English
stringlengths
1
66.1k
Other Language
stringlengths
1
126k
This year we seem to have reached a consensus that the anniversary stretches from March 15 to 18. And in Aleppo, my city, the debate raged in the comment pages, between those who decided to stay put and those who decided to take a break in Turkey.
I år ser der ud til at være konsensus for, at årsdagen strækker sig fra 15. til 18. marts. og i Aleppo, min by, har debatten bølget i læserbreve mellem de, der har besluttet at blive, hvor de er, og de der har bestemt sig for at tage en pause i Tyrkiet.
We decided to prepare for this anniversary celebration 10 days earlier.
Vi besluttede at forberede fejringen af denne årsdag 10 dage tidligere.
While Preparing for the Idea
Mens vi gjorde klar til idéen
A friend of mine who is always enthusiastic, and whom I envy for his passionate belief in the revolution, says: "We need to organise something across all of Syria."
En af mine venner, der altid er entusiastisk, og som jeg misunder for hans lidenskabelige tro på revolutionen, siger: "Vi er nødt til at organisere noget, der dækker hele Syrien."
As soon as he utters this, we realise how difficult it has become to say "all of Syria".
Så snart han siger det, går det op for os, hvor svært det er blevet at sige "hele Syrien".
The concerns of those besieged in the Damascus countryside and Homs are completely different from the concerns of those in the liberated North, and is painfully distant from normal life in other parts of the country.
De der lever under belejring udenfor Damaskus og i Homs har helt andre bekymringer end dem i det befriede Nord, og adskiller sig i smertefuld grad fra det almindelige liv i andre dele af landet.
Even the concerns of those in the liberated North are not the same as those in Aleppo, which is constantly bombarded; or Idlib, which is celebrating its recent liberation; or Al Raqqa, which is suffering under a new dictatorship—a faction which calls itself the Islamic State of Iraq and Syria, or as Syrians prefer to call it, Daesh.
Selv de der opholder sig i det befriede Nord har andre bekymringer end de, der bor i Aleppo, som konstant bliver bombarderet; eller Idlib, hvor man fejrer den nylige befrielse; eller Al Raqqa, der lider under et nyt diktatur - en fløj der kalder sig Irak og Syriens Islamiske Stat, eller som syrerne foretrækker at kalde det, Daesh.
Despite all this, we start a small group on Facebook to prepare for the third anniversary of the revolution, as we rarely meet in real life, thanks to electricity cuts and the difficulties in accessing the Internet from one region to the other.
På trods af alt dette, starter vi en lille gruppe på Facebook for at forberede revolutionens tredie årsdag, da vi sjældent mødes i det virkelige liv, takket være strømafbrydelser og regionale vanskeligheder med at tilgå internettet.
We insist on re-instilling the basic values of the revolution.
Vi er besluttede på at genoplive revolutionens grundlæggende værdier.
Someone suggests the slogan "Rights, Humanity, Justice."
Nogen foreslår sloganet "Rettigheder, Menneskelighed, Retfærdighed."
Nowadays, however, there are some who oppose the revolution simply because of the word "freedom", so we insist on including it.
Nu om stunder er der imidlertid nogen der er imod revolutionen simpelthen på grund af ordet "frihed", så det ord må vi insistere på at have med.
We decide on "Freedom, Justice, Dignity" as our motto for this anniversary, which expresses, essentially, the values we held at beginning of the movement.
Vi beslutter os for "Frihed, Retfærdighed, Værdighed" som denne årsdags motto, der udtrykker essensen af de værdier, vi hyldede i bevægelsens start.
We acknowledge that there are many reasons the slogan has changed over three years, and how linguistics have interfered to deny the revolution its values.
Vi anerkender, at der er mange grunde til at sloganet er blevet ændret i løbet af de tre år, og hvordan lingvistik har infiltreret og nægtet revolutionen dens værdier.
Among them are politics, and money and a desire to appease the Western media by adopting its vocabulary.
