The Man who stood up for his Nation in BARE FEET.

This is the story of the Shoe Thrower. The man who stood up for his nation in BARE FEET. The man who was willing to give up his SOLE for his people. His symbol of un-acceptance was the shoe and that he chose by his unwillingness to LACE UP his disgust.


I am free. But my country is still a prisoner of war. There has been a lot of talk about the action and about the person who took it, and about the hero and the heroic act, and the symbol and the symbolic act. But, simply, I answer: what compelled me to act is the injustice that befell my people, and how the occupation wanted to humiliate my homeland by putting it under its boot.

Over recent years, more than a million martyrs have fallen by the bullets of the occupation and Iraq is now filled with more than five million orphans, a million widows and hundreds of thousands of maimed. Many millions are homeless inside and outside the country.

We used to be a nation in which the Arab would share with the Turkman and the Kurd and the Assyrian and the Sabean and the Yazid his daily bread. And the Shia would pray with the Sunni in one line. And the Muslim would celebrate with the Christian the birthday of Christ. This despite the fact that we shared hunger under sanctions for more than a decade.

Our patience and our solidarity did not make us forget the oppression. But the invasion divided brother from brother, neighbour from neighbour. It turned our homes into funeral tents.

I am not a hero. But I have a point of view. I have a stance. It humiliated me to see my country humiliated; and to see my Baghdad burned, my people killed. Thousands of tragic pictures remained in my head, pushing me towards the path of confrontation. The scandal of Abu Ghraib. The massacre of Falluja, Najaf, Haditha, Sadr City, Basra, Diyala, Mosul, Tal Afar, and every inch of our wounded land. I travelled through my burning land and saw with my own eyes the pain of the victims, and heard with my own ears the screams of the orphans and the bereaved. And a feeling of shame haunted me like an ugly name because I was powerless.

As soon as I finished my professional duties in reporting the daily tragedies, while I washed away the remains of the debris of the ruined Iraqi houses, or the blood that stained my clothes, I would clench my teeth and make a pledge to our victims, a pledge of vengeance.

The opportunity came, and I took it.

I took it out of loyalty to every drop of innocent blood that has been shed through the occupation or because of it, every scream of a bereaved mother, every moan of an orphan, the sorrow of a rape victim, the teardrop of an orphan.

I say to those who reproach me: do you know how many broken homes that shoe which I threw had entered? How many times it had trodden over the blood of innocent victims? Maybe that shoe was the appropriate response when all values were violated.

When I threw the shoe in the face of the criminal, George Bush, I wanted to express my rejection of his lies, his occupation of my country, my rejection of his killing my people. My rejection of his plundering the wealth of my country, and destroying its infrastructure. And casting out its sons into a diaspora.

If I have wronged journalism without intention, because of the professional embarrassment I caused the establishment, I apologise. All that I meant to do was express with a living conscience the feelings of a citizen who sees his homeland desecrated every day. The professionalism mourned by some under the auspices of the occupation should not have a voice louder than the voice of patriotism. And if patriotism needs to speak out, then professionalism should be allied with it.

I didn't do this so my name would enter history or for material gains. All I wanted was to defend my country.

Muntazer al-Zaidi is an Iraqi reporter who was freed this week after serving nine months in prison for throwing his shoe at former US president George Bush at a press conference. This edited statement was translated by McClatchy Newspapers correspondent Sahar Issa www.mcclatchydc.com

Courtesy of: http://www.guardian.co.uk/commentisfree/2009/sep/17/why-i-threw-shoe-bush

The Weird Beard to be Feared

He looks up the aisle,
Pauses for a while
and sees the security guards make their way

They stop him right there
And to him with a glare
They say “where are you flying off today?”

His eyes shrink in
His mind thinking
How shall I respond to this?

His passport he shows
and hopes they will go
and leave him to mind his own biz

"You’re Asian" they say
Your passports all grey
How can we know this is you??

“You know you look weird
Coz now you've a beard
We know what sort of trouble you can stew”

oh brother me thinks,
their logic is extinct
How can some hair make them cry?

Their face maybe bare
and mine’s full of hair
Is this why I should comply?

So take heed my friends,
If you do want to blend,
Keep your hair free from your face

For those people who play
This tune everyday
I say “to my face it brings grace!”

If a beard still you wear
and you see people stare
Hold proudly to the Keratin that shines

(And say) go make this demand
to the heavy metal bands
Whose bear do’s are weirder than mine!!

Old and the beautiful

They walk past us not noticing our gaze,
their heads hunched over their eyes in a daze
wearing a skin too big for their frame
whether you smile or not, for them it's the same

The times they've seen we've seen not,
Their eyes all teary their mouths in a froth
So young we are but yet so blind
to the feelings that run on the aging mind

Evolution reversed - from humans to being animals!

War has forever bewildered me. The reasons for war are not hard to find but identifying the motive behind waging war is an entirely different thing. I have always been curious to know what runs through the mind of individuals involved in warfare. I know people who loathe eating meat or seeing animals being slaughtered for meat. The human psychology dictates that a sense of compassion is felt toward all lives be it human or animal. If this statement bears true, what makes the human race to be at the forefront of soiling their hands with the blood of their fellows? This question has intrigued me thus far and will continue to do so till I breathe my last.

