Κλειστόν λόγω αυστηρής λογοκρισίας

Φαντάσου ότι είσαι ένας νέος 25 χρονών που μένεις σε μια χώρα, η οποία συστηματικά καταπιέζει την ελευθερία της έκφρασης.

Οι περισσότερες ιστοσελίδες με θέμα τα ανθρώπινα δικαιώματα “μπλοκάρονται” από ένα εθνικό φίλτρο και δεν εμφανίζονται ποτέ στην οθόνή σου. Θέλεις να επικοινωνείς με ανθρώπους από όλο τον κόσμο κι έτσι χρησιμοποιείς το PalTalk, ένα chat room που αν και η έδρα του είναι στην Νεά Υόρκη αλλά πολλοί χρήστες του μιλάνε τη γλώσσα σου. Στην ουσία είναι το παράθυρο του απομονωμένου κόσμου σου.Μια μέρα που έχετε μαζευτεί στο σπίτι σου με φίλους και μιλάτε με άλλους χρήστες στο chat room, εισβάλλουν ξαφνικά στις τρεις το πρωί 50 αστυνομικοί, σας χτυπάνε και σε φυλακίζουν σε πλήρη απομόνωση για 9 ολόκληρους μήνες χωρίς ποτέ να σου απαγγελθούν κατηγορίες.Περνάνε αυτοί οι μήνες και αφήνεσαι «ελεύθερος». Δε φοβάσαι να κατακρίνεις δημόσια την κυβέρνηση και υποστηρίζεις την αναγκαιότητα ειρηνικής αλλαγής της πολιτικής κατάστασης (στη χώρα σου είναι νόμιμο μόνο ένα πολιτικό κόμμα). Περίπου έξι βδομάδες μετά όμως, εκεί που κάθεσαι σε ίντερνετ-καφέ παρέα με τον αδερφό σου και διαβάζεις τα email σου και ειδησεογραφικά sites, σε πλησιάζουν άντρες της Ασφάλειας, σου φοράνε χειροπέδες και σε αναγκάζουν να τους οδηγήσεις σπίτι σου, όπου βρίσκουν και κατάσχουν, μία κάμερα, ένα κασετόφωνο, 2 CD και ένα βιβλίο που για κακή σου τύχη είναι απαγορευμένο επειδή υποστηρίζει την αναγκαιότητα δημοψηφίσματος για πολυκομματισμό στη χώρα.

Αν σε έλεγαν Truong Quoc Tuan και έμενες στο Βιετνάμ, τι νομίζεις ότι θα συνέβαινε μετά;

Θα ήσουν σε ένα κελί σε πλήρη απομόνωση χωρίς καμιά επαφή με δικηγόρους ή συγγενικά πρόσωπα. Θα σε κατηγορούσαν για προπαγάνδα εναντίον του κράτους και θα αναρωτιόσουν, στα αλήθεια για ποιο λόγο και για πόσα κλικ του ποντικιού σου αντιμετωπίζεις 20 χρόνια κάθειρξη…

Ή φαντάσου να δουλεύεις ως δημοσιογράφος σε κινέζικη εφημερίδα.

Τις παραμονές της 15ης επετείου από τη σφαγή στην πλατεία Τιενανμέν, σε συνάντηση του προσωπικού της εφημερίδας, σάς δείχνουν ένα μέμο από το Κεντρικό Τμήμα Προπαγάνδας για το πώς θα πρέπει να καλύψετε τις επετειακές εκδηλώσεις. Σε αυτό δίνονται οδηγίες στους εργαζόμενους στα ΜΜΕ να «κατευθύνουν σωστά την κοινή γνώμη», να «μην δημοσιεύουν ποτέ απόψεις που δεν είναι σύμφωνες με την επίσημη πολιτική» και να καταδίδουν στις αρχές τυχόν υποψίες που έχουν για συναδέλφους τους που επικοινωνούν με δημοκρατικά στοιχεία στο εξωτερικό. Εσύ κρατάς σημειώσεις από αυτό το μέμο και το στέλνεις με email από τον προσωπικό σου yahoo! λογαριασμό σε κάποιον γνωστό σου στην Αμερική που διαχειρίζεται ένα πολύ γνωστό κινέζικο website, το Δημοκρατικό Φόρουμ. Το email δημοσιεύεται την ίδια μέρα με το ψευδώνυμο “198964” στα ανεξάρτητα κινεζόφωνα websites του εξωτερικού που έτσι κι αλλιώς είναι απαγορευμένα στη χώρα.Σε συλλαμβάνουν μερικούς μήνες αργότερα. Η εταιρία Yahoo! θα έχει πολύ απλά δώσει τα στοιχεία του λογαριασμού της ηλεκτρονικής σου διεύθυνσης και την ακριβή τοποθεσία από την οποία στάλθηκε το επίμαχο email.