Blandt de grunde er politik, penge og et ønske om at tilfredsstille vestlige medier ved at overtage deres sprogbrug.
Because we are the children of this revolution, we decided that we needed to remind people that what is happening in Syria today is not a crisis, or a conflict, or a civil war, or a clash between two forces.
Fordi vi er børn af denne revolution, besluttede vi, at det var nødvendigt at huske folk på, at det der sker i Syrien for øjeblikket ikke er en krise, eller en konflikt, eller en borgerkrig eller et sammenstød mellem modsatrettede kræfter.
What is happening is a revolution: a dream for change, rights, humanity, freedom, justice and dignity.
Det der foregår er en revolution: en drøm om forandring, rettigheder, menneskelighed, frihed, retfærdighed og værdighed.
These are the reasons we chose this year's slogan.
Det er det der ligger til grund for vores valg af dette års slogan.
A Rebellion for Freedom, Justice and Dignity
En revolution for fred, værdighed og retfærdighed
On the first day our slogan will be "Freedom".
På den første dag skal vores slogan være "Frihed".
We will paint the word in different languages on a public wall in Aleppo, to tell the world which is witnessing our blood being spilled that whatever price we pay, we still believe in freedom.
Vi vil male ordet på forskellige sprog på en offentlig mur i Aleppo for at fortælle den omverden, der ser vores blod flyde, at uanset den pris vi betaler, tror vi stadig på frihed.
On the second day, we will focus on "Justice", and put up a memorial with photographs of 500 martyrs killed in Aleppo.
På den anden dag vil vi fokusere på "Retfærdighed" og sætte et mindesmærke op med fotografier af 500 martyrer, der er dræbt i Aleppo.
We will also take flowers to the graves of martyrs, which have filled up our cemeteries.
Vi vil også lægge blomster på de martyrgrave, der fylder vores kirkegårde.
On the third day, we will celebrate "Dignity".
På den tredie dag vil vi fejre "Værdighed."
We will collect letters from the front-lines of the Free Syria Army, from the medical camps, from activists, from people on the street.
Vi vil indsamle breve fra Den Frie Syriske Hærs frontlinie, fra felthospitaler, fra aktivister og fra folk på gaden.
They will be letters of support, from one part of Syria to another.
Det skal være støttebreve, fra en del af Syrien til en anden.
And on the last day, we will erect revolution traffic lights which remind people that "Calling People Apostates is a Critical Juncture", "Revolution is a One-Way Street", and "The Road Ahead is Monitored by Media Cameras," among others.
Og på den sidste dag vil vi opstille revolutionær trafikregulering der skal minde os allesammen om at "kalde folk frafaldne er en farlig skillevej", "Revolution er en ensrettet Ggade", og "Vejen forude er overvåget af mediernes kameraer", og meget andet.
All the tiny details we have prepared are painful to contemplate.
Det er smertefuldt at gennemgå alle de små detaljer, vi har udarbejdet.
It hurts to search for old slogans which were a dream for most Syrians, before violence changed us.
Det gør ondt at lede efter de gamle slogans, der udtrykte de fleste syreres drøm, inden volden forandrede os.
The photographs of martyrs are heart-wrenching.
Fotografierne af martyrerne er hjerteskærende.
How have they already become numbers, after being covered in blood and when the pain felt by their families is far from over?
Hvordan kan de allerede være blevet til tal, efter at have været smurt ind i blod og længe før deres efterladte families smerte er overstået?
It is exhausting to write to Syrians of whose suffering and challenges we know very little.
Det er udmattende at skrive til syrere, hvis lidelser og udfordringer vi kun har ringe kendskab til.
It is worrying that they have actually started to divide us.
Det er bekymrende, at de rent faktisk er begyndt at splitte os.
It hurts to try and bring back the happiness that disappeared after the year one, the intensity of preparations for the second anniversary and to consider how much we have lost by the time of this third anniversary.
