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August 3. 2017

Genocide present. A day with no hope and zero comfort. A day spent amongst the mourners of Shariya Camp, Kurdistan, North Iraq. A day of scorching sun. But a day of night.

A day of silence. Mourning without words. Mourning with few tears. Mourning with uncontrollable shaking. Mourning with fainting. Mourning with epileptic attacks. Deep mourning." To forget the dead would be akin to killing them a second time" Elie Wiesel, Night.

They stood, family by family, tribe by tribe, village by village. Broken. Abandoned. Forsaken. A despised people. In deep mourning. And deeper resignation.

Resignation. To yet another year. Catatonic releasees. Girls sold forever, never to be traced. Resignation. To words that cover bored apathy. To unfulfilled promises. Resignation to death and extinction. Expectancy? Yes, to another ongoing continuous genocide. Number 75.

August 3rd. 2017. The day of a million sighs. We live life, we do life in Shariya village. We laugh and we mourn. We mourn. For the slain, For the living. We also mourn for those who could have helped but turned away.

If your heart is moved by our pictures and your conscience is pricked. Reach out. Hope in mourning. Hope on a black black day.

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