Това е видео от училщна реч на Рейчъл Кори, когато тя е била в 5ти клас Тя е само на 10 година, поводът е Конференция относно световния глад:
„I’m here for other children
I’m here because I care
I’m here because children everywhere are suffering and because forty thousand people die each day from hunger.
I’m here because those people are mostly children.
We have got to understand that the poor are all around us and we are ignoring them.
We have got to understand that these deaths are preventable.
We have got to understand that people in the Third World countries think and care and smile and cry just like us.
We have got to understand that they dream our dreams and we dream theirs.
We have got to understand that they are us. We are them.
My dream is to stop hunger by the year 2000.
My dream is to save the forty thousand people who die each day.
My dream can and will come true if we all look into the future and see the light that shines there.
If we ignore hunger, that light will go out.
If we all help and work together, it will grow and burn free with the potential of tomorrow.“
С времето малкото момиченце със социална съвест се превръща в активист за мир. На 25ти януари 2000г, Рейчъл се присъединява към International Solidarity movement в Газа.
Там тя се среща с палестинския народ, с тяхната топлина и гостоприемство, усеща с тях болка им от несправедливостите, които се случват всеки ден. В Газа, Рейчъл помага да се пренесе тялото на мъртъв мъж на носилка, докато израелската армия стреля около нея. И все пак повечето от нейната активност е насочена в това да защитава с присъствието си мирното население – като пренощува в домовете на семействата на фронтовата линия, за да се спре тяхното разрушаване или стои рамо до рамо с работници в Рафа, тъй като те са били обстрелвани.
Малко преди да бъде убита Рейчъл написва следното писмо до майка си. Това писмо не само докосва сърцето на всеки, който го чете, но по-важно би било, ако всеки превърне емоциите в дела.
I have bad nightmares about tanks and bulldozers outside our house, and you and me inside. Sometimes the adrenaline acts as an anesthetic for weeks – and then at night it just hits me again a little bit of the reality of the situation. I am really scared for the people here.
Yesterday I watched a father lead his two tiny children holding his hand out into the sight of tanks and a sniper tower and bulldozers because he thought his house was going to be exploded. It was our mistake in translation that made him think this, although I’m sure it is only a matter of time. In fact, the Israeli army was in the process of detonating an explosive in the ground nearby. This is in the area where Sunday about 150 men were rounded up outside the settlement with gunfire over their heads, while tanks and bulldozers destroyed twenty-five greenhouses – the livelihoods of three hundred people. To think that this man felt it was less of a risk to walk out in view of the tanks with his kids than to stay in his house. I was really scared that they were all going to be shot, and I tried to stand between them and the tank. This happens every day, but this father walking out with his two little kids just looking very sad, happened to get my attention more at this particular moment, probably because I felt like it was our translation problems that made him leave.
I thought a lot about what you said about Palestinian violence not helping the situation. 60,000 people from Rafah worked in Israel two years ago. Now only 600 can go there for jobs. Of these 600, many have moved, because the three checkpoints make a 40-minute drive into a 12-hour or impassable journey. Sources of economic growth are all completely destroyed – the airport (runways demolished, totally closed); the border for trade with Egypt (now with a sniper tower in the middle of the crossing); access to the ocean (completely cut off in the last two years) There used to be a middle class here – recently. We get reports that in the past, Gaza flower shipments to Europe were delayed for two weeks for security inspections. You can imagine the value of two-week-old cut flowers, so that market dried up. And then the bulldozers come and take out vegetable farms and gardens.
What is left for people? Tell me if you can think of anything. I can’t. So when someone says that any act of Palestinian violence justifies Israel’s actions not only do I question that logic in light of international law and the right of people to legitimate armed struggle in defense of their land and their families, not only do I question that logic in light of the fourth Geneva Convention which prohibits collective punishment, prohibits the transfer of an occupying country’s population into an occupied area, prohibits the expropriation of water resources and the destruction of civilian infrastructure such as farms; not only do I question that logic in light of the notion that fifty-year-old Russian guns and homemade explosives can have any impact on the activities of one of the world’s largest militaries, backed by the world’s only superpower, I also question that logic on the basis of common sense. If any of us had our lives and welfare completely strangled and lived with children in a shrinking place where we knew that soldiers and tanks and bulldozers could come for us at any moment, with no means of economic survival and our houses demolished; if they came and destroyed all the greenhouses that we’d been cultivating for the last however- long ; do you not think, in a similar situation, most people would defend themselves as best they could? You asked me about non-violent resistance, and I mentioned the first intifada. The vast majority of Palestinians right now, as far as I can tell, are engaging in Gandhian non-violent resistance. Who do you think I’m staying with, in houses that are going to be demolished amid gunfire?
Who do you think are staffing the human-rights centers? What do you think this Palestinian-led movement is that I joined that engages in non-violent direct action? Who do you think these families are that I tell you about, who won’t take any money from us even though they are very, very poor, and who say to us: „We are not a hotel. We help you because we think maybe you will go and tell people in your country that you lived with Muslims. We think they will know that we are good people. We are quiet people. We just want peace“. Do you think I’m hanging out with Hamas fighters? These people are being shot at every day and they continue to go about their business as best they can in the sights of machine guns and rocket launchers. Isn’t that basically the epitome of non-violent resistance? When that explosive detonated yesterday it broke all the windows in the family’s house.
I was in the process of being served tea and playing with the two small babies. I’m having a hard time right now. Just feel sick to my stomach from being doted on very sweetly, by people who are facing doom. I know that from the United States it all sounds like hyperbole. A lot of the time the kindness of the people here, coupled with the willful destruction of their lives, makes it seem unreal to me. I can’t believe that something like this can happen in the world without a bigger outcry. It hurts me, again, like it has hurt me in the past, to witness how awful we can allow the world to be.
For a long time I’ve been operating from a certain core assumption that we are essentially the same inside, and that our differences are by and large situational. That goes for everybody – Bush, Bin Laden, Tony Blair, me, you, Sarah, Chris, Dad, Gram, Palestinians, everybody of any particular religion. I know there is a good chance that this assumption actually is false. But it’s convenient, because it always leads to questions about the way privilege shelters people from the consequences of their actions. It’s also convenient because it leads to some level of forgiveness, whether justified or not. It is my own selfishness and will to optimism that wants to believe that even people with a great deal of privilege don’t just idly sit by and watch. What we are paying for here is truly evil. maybe the general growing class imbalance in the world and consequent devastation of working people’s lives is a bigger evil. Being here should make me more aware of what it means to be a farmer in Columbia, for example.
Anyway, I’m rambling. Just want to tell my mom that I’m really scared, and questioning my fundamental belief in the goodness of human nature. This has to stop. I think it is a good idea for all of us to drop everything and devote our lives to making this stop. I don’t think it’s an extremist thing to do any more. I still really want to dance around to Pat Benatar and have boyfriends and make comics for my co-workers. But I also want this to stop. Disbelief and horror is what I feel. Disappointment. I am disappointed that this is the base reality of our world and that we, in fact, participate in it. This is not at all what I asked for when I came into this world. This is not what they are asking for now. This is not the world you and Dad wanted me to come into when I was two and looked at Capitol Lake and said „This is the wide world and I’m coming to it.“ When I come back from Palestine I probably will have nightmares and constantly feel guilty for not being here, but I can channel that into more work. Coming here is one of the better things I’ve ever done.
I love you and Dad.