Det smerter os at forsøge at genoplive den glæde, der forsvandt efter det første år, intensiteten i forberedelserne for den anden årsdag og at overveje hvor meget vi har mistet på tidspunktet for denne tredie årsdag.
I am proud that after all this violence, we have not lost our minds, and that we still adhere to very high values.
Jeg er stolt over, at vi efter al den vold ikke har mistet forstanden, og at vi stadig tilslutter os meget høje værdier.
We may perhaps be worn down from the debates, the back-stabbing and the horrible errors being committed.
Det kan godt være vi er slidt ned af diskussioner, bagholdsangreb og de forfærdelige fejl, der er begået.
But I am proud of the movement, mistakes and all, and just as I have written, in the local dialect, to the fighters who have become exhausted and given up:
Men jeg er stolt af bevægelsen, med alle dens fejltagelser, og som jeg har skrevet, på den lokale dialekt, til de krigere, der har givet op af udmattelse:
"The road of the revolution is asfull of pride and freedom as the number of people we have lost, and the energy and dreams that have vanished.
"Vejen til revolutionen er lige så fyldt med stolthed og frihed, som antallet af de mennesker vi har mistet, og den energi og de drømme der er forsvundet.
I am writing to you to remind you of that moment, when we raised our hands at the protest, and swore to complete the road together and bring a better future to this country.
Jeg skriver dette for at huske jer på det øjeblik, da vi løftede vores hænder i protest og svor, at vi sammen ville gå til vejs ende med at skabe en bedre fremtid for dette land."
"I am writing to tell you that you, perhaps, may not have felt the importance of your presence with us as I have.
"Jeg skriver for at fortælle jer, at I ikke nødvendigvis har følt vigtigheden af jeres tilstedeværelse sammen med os, sådan som jeg har oplevet den.
Remember that each of us was leaning on the other for support, and any one of us leaving leaves all our backs exposed.
Husk at hver af os har lænet os til hinanden for støtte, og enhver der forlader kampen, efterlader de andres rygge udsat.
Remember that we have a duty towards the families of martyrs.
Husk at vi har en forpligtelse overfor martyrernes familier."
"Perhaps last year in particular was a shock, which reminded us that for our freedom to grow, we had to pay a dear price, and that our ability to live in the liberated areas was paid for by the blood of young people, who received the first bullets, shot at the demonstrations.
"Måske det sidste år især har været et chok, der lærte os at vi måtte betale en høj pris for at se vores frihed vokse, og at vores mulighed for at bo i de befriede områder blev betalt med blod fra de unge mennesker, der tog imod de første kugler ved demonstrationerne.
Today, we are able to move freely in Aleppo, without a dictator, thanks to the sacrifices of Abu Younis, Sultan, Saif, Amin and other young people.
Idag kan vi færdes frit i Aleppo, uden en diktator, takket være de ofre Abu Younis, Sultan, Saif, Amin og andre unge mennesker har bragt."
"We still have a lot to fight for, Abdulwahab, Abu Mariam, Luay Abu El Joud and Nour, and many many more to return.
"Vi har stadig meget at kæmpe for, Abdulwahab, Abu Mariam. Luay Abu El Joud og Nour og mange, mange flere."
"We still have a long way to go for people to stop being martyred in Syria, like Tuti, who was killed from torture.
"Vi har stadig langt at gå for at mennesker ikke længere skal lide martyrdøden i Syrien, som Tuti, der blev dræbt under tortur."
"Yes, the road is very long.
"Ja, der er lang vej endnu.
But just as we wrote, on the walls of my city, a quote by Mahmoud Darwish:
Men som vi skrev på murene i min by, et citat af Mahmoud Darwish:
"We are still alive and will persevere.
"Vi er stadig i live og vil holde ud.
And our dream remains alive, no matter what."
Og vores drøm forbliver levende, lige meget hvad."
