Creative Expression

What Writing Means to Me The ability to express my voice and views through writing has afforded me the opportunity for self-development while indulging my need to have an interactive global theatre where I can release my opinions on subjects such as social justice, human rights, domestic violence, human trafficking and other such important global issues in today’s challenging society. Since my early teens, I have been an active volunteer in a number of organizations starting with volunteering with hospital when I turned sixteen years old. Volunteer opportunities have allotted me a format where I improved and utilized my writing talent while expanding the concepts and principles, which I hold dear. I have used my writing talents through volunteerism by creating fundraising letters, publicity releases, published news articles, and making solicited contribution to my faith-based newsletter. Since early childhood, writing has given me a path for self-knowledge, self-expression and self-awareness. Writing being a core essential of which I am has been my companion during difficulties and joys. My talent has given me a place to go when there were no ears around to listen to my woes. I do not write exclusively in one genre, I have written a little poetry, news articles, fundraising solicitation letters and several creative manuscripts. Since I view myself as a humanitarian, my writing serves a fundamental functioning tool in having a place and vital method where conveying my passions are concerned. In early childhood I was forcefully separated from my biological family. That traumatic incident and the situation that followed constituted where and why I found my writing interest. As a young child isolated from the other children in the household where I lived, solitude and silence became the fertile soil where creativity germinated and where I learned to look inwardly, beyond self and where I learned that there was an existence beyond my own fears, confusions, uncertainties, sadness and fragility. In the creative manuscript that I have completed, “From the Broken Glass to the Sheet of Ice,” I travel through the emotions of a young, six year old female child whose life took a sudden and drastic change. A child ripped from her biological family, her richly colorful and diverged culture, her gentile and privileged social stratagem and perhaps the most traumatic element of the experience, the intentionally and cruel techniques used to detached those memories; while, unknowingly, leaving nostalgic residues still swirled and dangled in the young girl’s mind like tantalizing bits of an animated fairy tale. A fellow writer once asked me how I was able to so effectively get into the mind of a fictitious child. Several years ago, a journalist I know, who as a favor, edited a few pages of the mentioned manuscript actually asked me if the child character in the manuscript was being channeled. I, of course, assured the editor that no such metaphysical or esoteric components were involved in the structuring and composing my novel. One of the most gratifying elements of writing for me is when this ability yields a published news articles that addresses societal issues, which are important to me. While living in St. Louis, Missouri, I was asked to write an article regarding the, “Women in Black.” “Women in Black,” is a movement started by Israeli and Palestinian women who vigils monthly wearing only black garments to make a statement against the occupation in the West Bank and Gaza. Once the article was written and published, I received a phone call from the founder of the University City, Missouri chapter of WIB, Ms. Hedy Epstein, whose one word communication to me regarding the article was, “Powerful.” Writing allows me the opportunity to put into a tangible format what otherwise might appear to be abstract reality. An example, of such self-expression can be found in the following phrase, which I wrote years ago, “At the time when I felt there would be no more of me, there than was Thee.” That particular cathartic expression helped me to identify with and then to express the core that I am. One way that writing is important in my life is how it demands of me self-challenge. On Friday, October 19th, 2012, I will attend a Presentation Luncheon titled, “Women’s Roll: Essential for Sustainable Peace and Security.” After attending this event, as a freelance writer, I will have the opportunity to write an article and submit it to a local publication that has published similar material written by me prior. In addition, having the ability to chronicle such a socially pertinent event allows me the privilege to absorb the significance of the luncheon’s thesis then to contribute back to the broader community the presentation’s gist. Since the luncheon will occur while many individuals are working, a comprehensive published synopsis of the critical thesis assures that the general community at large will have the opportunity to benefit. Further for me, personally, in being able to make a creative contribute, I am not exclusively, merely, a sideline spectator for the passionate social issues that concern me; as well as not being simply a sideline viewer in my own life. As life, void of a nine to five responsibility, has opened, seemingly more of the preciously item called time, I relish what becomes accomplishable with the advent of each day. Non-assigned time, permits me to look inwardly while asking the question, is my life still about goals and accomplishments? Each new day offers the opportunity through my writing to speak from the powerful position, which emits from the strength of being a survivor. “The Accomplished Woman” my current work-in-progress brings with it the inspiration of how to preserve and honor the true self. The fact that I have endured suffering and exploitation yet somewhere, still exist within me the knowledge of the gifted woman who was subjected to the intentional disregard of her personal human rights, yet, still, miraculously maintained personal values and the propensity for social responsibility and justice. Writing is important to me, as it has helped me to help others. I have received emails from individuals who have thanked me for starting my blog. Some of the blog’s postings have given some readers the courage needed to speak up regarding their prior abuses. When a survivor can reach out and connect with others they feel less isolated and this is a major component on the path of healing. I have a very positive attitude where life is concerned and I also get inspiration and motivation when I hear a survivor realize that all experiences of life happen for a reason. It is an insightfulness blessing and wisdom, which does not blame. 

I think it is a good idea to add the article, "Women in Black: A Momentum for Peace" with this post.

Originally published in the, "Islamic Reflections 2002; Volume 15 issue 2; June 2002; page24

                                             Women in Black: A Momentum for Peace

The strength of the human spirit daily faces challenges within the global theatre where intolerance, war, poverty, pornography, commercialized sex, and rape appear continuously on the international stage.

The inter-exchangeable, interactive, repertoire performances of the agents against peace  fester upon the pond of humanity, tarnishing its innate propensity toward peace.

The Women in Black vigil started in Israel in 1988 and has had a vigil every week since inception. Silhouetted against a back drop of military occupation, suicide bombings and massive human rights abuses, stood a small group of Israeli and Palestinian women, who in silent vigil, protested Israel's Occupation of the West Bank and Gaza.

The courageous advocates for peace faced harassment, physical threats, and family and community isolation while they defined their mission and advanced into the international arena.  Now developed in the United States, England, Italy, Spain, Azerbaijan and in FR Yugoslavian, the silent vigil speak loquaciously; "Our Silence is Visible."

We invite women to stand with us, reflect about themselves, and stand for all women who have been raped, tortured, or killed in concentration camps, women who have disappeared, or whose families have been killed, whose homes have been demolished, those who are refugees.  Black is worn as a symbol to mourn all victims of war, the destruction of people's spirit and the natural fabric of life.