Αν το όνομά σου ήταν Shi Tao και έμενες στην Κίνα, τι νομίζεις ότι θα συνέβαινε μετά;

Θα καταδικαζόσουν με την κατηγορία της προδοσίας κρατικών μυστικών σε 10ετή κάθειρξη. Η γυναίκα σου θα ανακρινόταν καθημερινά από τις αρχές και η δουλειά θα της πίεζε να σε χωρίσει, πράγμα που τελικά θα έκανε. Θα είχες ελάχιστη επαφή με την οικογένειά σου. Θα μεταφερόσουν σε φυλακές υψίστης ασφάλειας και θα σου απαγόρευαν γράφεις ή να διαβάζεις. Η Επιτροπή Προστασίας Δημοσιογράφων θα σου απένειμε το Διεθνές Βραβείο Τύπου για την Ελευθερία, το οποίο φυσικά δε θα μπορούσες να παραλάβεις.

Φαντάσου να μπορούσες να απελευθερώσεις τον Truong Quoc Tuan και τον Shi Tao. Μπορείς! Μπες στο www.amnesty.org.gr και πάρε μέρος στην εκστρατεία της Διεθνούς Αμνηστίας για την ελευθερία της έκφρασης στο ίντερνετ!

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One thought on “Κλειστόν λόγω αυστηρής λογοκρισίας

  1. Moschos Lagouvardos THE LONLINES OF THE NIGHT SENTRY, translated by Fane Karatzu)

    Travelling in the month of November, with a ship covering the needs of border islands (from Thessaloniki – Kalimnos, in three days), I met a strange person. A foreigner, rather short and bony who carried a thick book, everywhere with him, (the Chinese book of changes) who had the five bronze coins of I Ching hanging around his neck. I was standing on the deck next to him staring out at the dark sea. I didn’t want to continue myself to the ship’s lounge despite the cold and drizzle. As the ship leaned to one side, a sailcloth emptied a small amount of dirty water onto us. Our clothes were full of slag and they smelt of petrol. No one payed any attention to this incident, which however gave us the opportunity to start a conversation. (“Αt Saint Christopher” he said in Spanish (or in English), “there is a message for you”. The mysticism of this man with the book of ancient Chinese magic in his hands, didn’t surprise me.

    As for the great martyr, Saint Christopher, who was the patron saint of drivers, former cannibal and terribly ugly man, I knew that he had Christ in his heart. Painters of holy icons depict him carrying Chris on his shoulders and crossing him over a river. A few simple-minded holy icon painters depict him with a dog’s head because of his ugliness. While reading Saint Nikodimos of Athos’s legendary writings, saw that he was a so called Reprevou and that he couldn’t even talk. And after his prayer, an angel touched his lips with his hand and from then on, he could speak freely. And that he was being chased by 200 of the emperor’s soldiers so as to catch him and on their way they ran the risk of dying of thirst. And that the Saint prayed for them and they were saved. That the soldiers abandoned the emperor’s service. And followed the Saint and as martyrs died with him. From all these incidents, there is an element which, according to this unknown man’s words, means something to me. (Of course, definitely not his malformation).

