I have a confession to

I have a confession to make. In the last year or so when I read stories in the news or on the web, I've found myself reading them as if they were short stories of someone else's life in a far away land. It really doesn't matter what the subject matter is. It can be light hearted, or involve some war correspondent talking about all the dead bodies of Iraqi soldiers they encountered on their way to Baghdad. I just turn the page and on to the next story. I wonder if any one else is becoming numb to the constant barrage of "bad news" that it has become as common as everyday life?

One story came to mind today. It only came to my attention because most stories just tell the facts or high points of a story without getting into the gritty details of it. On May 11, 2002 in Cairo, Egypt, 52 men were arrested of "practicing debauchery", a section of the country's penal code that is rooted in Islamic law and has been used to prosecute gay Egyptians. Many of them are in prison now for up to three years.

This evening I read that last Thursday 14 more men were sentenced. Of the 14, three will remain in jail for three years, eight for two years, and three for one year. Two defendants were acquitted. To me, it was just another story of the way the world is. Then I read a story in The Advocate written by the lover (who is an American) of an Egyptian man who is in prison for being gay. The story vividly described the conditions. I read with interest as I sat on my deck in my peaceful little part of the world sipping a glass of Chardonnay. It occurred to me how black and white my world had become and, how much different his life is from mine. I could try to describe the conditions, but I think the writer did a good job:

"For four months a dank Cairo cell measuring just 8 by 14 feet has been home to Wissam Toufic Abyad, 26. The only daylight he gets comes through a small window so near the ceiling that it's impossible to see out. The concrete cell has no running water and no toilet. Abyad is given a plastic bowl to defecate in. He and his five cell mates urinate in a small bathtub that has no drain. The men pay two cigarettes a day to the prisoner on cleanup duty to wash away as much stench as a single bucket of water can."

I can't even imagine what that must be like. We in the United States bitch and moan about one thing or another. If it's not the relationship we are in, it's about the lousy job we have. Even those who have jobs complain, when they are lucky to even have a job. Everything is relative, I suppose. The human animal is good at adapting to the surroundings. Perhaps if we were put in that same cell for a day or two, we would come away with a fresh outlook on life. You think?