The Acomplished Woman

The Accomplished Woman The train ride into London from Cambridge, England on that pleasant spring day was quiet. I don’t recall speaking to anyone when boarding, nor do I recall becoming engaged in conversation with others during the hour-long trip. Although not giving at least casual acknowledgements to others as I journeyed through a day was unusual for me, in the context of my personal reality, on that day, there was really nothing usual…except the routine habit of purchasing a daily newspaper. I had phoned ahead to the Iranian embassy prior to taking a major advancement forward where reclaiming my life was concerned. Understandably, I felt the need to somehow feel out the atmosphere I was about to enter. Of course, the thought passed through my mind: this would all be so much easier if only my uncle were still alive. It was difficult to process the fact that I was planning to walk into a foreign embassy and declare openly—to total strangers—the bold assertion that I was the niece of Iran’s most historically prominent cleric, the Late Ayatollah Khomeini. A week or so passed before I finally mustered the courage to pick up the telephone and set the appointment for my first visit to the Iranian embassy. During that week, I could be seen pacing the interior of the small suite I had rented. After conducting an intense internal survey, I found myself experiencing self-doubt, self-incrimination, fear, apprehension, and confusion. At the same time, I began to question my own self-worth and motives. Some of the reasonable and understandable questions manifested: Why are you subjecting yourself to what will probably been a humiliating experience? What are you expecting to accomplish from this action? Should you be doing this? The people at the embassy will probably think you are either opportunistic or unstable. After all these years, you intend to just walk into a foreign embassy proclaiming a consanguinity relationship with the Late Imam Khomeini? You don’t even know how many years it has been since you were forced from your home. Come on! A struggling rationale flowed: In all actuality is there anyone left in Iran—or the world—who truly cares? You will probably be walking into a closed door, an indifferent bureaucracy. Why on earth should the people in the embassy care? Then, again, the question arose: Why are you doing this?! My enormous apprehensions were quickly put to ease when I was respectfully greeted on my first visit to the embassy. I did not adhere to the tradition that a woman covers her head with a scarf on my first visit to the embassy—which, in hindsight, wasn’t the most prudent thing to do. In not knowing what to expect from the visit, I wanted to see what type of reaction I would receive at the embassy when I arrived void of Hijab (the Islamic head covering worn by women). When I entered the embassy’s reception area, I was greeted with politeness and directed to take a seat. After a few minutes, the young woman at the reception desk smiled and made a slight gesture, indicating with her right hand over her head, that I had not covered my head. I responded by acting as though I was surprised or confused. As I vaguely recall, I shrugged my shoulders and mouthed the words, “I’m sorry.” After thirty minutes or so, the very lovely and gracious receptionist offered me a beautiful headscarf. While she presented the Hijab, she stated that the scarf was available to me, but only if I wanted to wear it. I smiled and thanked the receptionist, placed the Hijab on my head, and was about to be reseated when an interior door leading from the reception area opened. A diplomat named Mr. Shahid stepped forward and introduced himself. Once seated inside of Mr. Shahid’s office, I apologized for not having been covered when I entered the embassy. He assured me that that was an inconsequential matter, offered me tea, and made me feel comfortable and welcome. For the next six to eight weeks, I visited the embassy once a week and spent at least one hour in discussion with Mr. Shahid, exclusively on the subject of Islam. The conversations between this diplomat and myself were confined to Islam for the first several weeks. The courage to bring up my being the niece of the founder of the Islamic Revolution in Iran did not immediately flow from my lips, not even after a number visits. As I mentioned earlier, I was apprehensive, uncertain, and concerned as to how my admission would be received. Initially, when I phoned the embassy in my enquiry, I asked about Islam. I told the person I spoke with that I had recently converted to Islam and wanted to learn more about the religion. It may have seemed that my enquiry was a ruse since my major objective in making this connection was to unite with my past; but actually, there was no ruse, since learning more about Islam was a genuine secondary motive for visiting the embassy. After a number of visits and discussions, I finally braved the question regarding the separation between the Sunni and Shi’a perceptions of Islam. When answering, Mr. Shahid alluded to the political expediency for the separation; since the answer appeared to satisfy me, that subject was never broached again. ͠ I had originally made the trip to London, England at the suggestion of a doctor who was treating me for what he called “intermittent amnesia”, an euphemistic term used regarding a person who has been brutally tormented though medical torture and mind control. How ironic that in that moment, on that day, the term had placed a smile on my face and brought a bit of relief to my heart? After all, a two-word combination, a title, a definition…had been given to the uncertainty, which surrounded my life at that time. I felt that this intellect, this edifice, and this entity, which had been suspended and separated from its innate core, now had a definition, an explanation, and then prayerfully, a path for healing and memory return. The fact that a clinical association had been given to the state of my inner bewilderment, my memory loss, energized vital deeply buried ambers that were in fact, a forgotten self. During my first visits to the embassy, I did not realize, had not fully acknowledged, nor had not remembered or accepted the fact that I was a survivor of a United States Government Human Experimentation Program. I knew that something was wrong, something that I could not quite put a finger on; but I knew that whatever it was, that something could no longer be ignored. After all, there were large periods of times in my life that I could not remember or grasp. Still, somehow, within this devastating reality, some very minute yet significant kernels of recollection inside me would occasionally stir, peak, and attempt to reconnect to what had been intentionally severed memories. As a survivor, to this date, I critically wonder how many medically unnecessary electroshock treatments were administrated that could have caused a devoted mother to forget ever having given birth? What was the hypnotic method implanted that blocked talents, instincts, drives, and spiritual acumen? Where is, or what has happened, to the brilliant mind that had once been extended an invitation to become a MENSA member? How is such inhumane brutality still possible? Perhaps it was the third or fourth visit to Mr. Shahid;s office, on a Monday afternoon, when, after a prolonged deep breath, I was able to state, “Mr. Shahid, there’s something I need to discuss with you. Although, three weeks is not a lengthy amount of time for trust to develop between two strangers, I have been treated with respect from the moment I first entered the embassy’s door. For this reason, some of my apprehension has subsided, and my courage has begun to peak.” I explained that the constant cordiality and warm atmosphere at the embassy loosened some of my fears. As a result, I realized that by delaying the presentation of the primary purpose for my visits to the embassy, I was postponing what I so desperately wanted to do: regain control of my own life. I further acknowledged that the longer I waited to tell my truth, the more difficult it would become. On that beautiful sunlit day in London, England, after accepting a second cup of offered tea in Mr. Shahid’s windowless office of mahogany wood wall panels and furnishings, I looked Mr. Shahid directly in his eyes and managed, “Mr. Shahid, let me preface what I am about to tell you by stating how much I sincerely appreciate the time you have allotted to me these past few weeks. Furthermore, you have been more than gracious while I have been treated with such respect and have felt so welcomed.” I smiled the words, “…and the exceptional tea served to me during these visits should be a strong enough catalyst to help ease my hesitations in what I need to discuss with you.” After a deep breath, and with an ingrained composure not totally understood, the phrase, “I have reason to believe that I am the niece of the Late Ayatollah Khomeini,” seeped from my lips. Upon hearing my statement, Mr. Shahid did not flinch. He did not change the position of his posture, nor did he stand in the gesture of having me ejected from the embassy. Instead, he calmly asked, “Would you be willing to take a DNA test to that effect?” I immediately responded, “Of course I would. Can this be done today?” With a kind and cordial smile, he stated, “We don’t exactly keep DNA test kits here in the embassy, but before we advance to that stage, I need to ask what you think we can do for you here at the embassy.” “You can help me get custody of my minor daughter and help me to return to Iran.” “Where your daughter is concerned, we can look into helping you; but regarding your returning to Iran, I will start the paperwork for your visa right away.” “I’ll need a visa to return to Iran?” I naively questioned with a look of surprise on my face. “Your relationship to Iran is through a maternal lineage. It would be only through a paternal lineage that you would have a right to citizenship. But let’s not get into such matters now. What is important to know, though, is how long you plan to stay on this visit.” “At least six months. I can’t imagine any time less being beneficial.” “Would the requirement of wearing a Hijab be a problem for you?” “Not at all,” I assured the diplomat. “I am accustomed to wearing a Hijab when I leave the house. I think that my illogical reasoning for not wearing a scarf on the first visit was due to the fact that I did not know what to expect. I was unsure of how I would be received, and I wanted to get a better feel of what I was getting myself into.” With a teasing smile on his handsome face, the diplomat sat with his back flushed against the back of the chair, crossed his legs, and stated, “I cannot say that I exactly follow that logic.” “Neither did I at that time, nor do I at this time.” I honestly confessed while observing the mental wheels turning as Mr. Shahid attempted to process the Hijab tale. A moment later, with a smile still visible, Mr. Shahid stood and excused himself for a few minutes. Upon his return, he confided: “I don’t know if this information will come as a surprise to you, but you probably have no idea how many women have come through these doors over the years claiming to be you. An amazing number!” emphasized the diplomat. “Each person who has presented herself to this embassy had a great deal of information regarding you and your situation. There was one young woman who was so convincing that we actually believed her. We were about to send her to Iran. Of course, this incident happened before the current DNA test was developed. We were so sure of the woman’s identity that we sent for Imam Khomeini. When Imam Khomeini arrived, he took one look at the woman and stated, ‘I don’t know who this imposter is, but she is not my niece.’ He did not ask the woman any questions. He did not take one step toward her; yet he somehow immediately knew that the woman wasn’t you.” Since the diplomat was so comfortable with sharing this story with me and had asked about a DNA test, I surmised that perhaps the test had already been taken. The cups of tea previously offered and accepted could have been the vehicle whereby the test was processed. I, of course, did not mind that this test had probably been administered. After all, the results of the test would be the proof of my exceptional assertion. The direction of our conversation lead me to inquire, “Mr.Shahid, did you know that Imam Khomeini came to the United States before returning to Iran after the success of the revolution, and he wanted to take me back to Iran with him?” After I posed the question, the young male attendant who served tea during my weekly visits entered the room, refreshing my tea. I smiled toward him gratefully, not only for the refreshed tea, but also for the moment needed to further contain my composure. I looked directly into Mr. Shahid’s eyes and felt a little stunned by the memory. “How astonishing! How amazing! How is it even possible that I had not thought about that excruciating night until now? Wow! One of the most important people in my life suddenly reappeared into my life, and I totally forgot about that night.” Silence instantly took over the room. It was a necessary silence for me since in that moment, I attempted to process the reality of my uncle’s death, the years of being forced from my own life, and my debilitating memory loss. The scent of a perfectly brewed and exceptional tasting cup of tea, placed on an end table next to me, grabbed the attention of my olfactory senses. Once I had taken several sips of tea, I was able to continue. “It was Christmas Eve. I was living in St. Louis, Missouri, which is in the United States. Like many Christmas Eves before, I was planning to attend Midnight Mass with the individuals I had been led to believe were my biological family. On that bitterly cold winter night, I had no idea that once I entered the vestibule of the Catholic Church I would suddenly be faced with such a viable element of myself and of my past. Upon entering the church, I overheard a male voice stating in a firm voice of authority, ‘I do not believe what you are telling me, and I will never believe what you are saying unless I hear the words directly from her mouth!’ He continued, ‘If what you are stating is true then why don’t you bring my niece to me and let her tell me for herself that she wants nothing to do with me, her faith, or her past.’ After hearing these heated words, since I did not recognize the voice of the man speaking, I had no way of knowing that the person being discussed was me. When the other person in the conversation spoke, I recognized the voice and was very surprised to find that person engaged in such a combative verbal exchange at church, especially on Christmas Eve. ‘I have gained her trust,’ was the next string of words I heard from the male voice I recognized. ‘You must understand that it’s because of that trust that she confided to me that she had rejected Islam, had accepted Christianity, and that she had no desire or intentions of returning to Iran.’ I knew that the voice I had recognized was a member of local law enforcement, so I quickened my pace to enter the church wanting to respect whatever was occurring in the vestibule. As I reached for an interior door that led to the body of the church, I was surprised when the individual whose voice I knew stepped forward from a dimly lit corner of the vestibule, blocking my entrance into the church. In accordance with family tradition, the people that I unknowingly viewed as my biological family spent Christmas Eve at the house of the eldest sister. Additionally, everyone dressed up for Midnight Mass. A week or so before Christmas, the family stated that the decision to dress casually for Midnight Mass had been made for the purpose of giving acknowledgement to the less fortunate. When I exerted the fact that I had not voted on that decision, I was told that they all knew that I would not have voted to dress down and that they did not need my vote since I had been outvoted. So it was in the appearance of everyday, casual attire that entered the vestibule of the church that evening. Naturally, I believed that my being blocked from entering the interior of the church was merely an action to give me the opportunity to speak, so I smiled and said hello to the person preventing my entrance. When my smile was not returned but instead was met with a stern, unfriendly face, I became perplexed and immediately questioned why any type of altercation would be occurring in the church on one of the holiest days on the Christian calendar. I also wondered how I could possibly be involved. Because of the member of law enforcement who blocked me, I feared that something dangerous might be happening. I was somewhat panicked when I looked at him and he gestured with his head for me to look to the other end of the vestibule. Shockingly, there stood my uncle, the Ayatollah Khomeini. The Ayatollah was dressed traditionally, but somehow, I instantly recognized him. The sudden and jolting reconnection with my authentic past caused me to rapidly advance toward my uncle. As I approached this cleric, I saw that a wide, caring, smile graced his face. The next words I heard came from Imam Khomeini. He stated, ‘I thought you said that she had rejected Islam and wanted nothing to do with her past?’” As I began telling Mr. Shahid this story, I was not aware of how long I had been in his office. Had I been in his office fifteen minutes or fifty minutes? That notion of time never entered my mind, and he never looked at this watch. I continued on with my story. “‘They said that you would not remember me,’ Imam Khomeini said, as I attempted to further advance. The sight of his wide, radiant smile and glistening eyes let me know how relieved and pleased my uncle was to see me. That night, as I continued to approach Imam Khomeini, the law enforcement officer, whom I had so fully respected and trusted to this point and time, placed one of his arms out, firmly stopping me from being able to advance. ‘Well…’ he said with a smirk, ‘we thought that she didn’t remember anything regarding her past. When we dangled you around her geographic space these past few days, she did not intuitively pick up on the fact that you were near. That’s at least something regarding the effectiveness of the electroshock and other methods we used on her. I briefly surmise that damage has been done to her perceptional instincts. The fact that she did not know you were around these few days means that we have dismantled some, if not all, of her propensities toward clairvoyance and spiritual acumen. Whatever damage we’ve done, she has little or nothing left of her brilliance or talents to contribute to those nations who reside outside our alliances.’ At this time, the mood in the church became very somber and intense. The law enforcement officer’s indifferent and arrogant attitude and behavior continued once he stated, ‘I must admit that I was totally surprised by the fact that she seems to remember you at all. We were under the impression that her mind was completely amnesic where her past was concerned. What a revelation!’ he added sarcastically. ‘I guess we just might have to start the electroshock treatments again. We nearly lost her a few times with that technique, but since she obviously remembers something, more electroshock should reset the amnesia.’ When I heard this callus statement presented with such malice, I looked again at my uncle and saw that his smile had been replaced with a stern posture. ‘I had no idea that my niece had been caused to suffer so, nor did I know that she was being held in such low regard,’ he stated empathically. A thought zipped through my mind so rapidly that it almost went unnoticed and unrecorded…that thought being: You should have known! As we stood in the vestibule, the physical distance between my uncle and myself was less than twenty feet, although the footage seemed monumental to me. As my uncle stepped forward, lessening the distance, he stated, ‘I see no reason why any of this torment and insensitive treatment toward my niece should continue. We might as well leave now,’ he said, as he extended his right hand to me. At that moment, on that night, it was not humanly possible for me to process the reality of all the things that had happened to me in my life to that point and time. I only knew that instinctually, innately, every cell of my body had the strongest propensity to be as close to my uncle as possible. My body, mind, and spirit longed to reconnect with a sense of being loved, valued, cherished, respected, and appreciated. Next, I heard his firmly placed words, ‘I truly do not want my niece to be subjected to further violations or denigration; so, since I have agreed to all of your unreasonable demands, there stands no mediating reason why we shouldn’t just leave now.’ The negotiating member of law enforcement who stood in the vestibule like a diabolical rodent with a satisfying grin on his face grabbed my right arm firmly and said, ‘There is one thing on the agreement that you seem to have overlooked.’ The government spokesman then waved a piece of paper toward the Imam. The young man who had accompanied the Imam stepped forward, reached for the paper, and gave it to the Imam. After carefully reading the contents of the paper, the Imam shook his head and stated with noticeable vocal anger, ‘What is this! We scrutinized the document given to us earlier thoroughly. This is not the same document, nor are terms previously presented. Something has been added to the original agreement, and I can’t go along with the addition. This addition was not a part of the original negotiations.’ The government spokesman had a sinister look on his face and tightened his grip on my arm, causing me discomfort. He stated, ‘Did you know that your beloved uncle played a role in your first kidnapping?’ At that moment, hearing those words, I instantly felt a deep concern for my uncle. Whatever was left of Khomeini’s niece…whatever was left of my parents’ daughter…whatever was left of the woman who had the right to be…somehow, I knew without a doubt that whatever my uncle had done—and for whatever reason—he never meant for any harm to come to me. For a few minutes, I cautiously stared at my uncle. I did not want to accelerate the uncertain situation, so I slowly lowered my gaze. The swirling sense of betrayal I experienced in hearing one of the few people I had trusted in this forced makeshift life, so coldly blurt out this possibly debilitating phrase caused me to once again feel paralyzed emotions. The next words I heard were from Imam Khomeini. ‘Did she possibly have that volatile information before now? How could you? I never authorized such treatment. Did you give any consideration as to how such information could affect her?’ With indifference, the spokesmen replied, ‘Instead of acting outraged, just sign the papers. That is all you have to do, and she will be able to leave with you.’ ‘I can’t do that,’ emitted the Imam with grave sadness in his voice. ‘The addition is the one thing that I cannot put my signature on.’ After hearing those devastating words, like a dream trapped in a shrinking bottle, I realized that I would not be able to leave with my uncle, and I shut down. There were no feelings of disappointment, fear, or dread, even though I did momentarily wonder: Will they kill me now? Do they have any further reason to keeping me alive? These questions flowed through me with no more emotion than a person questioning what he would have for dinner that evening. Once the questions regarding my safety subsided, I felt claustrophobic. A sudden sensation of being enclosed within an extremely narrow funnel hindered my ability to breath. Like an embryo subjected to a physical lockdown, at that moment, I did not completely exist. The next very vague awareness for me in that church was hearing the Ayatollah instruct the young companion standing next to him to accompany me into the interior of the building so that I would not be able to see them leave. As the reticent and humble young man began to walk toward me, he was stopped. The large Catholic Church had two sections of double doors which led to the interior of the church. I attempted to enter through the doors closest to where my uncle was standing. I wanted to be able to simply brush up against him, but was prohibited from doing so. Instead, I was led away like a wounded animal into a selected pew of the church where the law enforcement officer’s family members were seated. After all, he was now a member of the family I had been caused to believe was my biological family. After being seated for a while, the spokesman sat down next to me. In the pew in front of where we sat, I heard his six-year-old daughter softly and kindly state, ‘That’s not fair. They should not keep Aunt Madaline away from her real family. Why are they doing that to her? She should be able to leave with her uncle.’ Her words soon faded away just as the prior activities did. The cruel actions made against me that evening caused my uncle’s next concern: ‘I sincerely pray that one day, she can understand that I absolutely had no choice.’” As I mentally transported myself back to the embassy, I could hear myself say, “I don’t remember the exactness of what happened next, Mr. Shahid. I only know that, to this day, I don’t understand how I survived that experience. I don’t understand how, when my uncle was caused to leave me behind in that church that night, I did not completely crumble, experience a total mental breakdown, or dissipate.” Mr. Shahid then leaned forward, securing my attention, and confirmed, “Not only did you survive that encounter while remaining mentally stable, but look how far you’ve come. Look how far you have come,” he repeated. “And with the magnitude of all you have endured, you accomplished coming here all on your own. No one helped you get here, yet here you sit. It’s more than remarkable that you survived.” “Have I truly survived, Mr. Shahid?” I confided. “From where I sit, you have done so with much grace and dignity.” Mr. Shahid then stood and apologetically stated, “Please forgive me. I am so sorry, but I have someone waiting outside that has been here for nearly thirty minutes. Unfortunately, it’s not convenient for him to reschedule at this time.” He opened his office door for me then said, “Before you leave, allow me to mention how pleased your uncle would have been to know that you understood the impossible position in which he had been placed.” “Mr. Shahid, I understand that you have someone waiting outside, but do you happen to know what it was that Imam Khomeini could not put his signature on? While I was still in the vestibule, the Imam stated that he had made some exceptional concession…but there was a specific point that had been added to the negotiations that was impossible for him to sign.” “No, I don’t know the specifics, but I will attempt to locate that information since it seems important to you. And if permitted, I will share it with you at the next visit.” Before escorting me from his office, the diplomat asked if I was alright and in need of a car to take me to the train. I assured this obviously concerned man that what I needed was a little time alone, adding that I might take a walk in a nearby park. As I got closer to the front lobby door, when Mr. Shahid stated that he would see me the following week; however, there appeared to be a tone of questioning in his statement. ͠ It is strange that of all the things forgotten or remembered in my life, one of the incidents that I most vividly recall is a bee sting I received around the age of seven. The intense, almost paralyzing and numbing pain inflicted by that unexpected painful encounter with the angered insect, was somehow in a parallel sphere with my emotional state as I exited the embassy that day. Ironically, on that day, instead of submitting to the propensity to take a healing walk through plush foliage, instead of merging my spirit with the regenerative scents of freshly bloomed nature, instead of caressing the sights, sounds and the majestic hues, I acquiesced to the damaged ethos of an Mk-Ultra survivor. In bypassing the enticement of nature, I sat on the local bus that took me to the train, I stared out of the window and noticed the botanical magnificence passing before my eyes. I instantly wondered why I had not taken the walk. Moments later, I sat in wonder of whatever had happened to the spirit of the person who, as a child, collected ladybugs on an index card then watched as the insect walked from the card to her arm, just so she could feel the minute sensation of the tiny creature’s legs crawl up her arm. I sat puzzled, wondering where the mimicking and playful follower of grasshoppers, the chaser of butterflies, the taster of sunrise now resided. ͠ At my next visit to the embassy, Mr. Shahid greeted me not only with his usual charm and warmth, but also with a glint in his caramel colored eyes. He wore the type of mischievous smile one might see on the face of a child about to reveal a secret. Once I was comfortably seated in his office, he hurriedly stated, “After your last visit, I suppose due to the weight of our conversation, I forgot to inform you that your uncle left you an inheritance, adding that the sum was quite substantial under any monetary consideration.” The enthusiasm and excitement expected after hearing that a large sum of money had been willed to me was not there. The stoic demeanor received by Mr. Shahid after his announcement of the monetary benevolence seemed at first to confuse him, until I softly seeped, “I would much rather that my uncle were still alive.” Nodding in an empathic gesture, he concurred, “I can understand your sentiment.” For a moment, after that exchange between the diplomat and myself, neither of us spoke. We sat in silence, both mentally and emotionally. I recognized, and then inwardly acknowledged, an inherent need to reconnect with my linage. I felt astonished at the fact that I had not remembered—nor thought about— the event that had taken place in that church on that bitterly cold winter night in December since its occurrence. This fact alone caused nausea. How long the silence between the diplomat and myself continued that day, I cannot say. But I do vividly remember what his next words to me were. He sat more relaxed than either one of us had been up until that point. “You do realize that you have gotten to this point all on your own. Amazingly, no one has helped you, and with all you have endured, here you sit.” After hearing his words, I honestly felt no sense of accomplishment at that time. There was no sense of achievement in having had endured physical and mental torture, emotional and sexual assaults, mind boggling taunts, humiliation, and probably the most painful experience of having been separated from my son. What I felt or experienced was a state of being partially anesthetized. There were no feelings of joy or hopeful anticipation. The continuation of my staid demeanor did alert Mr. Shahid to my dilemma; he, in acknowledgement of that fact stated, “You have been separated from your family, and as far as that is concerned—from yourself—off and on, for over twenty years now. Naturally, it will take a while for all of this to settle; but in the meantime, by your next visit—or most certainly the one following—I will have all the paperwork completed for your return to Iran. ͠ During my weekly visits to the embassy, this diplomat never once looked at a watch while I was seated in his office. He never demonstrated boredom or impatience. He never caused me to feel that his status was above mine. This reality contributed much to the strength that I finally mustered up…enough to revisit my past. However, I should also give credit to the exceptional-tasting tea served. While seated in this office, for the first time in years, I did not feel a sense of not belonging. And by being treated with such kindness and respect, I indicated, “Mr. Shahid, before we go too much further, let me state how much I appreciate the time you have allotted me during my weekly visit…”