    It probably has something to do with my fear of death, something which has been torturing me throughout my life. The experience of death, even though it’s not totally unfamiliar to me, since I have been through similar experiences, however, it doesn’t stop freezing me, just like looking upon the face Medusa the Gorgon in ancient times.

    For a devout person, God is his rod and staff. “The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures”. In difficult moments, he pins his hopes on Him, so as to help him cross the dangerous river, just like Saint Christopher did for little Jesus. The Spanish poet, Antonio Matsatho, talks about death in the following poem “The clock strikes twelve…and there were twelve/ hits of the rake to the earth./ My time, I shouted…Silence/ answered: Don’t be afraid, / you won’t see the last drop / which trembles on the way down the sandglass./ You are to sleep many hours yet / on the old river-bank / and on one clear morning you will find / your boat moored on the other side of the bank. (Diagonal, translated from the Spanish by M.Lang). The French composer Gabriel Fore says that death is the happiest experience of man.

    According to the poet Costas Kariotakis; “Death is the crows on the roof. When we interpret this line verbally, it makes no sense. We must seek its profound meaning, to see what this poetic image signifies, the lack of meaning in death and the annihilation
    13-14
    of the meaning of human-existence. Kariotakis expresses his experience in this way, that death, apart from having no meaning, it also renders every other meaning useless. When facing death, says Kariotakis, human existence is annihilated as to it’s spiritual existence. It’s the most painful way for someone to recognize that man, only as a living being (body), is as if he doesn’t exist, he is nothing. Experiencing the absence of meaning in our existence, probably the actual experience of death.

    From contradistinction, one is led to believe that if anyone finds any meaning in death, he doesn’t feel this painful, catalytic absence, he doesn’t live through the experience of death. This is the only way we can understand the attitude of the old Cretan who is shown in the photo to be smiling with the revolver of a nazi officer pointing at his temple.

    I wonder how much damage have the materialist technocrats who have caused the detachment of people from their metaphysical roots? done Carl Yun writes in one of his letters that the uprooted masses will pay for this with unbearable pain.

    In the folk song of the Sarakatsaei which begins with the line “welcome friends” there lies a certainty that life doesn’t end here. That people meet beyond this pointless world.

    Nestor Matsas, commenting on this fabulous folk song, in his essay “the story of all end”, writes: “And since we shall surely meet again , why should we distress ourselves?…Be merry so we can be merry…..”

    In Luis Wallas’ novel “Ben Hur”, the aforenamed role hero believed that he existed for one purpose alone “God who saved me from the galleys” he said “won’t not forsake me to die”. There are people who do not want to know of death. Who refuse to try its bitter taste. (“My father”, someone said while talking of his father’s death, “was certain that he wouldn’t experience death”). “ I went to Asia Minor and returned”, he said to his son who felt sad at the thought that he would die. “Don’t be sad. I won’t die. Only stupid people die”.
    (Moschos Lagouvardos THE LONLINES OF THE NIGHT SENTRY, translated by Fane Karatzu)

    Travelling in the month of November, with a ship covering the needs of border islands (from Thessaloniki – Kalimnos, in three days), I met a strange person. A foreigner, rather short and bony who carried a thick book, everywhere with him, (the Chinese book of changes) who had the five bronze coins of I Ching hanging around his neck. I was standing on the deck next to him staring out at the dark sea. I didn’t want to continue myself to the ship’s lounge despite the cold and drizzle. As the ship leaned to one side, a sailcloth emptied a small amount of dirty water onto us. Our clothes were full of slag and they smelt of petrol. No one payed any attention to this incident, which however gave us the opportunity to start a conversation. (“Αt Saint Christopher” he said in Spanish (or in English), “there is a message for you”. The mysticism of this man with the book of ancient Chinese magic in his hands, didn’t surprise me.