No war has hit home hard as much as the Middle Eastern conflict between the Arabs and the (rogue) State of Israel. I am guilty as charged for not having the same intense feelings for the Muslims, Tamils and Sinhalese who were plagued and are still continuing to live the harsh after effects of an Ethnic Conflict in Sri Lanka. This statement should not be misunderstood. I feel for my fellow country men from the bottom of my heart and detest the state of affairs of the people living in the IDP camps conveniently forgotten by the people in power. However, there is something in me towards the Middle Eastern conflict that gives it precedence over conflicts in my backyard or other conflicts triggered by invading nations in Iraq or Afghanistan. This feeling can only be felt and is hard to put into words.

The creation of The Rogue State of Israel and the Muslims attitude to the conflict will rarely change. Israel will remain the spoilt child and the Muslim and Christian Arabs will continue to be their toys to play with as they please. Muslims believe that no foreseen change will occur to the essence of the Middle Eastern political affairs till the second coming of Jesus occurs in his mission to reunite earth. This being said in no means justifies the inhuman course of action followed by the Zionist regime and in no means provides an excuse for the Arabs to let themselves be trampled over.

The sentiments felt by Muslims around the world are nothing new to me. The mixture of anger, helplessness and bewilderment on seeing the gory images of slaughtered Arabs that go unpublished are ever too familiar for me. This gave me the impulse to explore the other side of the story, the Zionist outlook on things.

I was first introduced to intelligence warfare by reading the book “By The Way Of Deception" authored by former Mossad agent Victor Ostrovsky. This book provides an inside account of how the affairs of the IDF (Israel Defense Forces) and the Israeli Intelligence defies the realms of humanistic behaviour in search of politically backed goals.

The results obtained left me stupefied at the audacity in which the Zionists carefully mapped out their heinous crimes. In no means do we doubt or deny the intelligence of the Jewish people, they have been in the forefront of innovative discoveries in the last two centuries. However, what petrifies me is how such an intelligent people are brainwashed by the Zionist government to fight a war that’s not theirs for a country which was not theirs!

Clicking on this link will take you to the 1st of a 6 part documentary whose production team is 100% Israeli Jewish. I beg you to watch the entire series and not be satisfied with a single part only. Doing the latter will paint a wrong image on your mind and distort your outlook on the Israeli-Arab conflict.

This video details the experiences of six women soldiers and explains how working at the Israeli Military shaped their lives. The intensity of brainwashing and the authority given to the women soldiers over all Arabs young and old, male or female made me wonder what the men folk would be learning from their commandoes at the same camp. This is indeed a question which can be answered but can in no means be justified or explained by the rules of international warfare!

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

The last lap before death........

It’s amazing how we complain so loud,
Of the smoldering sun,
Of the vanishing rain cloud

A seldom raindrop quenches the sand,
No water this season,
No crops in the land

Oh why do we keep begging?
For gods gifts that come free
When his blessings are many
Like the fruits on the tree

How long will it take?
For to know when to cease
The pillage of Mother Nature
So we leave her in peace

The building so high
Shoots smoke up the sky
And pumps out black water
To the river close by

The tree stays so silent
No birds on her head
Her branches are withered,
Her flowers drop dead

Where are the trees
That gave shade from the sun?
Where are the rivers
That made her quiet run?

How long will it take?
For to know when to cease
The pillage of Mother Nature
So we leave her in peace

Then came a day when I knew I was done
My life flashes before me as I looked past my son
at the tree that lay silent having beaten me to the grave
No trees did I plant, No water did I save

My son I called over and spoke in his ears
These free gifts I wasted in all my good years
The cancer I die from has done justice to my soul
Saving Mother Nature should be your prime goal!!

Wesley's Flanker outflanked and the little Bullet outgunned!

Randhil Thilina after being crowned U-17 All Island Champions


Chanaka Peters at Singer-Sri Lankan Rugby Sevens 2006

The 1st of May was solemnly moving close and the heaviness of the surroundings had a lasting effect on my state of mind. It had nothing to do with the Labour Day which is globally commemorated; rather my thoughts trod on the wings of time exhausted three years afore.

“It’s settled then, no practices on Monday………take good rest and come back fresh on Tuesday” These were the words spoken by the captain and echoed by the seniors of a team which more than fancied itself to bring home lost glory in the rugby arena. This was Friday the 29th of April 2006 which was to be followed up by three whole days to spend as we wished.

The bulk of the team were final year colours-man and candidates for the Advanced levels. The rare holidays were grabbed with both hands to make up for lost study time and to rejuvenate the body that was tortured by the continuous rugby drills more suitable for Airmen than for rugby players.

The weekend flew like every other and the only free day that remained was the public holiday dedicated to mark the May Day. The fateful day dawned, the morning disappeared into thin air and afternoon merged with the night in the wink of an eye. Determined to make use of the late night to remove the guilt of staying idle during the day, I sat on my table right after dinner and went on with my pre planned work. The crowd of family members around me disappeared into their places of rest with the ticking of the clock and what remained was a lonesome figure poised over the pages of a notebook lit up by the dim rays of lone study lamp.