Honoring the True Self

It is now August 23rd, 2012 which indicates that the year 2012 is more than half over. On this Thursday, I look inwardly and question if my life is still about goals and accomplishments. Since I am a survivor of one of history's most inhumane and brutal experimentation program, when it comes to the evaluation of my personal accomplishments I sometimes feel like a remote viewer. I wonder and question where is the woman, the person who existed prior to being subjected to vile and callous torment. Is it possible to reconstruct the undamaged self, the true self, the person who vivaciously strived prior to being dismantled and disassembled? Currently, I am working on a creative project which I shall enter into a writer's contest which I have titled, "The Accomplished Woman." The inspiration for this manuscript is the fact that with all I have suffered and endured, somewhere, still, exist within me the acknowledge of the gifted woman who though subjected to extreme exploitation while experiencing brutal intentional disregard for my human rights miraculously maintained personal values and a propensity for social responsibility and justice.

The Courage to Expose Pain and Exploitations

Never be without the remembrance of God, for His remembrance provides the bird of the spirit with strength, feathers, and wings.--The Sufi Path Of Love--The Spiritual Teaching of Rumi

For a number of years now, I have been attempting to recovery blocked memories which were stagnated due to a United States Governmental human experimentation program, mainly, Mk-Ultra. A brutal medically unethical project which parallels other inhumane historical acts, such as; Slavery in America, American Indian genocides, the German holocaust and many other extreme inhumane actions. Although, I have survived and endured many traumas in my life, somehow, I still hesitate to expose my total truth; due to fear of ridicule, not being believed, embarrassment and humiliation.

The truthful episodes of my life include the hallowed and the hollowed. Somewhere, between the ages of five and six, I had been kidnapped. Prior to age seven, the age of reason, I had been taken away from a secure and loving family and environment. I had been removed from the cultural, religious, economic and social status in which I had been reared. Nevertheless, and despite these brutal actions, by my seventh year, a most exceptional and extraordinary event happened in my life; I experienced a vision of Christ.

A most magnificent and miraculous illumination to descend upon a child who had through Mk-Ultra, and techniques like hypnosis and psycho driving, been hollowed.

The protective self, the misaligned ego, the horror of the usurpation of the secular over the sacred.

I will share more of the fact of the vision in a future post. But for now let me share a short poem I wrote with you.

An opened space in time, seconds not assigned, the moment freed, found the spirit bound, in mournful eternity.

Thank all who visit my blog and may the New Year bring fulfilled dreams.

Blessings,

Maryam Ruhullah

The Shed

"Inch Worm, Inch Worm, measuring the Marigolds you and your arithmetic you'd probably to far. Inch worm, inch worm measuring the marigolds seems to me you'd stop and see how beautiful they are."

It was summer. A day of play and ease. I had heard often from neighbours, from the adults in the household where I lived at the time, "they really should cut down that unused shed, it's a danger, it's not safe."

I guess I will always wonder why the adults, the neighbours, the members of the block union did not follow through on the concern, the hunch to have the vacant shed torn down.. A streetcar track ran between and separated the blocks of Kensington Place and McMillion Street, in this primarily,residential neighbour. The fact of a storage shed once owned by a family who had recent moved away, still stood, lurked about like a fathom.

"Boy! I wish they would tear down that old shed" I once heard one of the children of the area say. "After all, ghost might hang out there or something worse."

The amazement or the nostalgia of a community which had never been touched by tragedy parallels that of a venerable utopia. The crimes and horrors heard on the nightly news were events that always, I surmised, always, happened somewhere else.

There was a four family flat directly across the street from the single family house where I lived. It was alright with the neighbourhood that a non-single family dwelling was situated in the center of the block on this almost exclusive single family housing area. Since the occupants of the flat worked in semi-professional occupations, they were accepted. With three of the ladies occupants being school teachers and their husband's worked in various fields like aircraft mechanics or steel mill workers, they were not snubbed, after all, they were respectable church goers. Historically, the same family had lived in the mentioned flat for two generations now. So, when the unexpected death of the patriarch of the family caused his wife to move with her sister, everyone assumed that the tradition of renting only to their family members' would be sustained.

The Harrison family owned the flat and had not rented to anyone not a family member since the structure had been built. In this close knit neighborhood everyone was somewhat like family. Everyone in the 4700 block of Kensington Place knew the other neighbor's on a first name exchange. There was very little visiting in and out of neighbour's home; but neighbours always, I mean always. spoke and exchanged pleasantries on chance meetings.

When the new neighbours moved in, no welcoming committee greeted them. After all, this was the first time someone not known by someone else in the community had moved into this community for over twenty years.

The woman of the new family did not work outside of the home and the husband was in maintenance. They had one child, a daughter and she was perhaps eight or nine. It was rumored that the husband worked more than one job and was rarely at home. I heard that the late Mr. Harrison had been the new neighbour's supervisor while developing a friendship and feeling a little sorry for the cordial man. It was said that Mr. Harrison had told his wife that the man had never gotten a break in life and wanted to move into a neighbourhood where his daughter would be able to attend a good school. Furthermore, it was told that the man one day mentioned to the tender hearted Mr. Harrison, that people did not think that a man who cleaned toilets and mopped floors had dreams. It was reported that Mr. Harrison promised the down-trotted man that if ever a place in his flat became available, he would have an opportunity to move his family into a better neighbourhood. Probably, Harrison never believed there would be an opening in his building, but, still, life's full of the unpredictable.