In A Syrian Neighbourhood, Rocket Fire Becomes The New Normal · Global Voices
I et syrisk kvarter: Raketangreb bliver en del af hverdagen
This post is part of a special series of articles by blogger and activist, Marcell Shehwaro, describing the realities of life in Syria during the ongoing armed conflict between forces loyal to the current regime, and those seeking to oust it.
Dette indlæg er del af en artikelserie af bloggeren og aktivisten, Marcell Shehwaro, der skriver om levevilkårene i Syrien under den igangværende væbnede konflikt mellem regimets støtter og de, der forsøger at afsætte det.
Blogger and activist Marcell Shehwaro at a protest in Syria.
Blogger og aktivist Marcell Shehwaro ved en demonstration i Syrien.
Image courtesy Marcell Shehwaro
Foto: Marcell Shehwaro
This would have been a different article if I had adhered to the saying which I was taught as a child: "Never put off until tomorrow what you can do today."
Denne artikel ville være blevet anderledes, hvis jeg havde rettet mig efter den talemåde jeg lærte som barn: "Udsæt aldrig til i morgen, hvad du kan gøre i dag."
I intended to write this last night, then realised my laptop battery was about to run out.
Jeg havde til hensigt at skrive i går aftes, men opdagede at batteriet på min laptop var ved at være i bund.
I've had no electricity in my house for the past two days, so I decided to put off writing till this morning.
Der har ikke været elektricitet i mit hus de sidste par dage, så jeg besluttede at udsætte skriveriet til denne morgen.
This post was supposed to be about the daily life of a normal girl who is a just bit different.
Dette indlæg skulle have handlet om dagliglivet for en helt almindelig pige, som kun er en lille smule anderledes.
Let's call her an activist, as this label is more attractive to some.
Lad os kalde hende aktivist, eftersom nogle finder dette mærkat attraktivt.
I was commissioned by Global Voices Online to convey to you some details of our daily lives in Syria.
Global Voices Online har bedt mig om at formidle oplysninger om vores dagligliv i Syrien.
This is what I planned to write about, had I written this post last night, and had I not been such a slave to technology.
Det var det, jeg ville have skrevet om, hvis jeg havde fået skrevet dette indlæg i går aftes, og hvis jeg ikke havde været sådan en slave af teknologi.
I could, after all, have written it on paper, by the light of a kerosene lamp.
Når det kommer til stykket kunne jeg have skrevet det på papir ved lyset fra en petroleumslampe.
It seems I have lost the ability to write without hearing the sound of my fingers tapping on the keyboard.
Jeg har tilsyneladende mistet evnen til at skrive uden at høre lyden af mine fingre, der trykker på tastaturet.
But let's return to the article.
Tilbage til min artikel.
I went to sleep thinking that I would write it this morning, as soon as I had found a source of electricity.
Jeg lagde mig til at sove i tiltro til, at jeg ville skrive den her til morgen, så snart jeg havde fundet en stikkontakt med strøm i.
However, the Syrian Air Defense Force had other plans.
Imidlertid havde det syriske luftvåben andre planer.
I woke up at 8am to the sound of a nearby explosion—a rocket from the Air Defense Force fell about 100 metres from my house in the liberated Mashad neighborhood in Aleppo.
Klokken otte i morges blev jeg vækket af lyden fra en eksplosion i nærheden - en af luftvåbenets raketter ramte omkring 100 meter fra mit hus i det befriede Mashad-kvarter i Aleppo.
We started counting.
Vi begyndte at tælle.
Two. . . three. . . seven. . . .
To ... tre ... syv ... den her var længere væk.
This one was further away. Eight. . . . The windows started to rattle.
Otte ... vinduerne begyndte at klapre.
I decided to open all the doors and windows.
Jeg bestemte mig for at åbne alle døre og vinduer.
All that I could think that moment was that catching influenza from the cold would be less painful than the shrapnel of broken glass.
Det eneste jeg kunne tænke på i situationen var, at en influenza forårsaget af kulden ville være mindre smertefuld end at blive ramt af sprængstykker af ituslået glas.