    As for the great martyr, Saint Christopher, who was the patron saint of drivers, former cannibal and terribly ugly man, I knew that he had Christ in his heart. Painters of holy icons depict him carrying Chris on his shoulders and crossing him over a river. A few simple-minded holy icon painters depict him with a dog’s head because of his ugliness. While reading Saint Nikodimos of Athos’s legendary writings, saw that he was a so called Reprevou and that he couldn’t even talk. And after his prayer, an angel touched his lips with his hand and from then on, he could speak freely. And that he was being chased by 200 of the emperor’s soldiers so as to catch him and on their way they ran the risk of dying of thirst. And that the Saint prayed for them and they were saved. That the soldiers abandoned the emperor’s service. And followed the Saint and as martyrs died with him. From all these incidents, there is an element which, according to this unknown man’s words, means something to me. (Of course, definitely not his malformation).

    It probably has something to do with my fear of death, something which has been torturing me throughout my life. The experience of death, even though it’s not totally unfamiliar to me, since I have been through similar experiences, however, it doesn’t stop freezing me, just like looking upon the face Medusa the Gorgon in ancient times.

    For a devout person, God is his rod and staff. “The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures”. In difficult moments, he pins his hopes on Him, so as to help him cross the dangerous river, just like Saint Christopher did for little Jesus. The Spanish poet, Antonio Matsatho, talks about death in the following poem “The clock strikes twelve…and there were twelve/ hits of the rake to the earth./ My time, I shouted…Silence/ answered: Don’t be afraid, / you won’t see the last drop / which trembles on the way down the sandglass./ You are to sleep many hours yet / on the old river-bank / and on one clear morning you will find / your boat moored on the other side of the bank. (Diagonal, translated from the Spanish by M.Lang). The French composer Gabriel Fore says that death is the happiest experience of man.

    According to the poet Costas Kariotakis; “Death is the crows on the roof. When we interpret this line verbally, it makes no sense. We must seek its profound meaning, to see what this poetic image signifies, the lack of meaning in death and the annihilation
    13-14
    of the meaning of human-existence. Kariotakis expresses his experience in this way, that death, apart from having no meaning, it also renders every other meaning useless. When facing death, says Kariotakis, human existence is annihilated as to it’s spiritual existence. It’s the most painful way for someone to recognize that man, only as a living being (body), is as if he doesn’t exist, he is nothing. Experiencing the absence of meaning in our existence, probably the actual experience of death.

    From contradistinction, one is led to believe that if anyone finds any meaning in death, he doesn’t feel this painful, catalytic absence, he doesn’t live through the experience of death. This is the only way we can understand the attitude of the old Cretan who is shown in the photo to be smiling with the revolver of a nazi officer pointing at his temple.

    I wonder how much damage have the materialist technocrats who have caused the detachment of people from their metaphysical roots? done Carl Yun writes in one of his letters that the uprooted masses will pay for this with unbearable pain.

    In the folk song of the Sarakatsaei which begins with the line “welcome friends” there lies a certainty that life doesn’t end here. That people meet beyond this pointless world.

    Nestor Matsas, commenting on this fabulous folk song, in his essay “the story of all end”, writes: “And since we shall surely meet again , why should we distress ourselves?…Be merry so we can be merry…..”

    In Luis Wallas’ novel “Ben Hur”, the aforenamed role hero believed that he existed for one purpose alone “God who saved me from the galleys” he said “won’t not forsake me to die”. There are people who do not want to know of death. Who refuse to try its bitter taste. (“My father”, someone said while talking of his father’s death, “was certain that he wouldn’t experience death”). “ I went to Asia Minor and returned”, he said to his son who felt sad at the thought that he would die. “Don’t be sad. I won’t die. Only stupid people die”.(Moschos Lagouvardos THE LONLINES OF THE NIGHT SENTRY, translated by Fane Karatzu)

    Travelling in the month of November, with a ship covering the needs of border islands (from Thessaloniki – Kalimnos, in three days), I met a strange person. A foreigner, rather short and bony who carried a thick book, everywhere with him, (the Chinese book of changes) who had the five bronze coins of I Ching hanging around his neck. I was standing on the deck next to him staring out at the dark sea. I didn’t want to continue myself to the ship’s lounge despite the cold and drizzle. As the ship leaned to one side, a sailcloth emptied a small amount of dirty water onto us. Our clothes were full of slag and they smelt of petrol. No one payed any attention to this incident, which however gave us the opportunity to start a conversation. (“Αt Saint Christopher” he said in Spanish (or in English), “there is a message for you”. The mysticism of this man with the book of ancient Chinese magic in his hands, didn’t surprise me.