Consequently, when the humble janitor one day appeared on the door step of the widow Harrison, espousing his respect and admiration for her late husband while sharing his ambition for creating a better life for his family, that staging seemed to have been the catalyse needed by Mrs. Harrison to move with her also widowed sister who had been pleading for her company. Displeased with the decision, the community words were. "Well, we will have to keep a close watch on that new family," so decided the block union board members as well.

Not surprisingly, the new family never really passed the acceptability test. The decision was made and upheld not to invite the young eight year old girl to the Watkins' weekly, homemade ice cream party, after all, too little was known about the family and especially since a man had started visiting the household often while the head of the household was not at home.

When it was later learned that the frequent male visitor was the husband's brother, the party invitation was still withheld when a second questioned rose retarding,why the brother had so much time on his hands since he was seen visiting during the day. as well as late evening. How it was learned that the brother worked as a independent handyman and wanting to make sure that his sister-in-law and niece were safe and doing okay in the new neighbourhood, his frequent appearances did not cause fewer questions.

How is it that close consanguinity shame can often sinks deeper than that of the perpetrators? Could that factor hinge on previous denial. The internal mental batting away of obvious facts and signs. The escaped phrases which do not retract like the slivering snake's tongue, "My brother could never do the things of which he was accused. His so good with my daughter. He could never hurt a child."

After the new neighbours had been in the community for six months or a little longer, unusual things began to happen, in this traditionally predictable neighbourhood. The Parkers' pedigree Afghan Hound was nowhere to be found one evening when they arrived home. Bill Johnson's prized Motobecane Fly mountain bike was not in his unlocked backyard storage unit the weekend of an amateur race. At first, it just seemed too easy to blame the neighbour's brother; but what was the other rationale.

An emergency block union meeting was called when the Smith's lawnmower along with the O'Neil's most adorable Coton de Tutear puppy vanished. Of course, the children of the neighbour were never told what was discussed at the meeting. Unless, somehow, something was over heard by curious little ears. The only thing known by those who became the most affected by the new neighbour's sibling threat was the feeling of totally powerlessness mingled with fear.

I, for one, suddenly, without fully realizing the fact, began to quicken my gait when returning from the corner candy store with my daily purchase of a Hostess cupcake. When the Stevenson's pet collie, Colonel, the neighbourhood children's favored pet, one afternoon was not to be found, Kensington Place became forever changed. Like, an undetected slow leak, gradually, the standards of the community changed and deflated. After the brutal rapes one day of three elementary school girls in the vacant shed, the previous question of whose responsibility it was to tear down the storage facility was never asked again.

The powerless often suffer from the procrastination and indifference of those in the position of decision-making and authority. It is not acceptable that daily humankind must lives with invisible stingers. These stingers being criminal injustices such as, plausible deniability, for reason of national security, and the arrogance which refuses to answer for its crimes.

Maryam Ruhullah

"I do not wish to treat friendships daintily, but with roughest courage. When they are real, they are not glass threads or frostwork, but the solidest things we know. For now, after so many ages of experience, what do we know of nature, or of ourselves? Not one step has man taken toward the solution of the problems of his destiny." Ralph Waldo Emerson

Acknowledgement

Our inner strengths, experiences, and truths cannot be lost, destroyed, or taken away. Every person has an inborn worth and can contribute to the human community. We all can treat one another with dignity and respect, provide opportunities to grow toward our fullest lives and help one another discover and develop our unique gifts. We each deserve this and we all can extend it to others.
Mark Twain quotes

A primary objective when creating this blog was to raise awareness regarding
one of the most intellectually invasive crimes against personal freedom, that being Mk-Ultra. When I stepped forward in an attempt to find justice elements not considered were the severity of exposing self to insensitivity and ridicule. Mk-Ultra is one of the most defacing and humiliating realities an individual could ever face. Your personal sense of self–awareness is depleted, your core drives are blocked and innate instincts are dulled and subjugated. The unwitting subject of human experimentation who experiences forced subjugation of innate drives, propensities, talents and spiritual acumen becomes a mentally caged prisoners.

I currently realize that although I am looking for acknowledgement from the United States Government regarding my unwitting involvement in Mk-Ultra, I must also admit to myself that I am no longer capable of accessing and expressing my own talents. I can not practice law nor can I pick-up a phone and call my children or friends. I take action daily attempting to get my rights and life returned to me. At this time, I want to stop and give thanks to a radio talk show host, Mr. Stephen Lendman who allowed me to be a guest on his Progressive Radio Show.

Steve Lendman published an article regarding the upcoming show several days prior to the show. Please find below the said article and know that although the show occurred over a year ago, due to the article my story reached a wide audience. Due to the mentioned article my pens name: Maryam Ruhullah can be Googled and the article written by Stephen Lendman can still be accessed.


MK-ULTRA Victim Maryam Ruhullah

This writer will interview Ruhullah and Dr. James Randall Noblitt, a licensed psychologist, on The Progressive Radio News Hour (on The Progressive Radio Network), February 18 at 10AM US Central time to discuss MK-ULTRA, Ruhullah's experience and Noblitt's work with survivors of extreme abuse and individuals afflicted with identity dissociation. Noblitt is a Professor at the California School of Professional Psychology and Chair of the International Society of Trauma and Dissociation Ritual Abuse/Mind Control Interest Group.

The program will be archived for later listening.

As an MK-ULTRA victim, Ruhullah's memory was impaired and somewhat still is because of what she experienced. She explained it as follows.

In the early 1970s, she lived in Boston, MA, was married with a six-year old son, and as a lawyer worked for a prestigious firm, its name she can't remember. "One day, two federal agents came to (her) home unannounced," asking her to be a federal witness against an alleged organized crime figure. For her safety, they explained, she'd be placed in protective custody for a period not exceeding six months. She was asked to leave her family and job immediately, and say nothing to her husband and employer.

She "was forced to leave (her) home with the agents that day." She got no choice, and "was treated more like a prisoner than a witness." She couldn't use the phone or communicate with anyone, was transfered frequently, and held in "very low budget places," during which time her life "became a succession of abuses and exploitations."

"To this day," she says, she doesn't know precisely "when or why the government decided to use" her for MK-ULTRA experimentation, "but one day (she) was a mother, wife, and attorney, then, (later) had no memory of (her) past."

Having partly recovered it, she recalls "being given non-medically necessary electro-shock treatments. This was done to create amnesia (to block her) core personality and replac(e) it with" only need-to-know information.

She remembers "that the shock treatment given (her) was so severe and often that one day something happened and" she wasn't returned to her room. She now speaks of "an unbelievable long list of horrid exploitations and inhumane abuses" done to her.

In the late 1980s, fragments of her memory returned. She sought information on her case through an FOIA request, but was told no records were found. From 1992 - 1996, no one helped her until a member of B'nai Brith, Stephanie Suleiman, offered to do so but needed a few weeks to complete other work.

When Ruhullah recontacted her, she learned that "this thirty-two year old mother of two died of a heart attack," very suspicious given her age.

Ruhullah also explains that federal agents stopped communicating with her. Her experiences were "totally removed from the public record," and she went from "being a missing person to becoming a person erased." She's now divorced and unable to contact her children and former friends. "The US government does not want (her) story told."

She adds that the "only way (she) can measure (her) length of time held (is) by her son's age. (He) was six when (agents) entered (her) home, and he is (now) in his late thirties." She considers herself to have been continuously separated from her children, grandchildren, family, friends, assets, memories, and educated skills.

She calls each day "an experience of being held against (her) will while living in a vat of bureaucratic arrogance which refuses to acknowledge what was done (made worse by stopping (her) from getting (her) life back." Each day she's "being more injured and having more of (her) life robbed from" her.

