Esta galeria contém 9 fotos.
“Enquanto os governos adiam o desarmamento e a renúncia total às armas de destruição em massa, os povos de todo o mundo têm-se tornado cada vez mais articulados e ativos, em relação à necessidade de uma vida sem guerras e sem armas nucleares. Parece haver, portanto, uma lacuna entre os povos e os governos, no que diz respeito ao compromisso com os requisitos da paz.
A quem os governos protegem e servem, com sua relutância a renunciar a algo que com certeza trará indescritíveis sofrimentos a pessoas inocentes, e causará destruição indiscriminada? Protegem países, Estados, ou indústrias bélicas, expondo seu povo e territórios à perspectiva de aniquilação?
O que podem as organizações e movimentos populares fazer para proteger a humanidade e os ecossistemas das conseqüências dessa falácia de governos e entidades não comprometidos com o povo?
This article is the first part of a four part series in commemoration of Brazil’s 500th anniversary. (Brazil’s actual birthday date is April 22, 2000): “José Bonifácio de Andrada e Silva – The Greatest Man in Brazilian History” By: Ricardo C. Amaral Copyright © 1999
“Os latinoamericanos são sonhadores por natureza e têm problemas para diferenciar o mundo real e a ficção. É por isso que temos tantos bons músicos, poetas, pintores e escritores, e também tantos governantes horríveis e medíocres.”
“What most business, political and civil leaders have not yet clearly understood is a simple fact: An advanced economy needs an advanced society …”
(Decorations by Ralph Lester)
O Scarlet hunter, riding past,
O hunter, do not ride so fast,
But tell me where’s my mother?
— “Nay, child, why dost thou ask of me?
Safe by the hearth should mothers be,
And thine like any other.”
— While I was playing on the floor
Deep in a hollow near the door
I found a shining cap laid by.
My mother gave a piercing cry,
And snatched it up and fled away….
Though I have sought her all the day,
I cannot find my mother.
— O woman with the milking stool,
Standing among the grasses cool,
Hast thou not seen my mother?
— “What like is thy mother, lad?”
— A stripèd petticoat she had,
Her snooded hair is soft as silk,
She’s whiter in the face than milk,
My lost, sweet mother!
— “I saw a poor mad thing go down
By yonder highway to the town,
I saw none other.
But, oh, her hair was streaming wild,
Sure, frenzy was upon her, child,
And she was not thy mother.”
— O friar, in thy long rough gown,
Say in what corner of the town
I’ll find my mother.
— “What is thy mother’s name, poor boy?”
— My father always called her Joy.
— “It hath the ring of Heathenesse,
But to all creatures in distress
Lord Christ is Brother.
In the church-yard an hour ago
I saw a witch-girl crouching low,
But oh, she fell to weeping sore
For that she feared the cross I wore.
I’ll dry thy tears and lead thee home,
Good mothers have no wish to roam.”
— Nay, I must find my mother.
— O fisher, coming in from sea,
Lay by the oar and answer me,
O hast thou seen my mother?
— “Nay, but I saw, upon my life,
’Mong yonder rocks a merrow wife
With long locks gleaming in the sun.
She saw the billows shoreward run,
She heard the splashing of my oar,
Wildly she glanced along the shore,
She flung her foam-white arms on high,
She cried a weird and wailing cry,
And leaped and vanished in the sea.
I crossed the brow and breast of me,
And thanked the Maker of my life
That I’ve a christened maid to wife.”