I gathered all the blankets I could find, crawled under them and dozed off.
Jeg samlede alle de tæpper jeg kunne finde, krøb ned under dem og slumrede hen.
War has taught me that I should always sleep, no matter what horrors were unfolding outside.
Krigen har lært mig at passe min søvn, uanset hvilke rædsler der udfolder sig udenfor.
It was a Friday and I was supposed to attend a protest in the Bustan Al Qaser neighborhood.
Det var fredag og jeg skulle til en demonstration i Bustan Al Qaser-kvarteret.
I got dressed and went out into the street, which seemed to be a brave step, considering the bombardment.
Jeg klædte mig på og gik ud på gaden, hvad der kan synes et modigt skridt i betragtning af bombardementet.
Suddenly, the neighborhood I am so used to seemed totally strange.
Pludselig forekom det nabolag jeg er blevet så vant til fuldstændigt fremmed.
16 rockets fell, according to friends who kept count.
I følge de venner der havde holdt tal var der faldet 16 raketter.
And 16 rockets is enough to change the characteristics of a modest neighborhood like the one I live in.
Og 16 raketter er nok til at forandre særpræget ved et ydmygt beboelseskvarter som mit.
Rubble and glass were everywhere, and my Uggs boots weren't exactly the best kind of footwear to be wearing in these circumstances.
Der var glas og murbrokker overalt og mine Ugg-støvler var ikke ligefrem det ideelle fodtøj til disse forhold.
On the streets, everyone was looking up at the sky.
Alle der var på gaden så op mod himlen.
And I mean everyone.
Og jeg mener alle.
Five or six other people were the only civilians outside their homes.
Fem eller seks andre personer var de eneste borgere, der var gået ud af deres hjem.
An old man cried like a street vendor soliciting customers, not forewarning of death: "It is coming closer. . . .
En gammel mand råbte som en gadehandler, der hvervede kunder, ikke som en der varslede død: "Det kommer nærmere ...
It has arrived. . . .
Det er her...
It will shoot. . . .
Det vil skyde ...
It shot. . . ."
Det skød ..."
His monotone was sadder than the sight of the rubble.
Hans ensformige messen var sørgeligere end synet af ødelæggelsen.
The fighter jet hits close.
Kampflyet rammer lige i nærheden.
And some run away from the sound of the explosion.
Og nogle løber væk fra lyden af eksplosionen.
My friend and I laugh at the idea of trying to outrun a fighter jet.
Min ven og jeg ler ved tanken om at prøve at løbe fra et kampfly.
Do those people think we are still in the days of the peaceful protests where we could run to escape live bullets?
Tror de mennesker vi stadig er i de fredelige protesters tid, hvor vi kunne løbe væk fra levende ammunition?
Or is it just a survival instinct, spontaneous and illogical?
Eller er det bare overlevelsesinstinkt, spontant og ulogisk?
Who really can outrun a fighter jet?
Virkelig, hvem kan løbe fra et jagerfly?
The jet empties its load again, so my friend and I decide that it is stupid to continue walking towards the protest.
Jetflyet tømmer sin ladning igen, og min ven og jeg beslutter, at det vil være dumt at fortsætte til demonstrationen.
We enter a nearby building, where we find a crowd of civilians, trembling.
Vi går ind i en nærliggende bygning, hvor vi finder en flok skælvende civile.
I envy their ability to be afraid.
Jeg misunder dem deres evne til at være bange.
This means either that their lives are still meaningful, or that, unlike us, they're aren't used to witnessing death.
Det betyder enten, at deres liv stadig er meningsfuldt, eller at de ikke er vant til at være vidner til død.
The loudspeakers are calling on people in the higher floors to come down.
Højttalerråb opfordrer de der bor på de øverste etager til at komme ned.
The sound of ambulance sirens gets louder.
Lyden af ambulancesirener bliver kraftigere.
Suddenly, we hear a volley of bullets.
Pludselig hører vi skudsalver.