She says she "was not released from custody." After being used for medical experiments, she was "given an implanted false identity, then left penniless and without proof of (her) true identity or lineage." She still considers herself a prisoner, a body with no persona, with little knowledge of her former self, stripped of everything important in her life.

MK-ULTRA and Ruhullah's story will be featured on the Progressive Radio News Hour on February 18 at 10AM US Central time on The Progressive Radio Network. Listen live or later through archives.

Stephen Lendman is a Research Associate of the Centre for Research on Globalization. He lives in Chicago and can be reached at lendmanstephen@sbcglobal.net.

Also visit his blog site at sjlendman.blogspot.com and listen to the Lendman News Hour on RepublicBroadcasting.org Monday - Friday and The Progressive Radio News Hour Thursdays and weekends for cutting-edge discussions with distinguished guests on world and national issues. All programs are archived for easy listening.

posted by Steve Lendman @ 3:11 AM

Thanks those of you who follow my blog.

Sincerely,

Maryam Ruhullah

The Statute of Limitation

God Listens not to your words save when He Himself utters them through your lips.
By Kahlil Gibran in the Prophet

On this seemingly uneventfully summer day, some of the children of this diverse middle to upper middle class professional neighborhood could be seen on bicycles, playing hopscotch, jacks, dodged ball or the favored game of many children, hide and seek. It was now several months into summer break when, due to restless energy, two older boys from the less prestigious side of the community decided to challenge boys from the more affluent area to a weekly bicycle race.

Although the boys of a lesser god from locations like Kensington Street, McMillion Avenue and Walton Drive did not believe that the boys from the private avenues such as Lewis Place, Westminster Lane or Fountain Terrace would accept the challenge; they were competitive surprised and excited when their skepticism proved incorrect.

The area of town where the race was to take place was situated within walking distance of four local hospitals. That fact accounted for the rigid social stratagem which separated doctor's children from the children of families of a lower hierarchy. Traditionally, children of the more affluent residents never socialized with the children of a lesser tier, until the advent and orchestration of the weekly race.

This robust race soon connected children within a five mile radius while the competition began to take on its own momentum and purpose.

On a rich brightly lite summer morning, the first day of what was soon to become the infamous race, as the boys from the higher end streets arrived, simultaneously, on their shinny, seemingly new, Primos, Battaglins, Pinarellos and Focuses; also travel were an array of other expensive and impressive two wheeled vehicles. Then, when, in meeting, a succession of exaltation's like; "Wow, unbelievable, awesome," instantaneously, the proverbial ice was melted.

In the affluent residential area of town, the rigid social stratagem was religious adhered too, except on the day of the bike race. The children of doctors associated exclusively with other kids of like parental hierarchy.

It was in such a neighbour, on a lovely summer day, that two men who were alleged members of organized crime, crept into this neighborhood of naivete and in front of four children killed a three month old child. The infant's mother was also a witness to this horrific crime. The criminal action against this child, or more precisely, this infant, that caused its death was a cruel and intentional murdered.

Statute of Limitation or Ripley's believe it or not. As a child, even when I heard the words, I had no idea what mafia or organized crime meant. The two men who where in the home of Calvin and Dovie Johnson on ,that, what appeared as an, ordinary summer day, were very versed on the topic of the Statute of Limitation. In all of the fifty states within the United States there is no Statute of Limitation on murder. Although, it is significantly appropriate, that murderers will always be held accountable for their crimes. Yes, it is very significant that no time limit for taking a killer to trial is set, yet when the intentional killing of a three month old infant is committed; it's too bad that the stature can not extend into some portion of eternity.

Freddie Mae Richard, mother of the infant, had been attempting to become a mother for over four years. One would never know this fact as she could always be seen with a wide smile on her fact and a quick step. One day as I was walking home from the candy store, she stopped me, stating, "don't be afraid, my pastor told me to do this." She then placed her right hand on my right forearm for a few minutes. She then closed her eyes for a while and prayed. Following, she smiled, gave me a huge hug and walked back across the street to her house.

Three months after the birth of her first and only child, the infant was killed by members of the mafia and the only reason given for this brutal act was that some, "THEY," did not want any person of spiritual acumen to advance into public awareness. Believe it or not, that was the only explanation cited for cruel crime.

Freddie Mae and her husband divorced years later but the last time I saw her, she still wore that infectious, never ending smile.

As the correlation between the Statute of Limitation and Ripley's Believe It or Not, continues, years later, due to Mk-Ultra one of the children who witnessed the murder confessed to the crime. The infant's mother vehemently stated that the person who confessed had nothing to do with her daughter's death but the infamous, "THEY's," the engineers of project like MKULTRA value no ones rights or life.

Statute of limitations
From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
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A statute of limitations is an enactment in a common law legal system that sets the maximum time after an event that legal proceedings based on that event may be initiated. In civil law systems, similar provisions are typically part of the civil code or criminal code and are often known collectively as periods of prescription.

