Utilise the immense power of the written word

Amnesty Creative Writers is a forum for writers of all abilities and backgrounds to inspire each other in our pursuit of writing about human rights and its complex interplay with politics, social issues and human behaviour. It’s a space for Amnesty members to experiment with different forms of writing, fiction or non-fiction, within a supportive group, to share, learn and nurture our writing passions.

Above all to utilise the immense power of the written word, to inform, provoke debate and ultimately entertain.

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**CALLING ALL CREATIVES**

For any that are interested in contributing to a blog that celebrates creativity within the context of human rights, firstly, you are in the right place, and secondly, feel free to drop me an email at qudratk30@hotmail.com. I am looking for creativity of any written kind, whether it be a black comedy or a non-fiction piece, a poem or prose.

Creativity, as much as it may seem to be an usual mix when paired with human rights, is crucial in educating people in a new and innovative way. Plays, for example, evoke emotion and encourage discussion about the topic it is representing, and leave you with questions that cause you to delve deeper into the cause at hand. Thus the word is spread.

MEETING

Just a quick reminder than our next meeting is today at 7pm at the Human Rights Action Centre. We will be discussing, among other things, our upcoming event at the above mentioned venue in November. We will be honouring the anniversary of the UN Convention of the Rights of the Child through creative discourse in the form of poetry and a short play. We are still in the middle of planning said event, so if you wish to get involved then please email me at: qudratk30@hotmail.com.

Hope to see you there!

An explanation

This poem, although initially unintentionally, is written almost as a conversation between a mother and her child, namely her daughter. Within it, the mother represents the repressive culture in which practices such as Female Genital Mutilation (FGM) and forced marriages occur, and the child’s attempt confront her mother/culture falls on deaf ears, as it so often does.

‘Why do you do this?’
‘Because you are a woman,
This is your future’.

‘Why do you do this?’
‘Because it’s in our culture,
You were made for this.’

‘Do you not love me?’
‘I honour you so much more’
(Or rather your flesh)

‘You are a flower,
A delicate entity,
Consumed by the Man.’

‘Your parts are not yours
Your body is not yours to keep,
You are not your own.’

‘The Trafficking Business Game’

Having trawled through the archives of this blog, I came across this poem, and thought I should bring it to life. Its theme is trafficking, which is unfortunately a pertinent global humanitarian issue. Trafficking comes in many forms, from prostitution to child slavery, and this poem discusses trafficking with regards to children. Currently there are in the region of 1.2 million children who are being trafficked every year and, although this poem tackles the sexual exploitation of trafficked children, the brutal concept comes in many other forms, such as forced labour, domestic servitude and the removal of human organs.
For those who are interested in learning more about trafficking, and in particular Amnesty International’s work regarding trafficking, I recommend reading their (slightly outdated) 2004 summary on the situation in Kosovo “So does that mean I have rights?”

It‘s a game to some
Who love the fun
Who wheel and deal
Who love to steal
The innocent child
False documents filed
Who make a claim
Without any shame

Who make a profit
Before we can stop it

Who leave that child
To be defiled
Under the bodies
Of sexual beasts
Devouring their feasts

Innocents‘ alarmed
Purity harmed

It‘s up to us all
A wake-up call
To feel the shame
To shoulder the blame
To stop the game
To save the poor
To secure the law

To end the business
Of profit and gain
At expense of pain
To create alarm
To stop the harm

And end the sick fun
Of the trafficking run

‘Dreadful Detained Cacophonies’

The below poem was showcased at the University of Kent’s Amnesty International group’s ‘Slamnesty’ event back in December 2014. It discusses the the Dover Detention Centre, which is based in an idyllic location but harbours scenes of torture and gross human rights violations. This poem follows a family through their journey into the detention centre and their exit via a third-person narrative.

‘A golden backbone hugs the great green mountains,
They stand comradely, whilst lapping aqua waves, with their calming winds, embrace them like a mother comforting a child.
This was home once, but winds can turn and just as trees are uprooted in merciless gusts of fury, so are families.

The truck rattles like an incessant earthquake as it throws its passengers back and forth, dancing over the potholes on the sandy road to freedom.
Eyes wide with fear take gratitude in every hop and skip as they travel closer to a better life,
Eventually, they glimpse their new home.

Foreheads crease as uniformed men grab limbs, collars, whatever they can,
Children scream as their mothers and fathers are dragged away,
They can’t understand- their parents said this place was safe, they said it would be like paradise.

So why are they in these little white rooms with their tiny windows too high for them to see through, even when they stand on tiptoes?
Much later a man appears; he talks like a child babbling the words of their language,
At first the child laugh, then they realise the other mean don’t know a word of their language and they wonder if they will ever be heard.

Soon after they are herded through corridors like simple livestock.
There’s another truck- maybe they’re going back home, the child think with excitement, home doesn’t seem so bad now.
But no, more prison cells, more crying and wounds, both physical and mental are dug into repetitively with the cold instruments of cruelty.

Their travel companions cough and splutter,
But when they ask for help the men shout and beat them,
When they complain they are taken away and no one knows when a child will see their parents again.

Somehow, as if by some miracle, the dreadful cacophony ceases.
Their mothers and fathers tell them they are free and can find peace in this new country.
They are filled with an optimistic pretence whilst they know they could be rounded up and brought back.

Their child tug on their coat sleeves,
Only one question is asked,
Mummy, why can’t we go home?’