h2g2 The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy: Earth Edition

Tonight we've been writing a whole load of Christmas cards. In each one, I've written a short message of love and appreciation full of good wishes for the future. There's nothing usual in this, of course; probably most people have been doing so at this time of year. But these ones are different.

We've never met any of the people we've written cards for.

People like Reverend Bienvenido Samba Momesori, who has been detained without trial in Equatorial Guinea because of his political beliefs and his ethnicity.

And the family of Honduran student Claudina Velásquez, one of hundreds of women in the country whose murders are never solved.

And Filep Karma and Yusak Pakage, sentenced to over a decade in prison in Indonesia after raising a flag at a peace protest.

We've sent these, and 29 others, seasonal messages - not necessarily Christmas cards, as of course many are not Christian or live in Christian countries, but messages of solidarity. Many recipients have lost members of their families to murder or have simply 'disappeared'; others are in prison themselves as prisoners of conscience or for speaking out against governments; more still are protesters themselves under constant fear of imprisonment or torture themselves.

In addition, we've written a letter to the head of state or head of the judiciary in each country supporting the individual's cause, as well as making a close copy to the London Embassy of each.

The cards are very personal, and I've sealed each one with an odd sense of poignancy. I think they'll make a huge difference to individuals, knowing that people from abroad are supportive and campaigning on their behalf. The letters will perhaps have less of an impact individually, but ours will not be the only ones. Who knows where the tipping points are where the relevant Governments listen? 100? 1,000? 10,000 letters? But each one adds to the pile.

I've got quite emotional doing this. Look at the photo of Eritrean dissident Aster Fissehatsion smiling in a holiday snap, with an unknown city stretched out behind her She looks relaxed, smiling at the camera with the vista behind her, wearing a green jacket and colourful scarf. Dissidents are not meant to look like that. They are meant to punch the air and chant revolutionary slogans; they aren't meant to look like my mother. Her smile haunts me. Likewise, I can't help but think of my brother when I look at Artur Akhmatkhanov, bundled into a van by Russian security forces four years ago and not seen since. And I can't dissociate these feelings from my own privileged life; I don't have to fear the state, I can speak out and protest when I want to, my family are safe and my rights protected. I cannot imagine being arrested and imprisoned indefinitely without trial for simply sending an email, or belonging to a minority, or taking part in a protest march.

What I do know, though, is that if I did end up in one of those positions I would derive some small comfort from knowing that people were campaigning on my behalf and sending me words of hope. And part of my freedom, my ability to speak and act without fear, is a responsibility to speak out and campaign on behalf of those who can't. I feel I am complicit in torture if I do not speak out against it.

I've carefully answered E's questions and we've got on with it tonight, and we now have about 100 letters and cards ready to send off tomorrow to over 30 countries. I don't think I will ever sleep in absolute comfort - I never really have - but tonight I can feel that I've at least *tried* to change the world.

I guess it's one of those things where you can think it's pointless and/or misguided and won't make any difference, or you can think it would be nice to do but you don't have time, or that it's brilliant and you'll get round to it, or whatever. For me, it's the perfect antidote to the seasonal materialism; if one person gets some hope from this, or if one country's attitude towards human rights gets changed, or one disappearance gets solved, or if one prisoner of conscience gets released - I've played my part. I haven't just watched and tutted - I've done something.

I'll post the link to the Amnesty campaign now and let you think about it.

http://www.amnesty.org.uk/content.asp?CategoryID=10673

I've never taken part in the Christmas Card Campaign but I am an Amnesty member so I've read in the magazine about how important it is. I remember several of the people since freed talking about how much of a psychological boost it was to know that thousands of people all over the world were thinking of them and supporting them, and how much the people in charge hate it.

One thing puzzles me and perhaps one of you could enlighten me. If they are held in such conditions how does the mail get to them? I would have thought it would have been blocked.

Interested in the reply.

Websailor

Yes, that is the first thought that occurred to me also.

Possibly via Red Cross/Red Crescent; even the strictest regimes & militants seem to acknowledge them as a non-political humanitarian society. Sieges/hostage situations will usually allow Red Cross to deliver food & water etc; so they maybe also allow limited mail?

zdt

Some of them go to friends or family on the outside, but some go directly to the prisons they are being held in. Presumably Amnesty has checked them out, and one can imagine that a volume of mail going through the prison system would make a difference to how they are treated day-to-day.

Thanks both.

Websailor

<< and how much the people in charge hate it>>

That worries me, i reckon that "even more full of hate" In Charge people might well take out that excess hate on the people they are in control of...

zdt