Sorry, Son! I have no answer.

I am sitting in the comfort of my home writing this blog post in shame; for one day my child will ask me about this tragedy and I will have to explain. I fear I won’t have an answer.

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One year ago today, and since more than 5000 people have been killed, over 6000 have been abducted and 420 000 have fled. Do you know what 6000 abducted women, children and men means? It means every family is affected in someway.

My dear reader, today is the first anniversary of the Yazidi (Ezidi, Yezidi) genocide starting on Mt. Shingal.

My dear reader, I don’t even know why I am even writing this post. Not that it will change anything. I know it won’t. As I write this a woman is being raped, another is being physically abused, another is taken away from her child, another is forced to watch her daughter be sold into a sex slave. As I write there is someone somewhere wishing to die then live this life.

One year later, and we are only fooling ourselves if we say something has been done. If one single Yazidi woman is in pain then we have done nothing. If one single child is still living far from their parents arms, we have done nothing. If one single Yazidi family are living under a a tent this summer with insufficient water, and no air cooler then we, the world, have done nothing.

How will I answer my child, if one day he comes back from school and asks me “why the world remained silent and not much happened to help the Yazidi people?” Just as I asked my parents about the Anfal- Halabja, Feili Kurds, Brazanies… That is, if we take the initiative and add this genocide into our children’s history books.

I am no Yazidi, but I don’t need to be one to realize the depth of the pain these people have endured, I have lost count of the number of genocides committed against them, 72? 73? It hurts when you see a crime and you do nothing to help. Absolutely nothing.

The only hope I have is for my Kurdistan to keep the Yazidi people under its wings and provide them with a safe home…. a home where they practice their values, a home where their difference is celebrated, a home which they can call their Nest.

Love from My Nest in Kurdistan

Sazan,

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