According to the International Convention on the Rights of the Child, minors have certain rights, but the issue I wish to discuss here isn’t actually included in these.
I wish to write about the individual freedom of each young person. The best way to put this across is to tell you about a personal experience of mine.
A few months ago we were living in the refugee camp at Elliniko where we took part, amongst other activities, in drawing lessons. I personally don’t like drawing very much, even so, my brother, sister and I went along to the classes. A short while later, an exhibition of our work was scheduled but I was not particularly keen, because at that time we were getting reports about several explosions in Kabul, and the news showed images of the streets of the city full of blood and dead bodies. One image in particular drew my attention. It was of a young man whose body had been literally cut in half. Every time I saw it, I cried tears of pain and misery.
The date of the exhibition had been set and couldn’t be altered, but I couldn’t get my mind off the explosion that had cost that young man his life.
I wanted the world to see that scene, to grasp the extent of the tragedy and pain and to feel it the way I felt it. I wanted everyone to know that so many boys and girls have been killed while demonstrating in my city for justice and freedom. I was deep in all those muddled thoughts when my sister informed me that the deadline for submitting works for the exhibition had arrived and that everyone, apart from me had completed theirs.
Suddenly I decided to draw that young man with half his body lying on the ground. It was hard for me, but I gave it a go. I went to the classroom, took the colours I needed and began. I think I finished the painting quite quickly. It seems that because I was in such a hurry and so agitated, I pricked my hand and added my blood to the painting, as a mark of compassion. I felt I was showing sympathy and support for the pain of our martyrs. I had created that painting with my soul, so when I finished it I felt quite satisfied. I noticed that the camp residents did not look kindly upon my work of art. I don’t blame anyone. My father always said that it doesn’t matter how others see you or what they think of you, what matters is what sort of person you are. “Do what you consider to be the right thing”, he would say. His advice is engraved on my heart.
I submitted my painting to the organisers who were to hang it in the exhibition the following day. At the day of the opening, there were cameramen, journalists and critics present. I didn’t think that anyone would like my painting but there were many visitors who showed a lot of interest.
They would stand in front of it, looking very curious. I would explain to them that the painting was nothing more than the portrayal of real life events in the city of Kabul. Many took photographs not just of the painting but of me too. I really enjoyed the exhibition opening.
A few days later, the man in charge of the camp showed us a newspaper with lots of photographs of us all: the children of the drawing class, the teachers, my brother, sister and me. There were group photographs but also one of me alone because, as the man in charge of the camp said, there was a discussion about all of our works on the television, but more specifically about mine.
Around four months later, I found out that someone had created an image of me with a young man using Photoshop, which they had then posted on Facebook and shared with everyone.
This made me really sad but also very angry. I didn’t want to believe that there are people who do things like that. Aren’t they ashamed to do such awful things?
Even though I informed those in charge, a few days later the same Photoshopped image appeared on Facebook again, this time with my sisters, a boy and me.
No one asked if they could put my photograph on Facebook. No one asked if they could take that photograph and Photoshop it to create a fake one which offends me. My rights are supposedly protected, but no one showed any respect for them.
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