    As for the great martyr, Saint Christopher, who was the patron saint of drivers, former cannibal and terribly ugly man, I knew that he had Christ in his heart. Painters of holy icons depict him carrying Chris on his shoulders and crossing him over a river. A few simple-minded holy icon painters depict him with a dog’s head because of his ugliness. While reading Saint Nikodimos of Athos’s legendary writings, saw that he was a so called Reprevou and that he couldn’t even talk. And after his prayer, an angel touched his lips with his hand and from then on, he could speak freely. And that he was being chased by 200 of the emperor’s soldiers so as to catch him and on their way they ran the risk of dying of thirst. And that the Saint prayed for them and they were saved. That the soldiers abandoned the emperor’s service. And followed the Saint and as martyrs died with him. From all these incidents, there is an element which, according to this unknown man’s words, means something to me. (Of course, definitely not his malformation).

    It probably has something to do with my fear of death, something which has been torturing me throughout my life. The experience of death, even though it’s not totally unfamiliar to me, since I have been through similar experiences, however, it doesn’t stop freezing me, just like looking upon the face Medusa the Gorgon in ancient times.

    For a devout person, God is his rod and staff. “The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures”. In difficult moments, he pins his hopes on Him, so as to help him cross the dangerous river, just like Saint Christopher did for little Jesus. The Spanish poet, Antonio Matsatho, talks about death in the following poem “The clock strikes twelve…and there were twelve/ hits of the rake to the earth./ My time, I shouted…Silence/ answered: Don’t be afraid, / you won’t see the last drop / which trembles on the way down the sandglass./ You are to sleep many hours yet / on the old river-bank / and on one clear morning you will find / your boat moored on the other side of the bank. (Diagonal, translated from the Spanish by M.Lang). The French composer Gabriel Fore says that death is the happiest experience of man.

    According to the poet Costas Kariotakis; “Death is the crows on the roof. When we interpret this line verbally, it makes no sense. We must seek its profound meaning, to see what this poetic image signifies, the lack of meaning in death and the annihilation
    13-14
    of the meaning of human-existence. Kariotakis expresses his experience in this way, that death, apart from having no meaning, it also renders every other meaning useless. When facing death, says Kariotakis, human existence is annihilated as to it’s spiritual existence. It’s the most painful way for someone to recognize that man, only as a living being (body), is as if he doesn’t exist, he is nothing. Experiencing the absence of meaning in our existence, probably the actual experience of death.

    From contradistinction, one is led to believe that if anyone finds any meaning in death, he doesn’t feel this painful, catalytic absence, he doesn’t live through the experience of death. This is the only way we can understand the attitude of the old Cretan who is shown in the photo to be smiling with the revolver of a nazi officer pointing at his temple.

    I wonder how much damage have the materialist technocrats who have caused the detachment of people from their metaphysical roots? done Carl Yun writes in one of his letters that the uprooted masses will pay for this with unbearable pain.

    In the folk song of the Sarakatsaei which begins with the line “welcome friends” there lies a certainty that life doesn’t end here. That people meet beyond this pointless world.

    Nestor Matsas, commenting on this fabulous folk song, in his essay “the story of all end”, writes: “And since we shall surely meet again , why should we distress ourselves?…Be merry so we can be merry…..”

    In Luis Wallas’ novel “Ben Hur”, the aforenamed role hero believed that he existed for one purpose alone “God who saved me from the galleys” he said “won’t not forsake me to die”. There are people who do not want to know of death. Who refuse to try its bitter taste. (“My father”, someone said while talking of his father’s death, “was certain that he wouldn’t experience death”). “ I went to Asia Minor and returned”, he said to his son who felt sad at the thought that he would die. “Don’t be sad. I won’t die. Only stupid people die”.

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