I’ve been following the news of you since your detention began, thanks to your friends here on MetaFilter, where I am also lucky enough to call myself a member. It seems fitting, somehow, to read your old blog posts and the fractured details of your current troubles as they emerge from halfway around the world on a laptop, in a darkened room, over-medicated and still in pain, as if we are sharing a secret in the dead of night. You and I. And whoever else may be listening.
The secret isn’t really secret, of course. Telling truth to power has always been a dangerous proposition. The other half of the secret, though – the one I keep here in the dark – is maybe less understood, if still felt, I think, on a cellular level by all who strive for power and all who cannot help but hold them to account. And that secret is this: truth is the water of life. You can dam it, you can hide from it, you can even poison it – but you simply cannot live without it. And once you get thirsty enough, there’s no telling what all will get wet.
And try as you might, you cannot drink from a fist.
Your thirst for the truth has caused you great pain and landed you in darkness, but I promise you that your efforts have not been in vain. You have shed light on the inherent beauty of your homeland, as well as the injustices that threaten to overshadow that land. You have opened eyes and even more importantly, in championing blogging as a tool for grassroots political justice, you have opened he lines of communication that will one day drive the shadows back into the night, where they belong.
You suffer because you were dangerous, and in their desperation, your tormentors demonstrate their weakness. Your story is being told. Your words were once a trickle, but in your suffering they gain force and are repeated and become as a river. Soon the truth will flood, and there will be no containing it. And still, they cannot make a fist and drink.
You matter. You have made a difference. You are a hero.
Can you hear me Hoder? I think I hear the rain.