Common law legal system might have a statute, for example, limiting the time for prosecution of a debt or crimes designated as misdemeanors to two years after the offense occurred. Under such a statute, if a person is discovered to have committed a misdemeanor three years earlier, the time has expired for the person to be prosecuted. While it may seem unfair to forbid prosecution of crimes that law enforcement can later prove to a standard required by law (cf., e.g., Beyond a reasonable doubt, Clear and convincing evidence, and Preponderance of the evidence), the purpose of a statute of limitations or its equivalent is to ensure that the possibility of punishment for an act committed long ago cannot give rise to either a person's incarceration or the criminal justice system's activation. In short, unless the crime is exceptionally heinous in nature (such as murder where there generally is no statute of limitations), social justice as enacted through law says that lesser crimes from long ago are best left alone so as not to distract attention from more serious crimes.
[edit] Reasons for statutes of limitation
One reason is that, over time, evidence can be corrupted or disappear, memories fade, crime scenes are changed, and companies dispose of records. The best time to bring a lawsuit is while the evidence is not lost and as close as possible to the alleged illegal behavior. Another reason is that people want to get on with their lives and not have legal battles from their past come up unexpectedly. The injured party has a responsibility to quickly bring about charges so that the process can begin.
Limitations periods begin when a cause of action is deemed to have arisen or when a plaintiff had reason to know of the harm, rather than at the time of the original event. This distinction is significant in cases in which an earlier event causes a later harm (e.g., a surgeon negligently operates on a patient, who subsequently suffers the consequences of that negligence years later).
In a related concept, contracts may also have a term under which they may be the basis of a suit, and after which a plaintiff is held to have waived any right to claim. Under Article VI of the United States Constitution, private contracts cannot be abridged; this provision has been held by the United States Supreme Court to mean that the federal government or a State can only vitiate a contract if it directly opposes an important public policy. Similarly, the Charter of Fundamental Rights, codified into law applicable to European Union countries by the passage civil lawsuit, is said to have accrued when the event beginning its time limitation occurs. Sometimes it is the event itself that is the subject of the suit or prosecution (such as a crime or personal injury), but it may also be an event such as the discovery of a condition one wishes to redress, such as discovering a defect in a manufactured good, or in the case of controversial "repressed memory" cases where someone discovers memories of childhood sexual abuse long afterwards.
[edit] Statute of repose
An idea closely related, but not identical, to the statute of limitations is a statute of repose. A statute of repose limits the time within which an action may be brought and is not related to the accrual of any cause of action; the injury need not have occurred, much less have been discovered. Unlike an ordinary statute of limitations, which begins running upon accrual of the claim, the period contained in a statute of repose begins when a specific event occurs, regardless of whether a cause of action has accrued or whether any injury has resulted. This often applies to buildings and properties, and limits the time during which an action may lie based upon defects or hazards connected to the construction of the building or premises. An example of this would be that if a person is electrocuted by a wiring defect incorporated into a structure in, say, 1990, a state law may allow his heirs to sue only before 1997 in the case of an open (patent) defect, or before 2000 in the case of a hidden defect. Statutes of repose can also apply to manufactured goods. Manufacturers contend they are necessary to avoid unfairness and encourage consumers to maintain their property. Consumer groups argue that statutes of repose on consumer goods provide a disincentive for manufacturers to build durable products and to notify consumers of product defects as the manufacturers become aware of them. Consumer groups also argue that such statutes of repose disproportionately affect poorer people, since they are more likely to own older goods.
[edit] Expiry
Once the time allowed for a case by a statute of limitations runs out, if a party raises it as a defense and that defense is accepted, any further litigation is foreclosed. Most jurisdictions provide that limitations are tolled under certain circumstances. Tolling will prevent the time for filing suit from running while the condition exists. Examples of such circumstances are if the aggrieved party (plaintiff) is a minor, or the plaintiff has filed a bankruptcy proceeding. In those instances, in most jurisdictions, the running of limitations is tolled until the circumstance (i.e., the injured party reaches majority in the former or the bankruptcy proceeding is concluded in the latter) no longer exists.
There may be a number of factors that will affect the tolling of a statute of limitations. In many cases, the discovery of the harm (as in a medical malpractice claim where the fact or the impact of the doctor's mistake is not immediately apparent) starts the statute running. In some jurisdictions the action is said to have not accrued until the harm is discovered; in others, the action accrues when the malpractice occurs, but an action to redress the harm is tolled until the injured party discovers the harm.
As discussed in Wolk v. Olson, the discovery rule does not apply to mass-media publications such as newspapers and the Internet; the statute of limitations begins to run at the date of publication.
An action to redress a tort committed against a minor is generally tolled in most cases until the child reaches the age of majority. A ten-year-old who is injured in a car accident might therefore be able to bring suit one, two, or three years after he turns 18.
It may also be inequitable to allow a defendant to use the defense of the running of the limitations period, such as the case of an individual in the position of authority over someone else who intimidates the victim into never reporting the wrongdoing, or where one is led to believe that the other party has agreed to suspend the limitations period during good faith settlement negotiations or due to a fraudulent misrepresentation.
Generally speaking, in the case of private, civil matters, the limitations period may be shortened or lengthened by agreement of the parties. Under the Uniform Commercial Code the parties to a contract for sale of goods may reduce the limitations period to not less than one year but may not extend it.
Although such limitations periods generally are issues of law, limitations periods known as laches may apply in situations of equity (i.e., a judge will not issue an injunction if the party requesting the injunction waited too long to ask for it). Such periods are not clearly defined and are subject to broad judicial discretion.
For U.S. military cases, the Uniform Code of Military Justice states that all charges except for those facing general court martial (where a death sentence could be involved) have a five-year statute of limitation. This statute changes once charges have been prepared against the service member. In all supposed UCMJ violations except for those headed for general court martial, should the charges be dropped, there is a six-month window in which the charges can be reinstated. If those six months have passed and the charges have not been reinstated, the statutes of limitation have run out.
[edit] Prescription
In civil law countries and the U.S. State of Louisiana, almost all lawsuits must be started within a legally determined period. If they are presented after that time, an institution called prescription applies, which prevents them from filing the case.
For criminal cases, this means that the public prosecutor must prosecute within some time limit. The time limit varies from country to country, and increases with seriousness of the alleged crime (for example, in most jurisdictions, there is no statute of limitations for murder). When a time limit is suspended, it does not run (akin to hitting "Stop" on a stopwatch). Common triggers include the defendant being on the run. When a time limit is interrupted, it is restarted (like hitting "Reset" on a stopwatch). This may be triggered by a new crime committed.
If a criminal is on the run, he can be convicted in absence, in order to prevent prescription, or the time limit does not elapse during that time.
The prescription must not be confused with the need to prosecute within "a reasonable delay", an obligation imposed by the European Court of Human Rights. Whether the delay is reasonable or not, will depend on the complexity of the trial and the attitude of the suspect.
[edit] Exclusions
[edit] Fraud upon the court
In the United States, when an officer of the court is found to have fraudulently presented facts to court so that the court is impaired in the impartial performance of its legal task, the act, known as "fraud upon the court", is a crime deemed so severe and fundamentally opposed to the operation of justice that it is not subject to any statute of limitation.
Officers of the court include: Lawyers, Judges, Referees, and those appointed; Guardian Ad Litem, Parenting Time Expeditors, Mediators, Rule 114 Neutrals, Evaluators, Administrators, special appointees, and any others whose influence are part of the judicial mechanism.
"Fraud upon the court" has been defined by the 7th Circuit Court of Appeals to "embrace that species of fraud which does, or attempts to, defile the court itself, or is a fraud perpetrated by officers of the court so that the judicial machinery can not perform in the usual manner its impartial task of adjudging cases that are presented for adjudication". Kenner v. C.I.R., 387 F.3d 689 (1968); 7 Moore's Federal Practice, 2d ed., p. 512, ¶ 60.23
In Bullock v. United States, 763 F.2d 1115, 1121 (10th Cir. 1985), the court stated "Fraud upon the court is fraud which is directed to the judicial machinery itself and is not fraud between the parties or fraudulent documents, false statements or perjury. ... It is where the court or a member is corrupted or influenced or influence is attempted or where the judge has not performed his judicial function --- thus where the impartial functions of the court have been directly corrupted."
[edit] International crimes
By way of custom of international law, genocide, crimes against humanity, and war crimes are usually not subject to statute of limitations, nor to prescription. This custom has been codified in a number of multilateral treaties. States that ratify the Convention on the Non-Applicability of Statutory Limitations to War Crimes and Crimes Against Humanity agree to not allow limitations claims for these crimes. Article 29 of the Rome Statute of the International Criminal Court states that genocide, crimes against humanity, and war crimes "shall not be subject to any statute of limitations".
[edit] Heinous crimes in the U.S.
Crimes that are considered exceptionally heinous by society have no statute of limitations. As a rule, there is no statute of limitations for murder, especially capital or first-degree murder.
[edit] Continuing violations doctrine
In tort law, if a defendant commits a series of illegal acts against another person, or, in criminal law, if someone commits a continuing crime (like molesting a child over a long period of time, which can be charged as a single offense), the period of limitation may begin to run from the last act in the series. In the 8th Circuit case of Treanor v. MCI Telecommunications, Inc., the court explained that the continuing violations doctrine "tolls [i.e freezes] the statute of limitations in situations where a continuing pattern forms due to [illegal] acts occurring over a period of time, as long as at least one incident . . . occurred within the limitations period".[1] However, in the United States, there has been doctrinal confusion in the courts regarding whether or not the continuing violations doctrine applies to particular violations. For example, the continuing violations doctrine has been ruled to apply to copyright infringement per Taylor v. Meirick 712 F.2d 1112, 1119 (7th Cir. 1983), but has been ruled to not apply per Stone v. Williams, 970 F.2d 1043, 1049-50 (2d Cir. 1992). [2]
· [edit] See also in Ire

Peace,

Maryam Ruhullah