Yearly Archives: 2016

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Hannah O’Hare writes:

I teamed up with Unicef Ireland and Aerlingus this year to design and print 100 limited edition t-shirts to sell and give all proceeds to Unicef.

Every year Aerlngus staff can apply to become a Unicef Ambassador and this year my mum who is Cabin Manager was awarded this title.

The t0shirts are available now [see link below] and are retailing for €15.

Aerlingus have been partnered up with Unicef since December 97′ with their “Change for Good” appeal.

The tshirts I designed was just another way of helping with the fundraising and to help make my mum’s year as ambassador as successful as possible.

Originally I wanted to do a plant that was native to Rwanda in Africa as my mum would have been doing a trip with Unicef in April, but coming closer to the time of designing and printing they changed the destination to Zambia and will be happening in November, I had this leaf design drawn up already so I went with that…

The tshirts were printed at Damn Fine Print in Smithfield who gave me a day of printing free of charge.

Hannah’s Tee (Charity Print)

ibrahim

Ibrahim Halawa

Ibrahim Halawa, in The Guardian, writes:

Each time you are transferred to a new prison, there is something called “the party”. They show you who’s boss. In most cases it’s beatings, but in one, we were stripped, told to lie down facing the ground with our arms behind our back, and they started to jump on our backs, from one prisoner to the next.

It’s normal to be cursed, stripped naked, beaten with a bar, or put in solitary confinement or the “tank” (a pitch-black 3.5m x 5.5m cell). They might also torture another prisoner in front of you. Of course you never forget. Ever.

After a prison “inspection”, you might go back to your cell and find things missing. If your family visits and you get something from them that the guards like, you may as well forget it.

Once, coming back from a hearing in my mass trial, I was hit with the back of an AK47 and asked where I was from. The officer put his AK47 to my chest and said: “I wish I could take you out, you fucking Irish. But I can’t.”

During a recent hunger strike, I was left to die. I was out. My fellow prisoners, with whom I share a cell, banged on the door for help – they were told: “When he dies, knock.” That is a really small fraction of what happens and has happened to me.

…The capacity of the prison is 2,000. It currently holds more than 6,000 prisoners.

…Ireland – I miss everything about Ireland. Home, family, friends, the people, school, going out, laughing, love, hiking, swimming, the kindness. I miss going out to the sights, seeing Ireland and Irish nature.

I miss town and the noise of the city and how at 9pm it shuts and no one is in the street. I miss the fresh air. TV.

Cinema. Fishing. Go-karting. Shopping. Running for the Dublin bus. Eating at Chippers. Looking far away – the furthest I have seen in over 1,000 days is less than half a kilometre. I miss my bed and my pillows. I miss the Cliffs of Moher. The parks. I miss eating popcorn and cookies. I could go on for ever.

In prison in Egypt, it’s normal to be stripped, beaten, witness tortureIbrahim Halawa (The Guardian)