community. And when I return to
my table, I will know about the Clinton amendment.
Is it worth my time to sit in front of the supermarket? I believe,
yes. A few letters and phone calls can mean faster action by
our government and by the UN. Martin Luther King said, "He who
passively accepts evil is as much involved in it as he who helps
to perpetrate it." Every day we move up the end to this horror, we
stop suffering. The large population of Sudan means that a little
change affects many. If I can contribute to change that helps save
one woman from rape, a man from torture, or a child from losing his
home to fire or bombs, it is worth my time.
Franny Osman is an Acton resident and member of Acton's No Place for
Hate organization.
By Franny Osman/ Guest Commentary
Zaman, Turkey
Nov 9 2006
Last month I joined a student fast to bring people's attention to
the genocide now happening in Darfur, Sudan ... even though I am not
a student, and despite my skepticism that my fast could make anyone
aware of anything except me to my stomach's grumbles.
On the way to the school bus stop, I mentioned the dilemma of
the ineffective fast to a neighbor who suggested that I buy some
postcards and sit in front of the supermarket and let people write
to our lawmakers about the atrocities. Yes! Instead of one letter
from me, there would be many. Now, to prepare.
I spent two hours on the Web, mostly at savedarfur.org. I collected
president and congress addresses. I printed sample letters and current
articles about the rape and torture, 400,000 dead in three years,
more than two million civilians forced from their homes.
The first genocide of this century. I cringe as I write, "the first,"
as if I fully expect more to come. May it never be.
I recalled the advice of an activist friend, "You can't get it if you
don't ask," and made the dreaded call to the manager of Roche Brothers
to request permission to sit outside the store. I was so afraid I would
be rejected from a place on the sidewalk by a frustrating policy. But,
as they have so often in the past, Roche Brothers proved extremely
helpful and friendly. "Just not political campaigns," the manager
explained. "No, it's not. As long as you're against rape and murder,"
I said, and he agreed with an ironic laugh.
When I bought the postcards, I explained my plan to the clerk who said,
"Darfur? That's familiar. What's that?" That communication was the
first positive result of my morning's work: one more person reminded
of what is happening right now, today, to human beings.
By the time my preparations were complete, I had only half an hour to
sit that morning at Roche Brothers. I hung cardboard signs from the
card table. "Write postcards here, now, about the genocide in Darfur,
Sudan." It was hard for me to sit there, embarrassing. How much do
I know about this? I can't tell others about Sudan unless I am a
complete expert on the matter. What if someone asks me a question I
can't answer?
Socially, it was a study in balance, wanting to catch people's eyes and
say hello but not wanting to put pressure on busy people. I know more
than anyone how hard it is to see tables in front of the supermarket,
want to stop, but have a soccer team waiting for oranges or be on a
break from work.
During my short stint, I had only about four visitors, but they meant
a lot to me and I hoped they would relate the information to their
friends at home. One man took a postcard and promised to use it. He
said he knew genocide; his family had lost 129 members in the Armenian
genocide in the early 20th century.
Another man with a grey beard said he traveled to Sudan when he did
the Peace Corps in Northern Africa many years ago. He wrote a card to a
Sen. Edward Kennedy. Two women spent a long time reading the articles
I had printed, and wrote postcards to lawmakers. One even asked me
a question I couldn't answer. "What is the Clinton amendment within
the Defense Authorization bill?" she asked, referring to one of the
sample letters. Neither of us knew which Clinton wrote it and what
it said. I simply told her I would check, at home. Not so shameful.
One mother entered the store with her little girl. When they wheeled
their food out a while later, the mother said she had her work cut out
for her with all the daughter's questions. That was it for contact
with the public during that one "pilot" half hour, outside of many
curious stares from rushed shoppers and basket-toting employees.
I had reached a few people and sent a little more conversation about
this present-day horror out into the community. And when I return to
my table, I will know about the Clinton amendment.
Is it worth my time to sit in front of the supermarket? I believe,
yes. A few letters and phone calls can mean faster action by
our government and by the UN. Martin Luther King said, "He who
passively accepts evil is as much involved in it as he who helps
to perpetrate it." Every day we move up the end to this horror, we
stop suffering. The large population of Sudan means that a little
change affects many. If I can contribute to change that helps save
one woman from rape, a man from torture, or a child from losing his
home to fire or bombs, it is worth my time.
Franny Osman is an Acton resident and member of Acton's No Place for
Hate organization.