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Today a friend said, "The American government gives our dictators tear gas, but our American friends gave us Facebook and the hope of democracy. We are together in the streets. For tear gas wash your face with coke, for electric shocks put plastic under your clothes and wrap it with tape. For bruises put ice. If you're attacked just run. Night protests are good. Buy loud speakers and give them away. You can buy them in Bablouk. Most of the people can't afford them but buy small ones and you can hide them in your bag."

These small details of courage impressed me, and I just hope that later on the world can hear at least some of the story from people like my friend, instead of me, or academics. In Memory of Forgetfulness Mahmoud Darwish laments how Palestinians do not come on stage “except as a subject for others to take up and interpret”. Today I felt America was talking, talking, talking and there was something shocking about it, the ease at which people encapsulate struggle in words, pinning meaning to a fight that someone else has lived their whole life. So often it seems that even when the people speak truth to power, it's still power writing our history books. I know there are stories of people's struggles that in my position of privilege I cannot even know. I'm putting my love and my tears up in the air tonight for you.