Citizen Reporter

Remembering a Friend: RIP Atul Chitnis

Many years ago I attended my first hacker conference in Berlin, an experience that would forever change the course of my life. During those beautiful days I met many inspiring new friends and acquaintances who’s work and life philosophies would become an important part of my online (and offline) life. One of those individuals, the great Atul Chitnis, passed away this week after a difficult and very public battle with cancer.

The truth is, I only met Atul, in person, 2 or 3 times over all these years, but every meeting was a pleasure. He was the kind of guy who it felt like I had known my whole life, there was always something to talk about that sparked both our interests. Despite the fact that he lived in India, and I am here in Amsterdam, through our online activities we kept in touch using what are now very familiar ways: blogs, facebook comments, twitter, and even skype.

Atul wasn’t always speaking directly to me, but his words always felt personal and insightful. Even his infamous documenting of breakfast food, a practice I normally don’t pay attention to on social media, in the context of dealing with chemo therapy and because of the way Atul presented it, I kept up with what was cooking at his place. I worried about his health, watched for status updates bringing good news and quietly celebrated when he posted that he was feeling pretty good.

This week I noticed I hadn’t seen any posts and that – in fact- I hadn’t seen any tweets from Atul either in quite a few days. A terrible feeling struck me, a possibility that I wanted to shake off by going to his facebook page and seeing that all was well – maybe there would be an omelet from this morning. Sadly, there was no omelet. No post by Atul about how things are going. Instead, a long list of comments, each one paying tribute to their beloved friend who had passed away.

So it goes in this world. A great person can influence your life, even someone you don’t know well, they are a part of your everyday like a good neighbor, colleague at work, or a friend at the local pub. And then everything can change. Whatever memories you have of them will be the ones you have to hold on to. That latest blog post becomes the last blog post. The next conference will go on, but it will be lacking its most unique and inspiring voice.

Though I realize I was not a close friend of Atul’s, I was and am a huge admirer and online friend of his. His approach to life, work, and humanity will not be forgotten, and his recorded words will serve as an example for future great minds. I wish I could say thank you and that he would hear it now. Alas, all I can do is write, remember, and wish his family and loved ones my deepest sympathies.

Kurt Bassuener: Bosnia 101

“People here are a whole lot more rational than they give themselves credit for. They all think they are more moderate than the norm; they don’t realize they are the norm.”

Kurt Bassuener has been working on the issue of Bosnia for over 15 years and in that time has figured out what many people inside and outside the country have not – what is wrong and what can be done about it. That is, in fact, one of the key lessons to take home from this Bosnia 101 conversation; there is hope, there are things that can be done, if specific actors would be willing to change the status quo.

“If the external actors would recognize in their own interests, that with very little change in their approach… they could actually end up with a durable solution.”

At a time where Bosnia seems plagued by corruption and stagnation, Kurt sees things as politically and economically going backwards. Creating a scenario that will do further harm to people inside the country, in the region, and across Europe.

“People saw the social fabric unravel once, and it was bad enough the first time, they don’t want to go there again.”

What is different about Bosnia-Herzegovina in 2013 compared to 1995? Who makes up this complex nation today and what do they think of the traumatic past, the frustrating present and dour future?

“It took a lot of engineering to destroy this country, it was not something that just happened one day… There was a lot of effort to create a sense of inevitability and a sense of fear.”

On this edition of CitizenReporter we hear from policy analyst and veteran Balkan observer Kurt Bassuener of the Democratization Policy Council. He is also the co-author of “House of Cards”, the DPC’s latest Bosnia policy paper.

Ahmad and Karam: A Syrian Message for the World

8749543231_fcbe488eab_c — Deir ez-Zor in April 2013, photo credit Karam Jamal.

In 2011 Ahmad and Karam, two university students from Deir ez-Zor took to the streets as part of the mass protest movement demanding an end to the regime of President Bashar Al-Assad. Their protest was met by violent reprisals, mass arrests, and soon war broke out and the government undertook a full siege of the city. Since that time, these two friends have become a reporting team, collecting videos and still images as their families and their community have been decimated by war.

8750665698_938ffc952a_c — Destruction in Deir ez-Zor, April 2013. Photo courtesy of Ahmad Mhidi and Karam Jamal

Last month I had the pleasure of spending time with Ahmad and Karam in Turkey, as they briefly came over the border to participate in a media workshop. Over the course of several days, they explained in painful detail, the reality of life in Syria today. The tragedy, the struggle, and the absurdity of the war zone that their home has become. Despite grave danger and personal injuries they have already suffered, they two men remain dedicated to their mission as reporters with a message about their country, in the hope that people around the world are listening.

