The bombs
By Brandon Astor Jones
"Bombing cannot be a solution ... but the same goes for the forceful displacement of ethnic Albanians from their homes." — Reverend Jesse Jackson
A reader in South Australia wrote and asked why I have not written about the bombing in the Balkans. I guess my short answer is that I think the bombing writes its own story, on a daily basis, far better than I ever could.
Karen Illingworth, a reader who lives in Manchester, England, recently sent me copies of three heart-wrenching sketches. They are her rendering of Albanian refugees, but they could just as easily have been sketches of Rwandan, Mexican or a host of other refugees around this troubled world.
The woman depicted here, with her scarf pulled snugly over her head and tied tightly beneath her chin, appears to be cold even though she is bundled up in layers of clothing. While her right hand instinctively protects her bag of precious belongings, her left hand covers her face, but it does not hide her pain, exhaustion, shame and despair.
It is hard not to be moved by such a compelling image. Yet, sometimes the images that impact upon the human psyche most are those we cannot see — loved ones, for example. In their own way they speak when they are not present. Loudly.
To me, the silence of the wedding band on the woman's finger is far more deafening than the bombs.
[The writer is a prisoner on death row in the United States. He welcomes letters commenting on his columns (include your name and full return address on the envelope, or prison authorities may refuse to deliver it). He can be written to at: Brandon Astor Jones, EF-122216, G3-63, Georgia Diagnostic & Classification Prison, PO Box 3877, Jackson, GA 30233, USA.]