“rrrriinggggg…..” the phone screamed and I raced to pick it up fearing it would wake up the folks at home. Who the hell would want to call me at this hour I was wondering.

“Hello Machan mey Yasa………” he did not need to finish the sentence as his voice was ever to familiar. He’s the chap closest to me in the thick of the rugby game by virtue of position. There was a distinct urgency in the voice of Yasas that was heard very rarely and which emerged only when he was put under intense pressure as the team’s full-back.

“What’s up man??” I quizzed. It is then that he proceeded to tell me how one of our very close colleagues Randhil Thilina had been lost at sea. I was jolted from my half daze “what???”

“Yeah”, he said “He had gone on a family outing and has drowned himself while trying to bathe in the sea, his body has not yet been recovered……………the navy is still at work trying to find a trace of him”.

Randhil for most was a rebel, a man on his own-a lone ranger. His peers respected him, most juniors dared not cross his path and the seniors were cautious in their dealings with him. This reaction was demanded by the direct approach he took to matters which concern him which would have been seen as rash to some. However, people with whom he confided knew him to be a faithful friend, humble in character and meek in approach. All these values were tightly bound in a thin cocoon which had the potential to explode when the need arose.

For those who didn’t know him, Randhil was 175 pounds of pure energy which had in abundance grit, perseverance, an uncanny physical fitness larger than his frame, an unrelenting friendship and the brains to go with it. He was at the peak of his game, topping even the fastest of backline players in his fitness and form. In other words, he was a player marked as a potential threat for all teams vying for honours in the rugby league of that time. His loss indeed created a great void which we figured we would never be able to compensate.

The flanker of the team was effectively outflanked by the waves of the ocean which continued in its flow indifferent to its guilt. While players like Randhil were in the limelight, other junior players were slowly but surely sprouting in his shadow. The replacement for Randhil was found in a place we least expected it to emerge from.

Motivated by the success enjoyed by the senior team, the junior players tried hard to maintain the same hold on the local rugby arena. One such player who built a name for himself within his age group was Chanaka Peters. It was a half chance taken by the coach to promote this skinny lad into the big league in 2005….….and that too to compliment the void left open by Randhil.

The nippy kid grabbed his chance and deftly removed the stereotype that was assigned to flankers. His approach to the game was not of a conventional flanker; rather it was a perfect hybrid between third row might and back division speed to propel him into being one of the most effective flankers to hold on to the position for Wesley after Kasun De Silva in 2004.

The most memorable moments of Chanaka’s play in 2005 came when he sent back one of the most feared players of the game Namal Rajapakse back to the dugout grimacing with pain. STC used this stocky lad in a way which was overly predictable. The move which involved the STC number 8(Namal) peeling from the blindside was countered by the blindside flanker (Chanaka) with a bone crunching tackle that made his opposite number ineffective to the cause. Further, No Wesleyite would forget the violence marred President’s Trophy semi final in 2005 against Kingswood College where Chanaka made useless the kicks of Erandha Weerakkody and succeeded in making Kingswood’s game plan redundant.

Chanaka playing in the position of centre along with a band of other young players continued their good work for the 1st XV team in 2006 and passionately fought to bring the elusive President’s Trophy and league championship back to Wesley.

Ironically 4 days ago I met my friend and messenger of obituaries Yasas again. This time I met him through the internet as I have been away from home and country for close to a year. One of the very fist words he told me was “Machan, podi aulak (Small problem)……………..Chanaka is dead”. This disbelief that took hold of me didn’t allow me to accept the loss of another young life who had more than a chance of carving his name along with the rugby greats of the country.

Chanaka had his ups and downs in life and made his share of enemies; However, his core was always truthful to the game of rugby. His vision for the game was far beyond his age and his dedication was exceptional. The most distinctive characteristic of the little chap was that he moved with both young and old as peers attributing the suffix “machan” to all he met.

A young wick of light was doused long before it cast its shine on the rugby scene and we as youth are saddened by his demise and share his family’s grief and sorrow.

Never did I imagine that Randhil Thilina would be joined by one of his staunchest colleagues in the appreciation of his work. This article being released a couple of days prior to the 1st of May in itself bears testimony that the little man had spun his magic even during the course of his last goodbye.

The will of god has it that the flanker was effectively outflanked and the little bullet was murderously outgunned!

Racism in America???

Barack Obama may have broken the shackles to become the first black American president of the United States, but people still hold on to the old hatred dictated by colour and race..............or do they?

This video provides a realistic insight of the stereotypes that black people have to encounter on a day to day basis. Calling a black guy a nigger maybe offensive, but putting him behind bars in the guise of cleaning up the community is worse.....especially when you don’t dish out the same stuff at the white kids.

Now comes the moment of truth. How many of us have been silent bystanders when our own kind does something wrong but report to the authority’s people from another community who do the same stuff that we did? I won’t point fingers, but I’ll leave it to your conscience and heart to carry out the remaining formalities on my behalf.