Links:

If you wish to get in touch with either Ahmad and Karam, find them via those links or contact me directly.

Syria Comes Closer

I have been silent over the past 2 weeks, trying to process a recent journey and an experience that had a profound impact on me. Although it would seem there are several ways to tell this story, I will start from the beginning and later this week delve into more specific details.

It is late April 2013 and I find myself working in Istanbul as a media trainer for a group of about 12 Syrians. Outside our hotel is the bustling city of 12+ million people, living their lives in a relatively prosperous and peaceful nation, which despite its problems feels more like an oasis when compared to what is happening just south of the border. (despite the recent car bombing) Inside our hotel, day after day, I find myself getting to know a group of Syrians who only last week were living in a war zone. Who next week will be back in that war zone, and the only thing that will have changed is that -hopefully- I (together with my partners on this project) have successfully taught them new and better methods for reporting the extremely important and tragic events unfolding around them.

Friends in Istanbul. - April 2013 — Friends in Istanbul. – April 2013

But while there may be peace outside and inside this Istanbul hotel, in our classroom war is ever present. Every piece of advice we have to give on recording and story telling has to be tempered with the disclaimer that if your city is being bombed and you’re in constant risk if being shot, you might have to do this another way. In between lessons we see the students consulting facebook and other independent Syrian media outlets for the latest developments back home. They show us photos and videos that depict unspeakable horror, and in between photos of children smiling amidst the rubble, people showing a peace sign in font of their destroyed homes. We are told about the terrible loss of friends and family over these past two years. The harsh reality of life in Syria today becomes more real to me in these rooms among these beautiful people, in a way that I have never felt before.

I want to hug my new Syrian friends (and we do hug). I want to do something more, yet everything feels insignificant considering the size and scope of the struggle they face. There is even the irrational desire in my heart, to take them all away to some place safe. Put them all living as my neighbors where we can have dinner every night together and enjoy the peaceful life they so obviously deserve.

But that is not the goal of this project nor of these new friendships. Each one of these people has a personal mission to return to their city, to keep trying to get the information out to the world. To at the very least, document the loss of life and culture, when no one else has the ability or the courage to do so. 2 years ago many of them were university students of science and humanities, when suddenly their world collapsed. Most never intended to be reporters or journalists, but when war broke out, they saw it as their personal responsibility.

After one brief but intense week together, I too was left with a renewed sense of personal responsibility. Though it pales in comparison with the task they have undertaken, I too want to help record and communicate the stories of Syria. I want to honor my students, my new friends who are toiling right now in different parts of that precarious land, by sharing their experiences and their stories with anyone and everyone who cares about human life in this world .

Marcela Olivera: After the Water Wars

The year was 2000 and on the streets of Cochabamba, Bolivia, people marched and demonstrated against the privatization of their water. In what became known as the water wars, the people on the streets emerged victorious, kicking out private water companies and re-instating the municipal system.

It was a huge moment in the war for who controls public resources, but as Marcela Olivera explains on the program today, it was only one battle is a very long process that is complicated and incomplete. But the core question remains as it did in 2000, who has the right to claim and control resources that are essential for human existence?

Food and Water Watch

Forgotten Schools, Limited Vision

While spending some days in Portugal this month I got to enjoy the beauty of spring in the small agricultural villages of my ancestors. Places where social and economic life has slowed down over the past few decades, as tens of thousands emigrate in search of steady income and a more certain future. Those that don’t leave the country, choose instead to move to bigger towns and cities where urban life may bring them the future their home town could not. Despite the mass exodus, these villages remain standing, all be it with more empty houses and quiet streets than ever before.

Among the growing list of institutions and concepts of the small village that have been discarded over time is the iconic school house. Built during the dictatorship as part of the plan that all Portuguese children should attend primary school (between 1940 and 1970), you can find this school in the heart of most any village. Prominently located with its simple style, these traditional buildings are increasingly being abandoned in favor of centralized urban schools where the few remaining children in villages are sent. A more modern and cost-effective approach to education in an era where the government tries everything it can do to cut costs and services.

Somewhere in the plan to have modern centralized schools, the fate of the old fashioned school house never received much consideration. Locking them up and letting time or the elements wear them down seems to be the only idea being carried out. This is despite a few exceptions where villages have found a way to re-purpose their school house as a community center. Rare examples of some proactive thinking that will allow a main stay of the community to have new life. (assuming there is a community in the area still)

For the most part, in the villages where my ancestors grew up, the very school houses they sent their children to, lay empty and forgotten. They don’t fit into the new Portugal (and world) where small and old has little value, while bigger and cheaper is considered the best path to take. And regardless of what photos are taken and what comments are made for a few corners of the internet, they will remain shuttered, a beautiful relic of a bygone era.