下載App 希平方
攻其不背
App 開放下載中
下載App 希平方
攻其不背
App 開放下載中
IE版本不足
你的 IE 瀏覽器太舊了 更新 IE 瀏覽器或點選連結下載 Google Chrome 瀏覽器 前往下載

免費註冊
! 這組帳號已經註冊過了
Email 帳號
密碼請填入 6 位數以上密碼
已經有帳號了?
忘記密碼
! 這組帳號已經註冊過了
您的 Email
請輸入您註冊時填寫的 Email,
我們將會寄送設定新密碼的連結給您。
寄信了!請到信箱打開密碼連結信
密碼信已寄至
沒有收到信嗎? 點這裡重寄一次
如果您尚未收到信,請前往垃圾郵件查看,謝謝!

恭喜您註冊成功!

查看會員功能

註冊未完成

《HOPE English 希平方》服務條款關於個人資料收集與使用之規定

隱私權政策
上次更新日期:2014-12-30

希平方 為一英文學習平台,我們每天固定上傳優質且豐富的影片內容,讓您不但能以有趣的方式學習英文,還能增加內涵,豐富知識。我們非常注重您的隱私,以下說明為當您使用我們平台時,我們如何收集、使用、揭露、轉移及儲存你的資料。請您花一些時間熟讀我們的隱私權做法,我們歡迎您的任何疑問或意見,提供我們將產品、服務、內容、廣告做得更好。

本政策涵蓋的內容包括:希平方 如何處理蒐集或收到的個人資料。
本隱私權保護政策只適用於: 希平方 平台,不適用於非 希平方 平台所有或控制的公司,也不適用於非 希平方 僱用或管理之人。

個人資料的收集與使用
當您註冊 希平方 平台時,我們會詢問您姓名、電子郵件、出生日期、職位、行業及個人興趣等資料。在您註冊完 希平方 帳號並登入我們的服務後,我們就能辨認您的身分,讓您使用更完整的服務,或參加相關宣傳、優惠及贈獎活動。希平方 也可能從商業夥伴或其他公司處取得您的個人資料,並將這些資料與 希平方 所擁有的您的個人資料相結合。

我們所收集的個人資料, 將用於通知您有關 希平方 最新產品公告、軟體更新,以及即將發生的事件,也可用以協助改進我們的服務。

我們也可能使用個人資料為內部用途。例如:稽核、資料分析、研究等,以改進 希平方公司 產品、服務及客戶溝通。

瀏覽資料的收集與使用
希平方 自動接收並記錄您電腦和瀏覽器上的資料,包括 IP 位址、希平方 cookie 中的資料、軟體和硬體屬性以及您瀏覽的網頁紀錄。

隱私權政策修訂
我們會不定時修正與變更《隱私權政策》,不會在未經您明確同意的情況下,縮減本《隱私權政策》賦予您的權利。隱私權政策變更時一律會在本頁發佈;如果屬於重大變更,我們會提供更明顯的通知 (包括某些服務會以電子郵件通知隱私權政策的變更)。我們還會將本《隱私權政策》的舊版加以封存,方便您回顧。

服務條款
歡迎您加入看 ”希平方”
上次更新日期:2013-09-09

歡迎您加入看 ”希平方”
感謝您使用我們的產品和服務(以下簡稱「本服務」),本服務是由 希平方 所提供。
本服務條款訂立的目的,是為了保護會員以及所有使用者(以下稱會員)的權益,並構成會員與本服務提供者之間的契約,在使用者完成註冊手續前,應詳細閱讀本服務條款之全部條文,一旦您按下「註冊」按鈕,即表示您已知悉、並完全同意本服務條款的所有約定。如您是法律上之無行為能力人或限制行為能力人(如未滿二十歲之未成年人),則您在加入會員前,請將本服務條款交由您的法定代理人(如父母、輔助人或監護人)閱讀,並得到其同意,您才可註冊及使用 希平方 所提供之會員服務。當您開始使用 希平方 所提供之會員服務時,則表示您的法定代理人(如父母、輔助人或監護人)已經閱讀、了解並同意本服務條款。 我們可能會修改本條款或適用於本服務之任何額外條款,以(例如)反映法律之變更或本服務之變動。您應定期查閱本條款內容。這些條款如有修訂,我們會在本網頁發佈通知。變更不會回溯適用,並將於公布變更起十四天或更長時間後方始生效。不過,針對本服務新功能的變更,或基於法律理由而為之變更,將立即生效。如果您不同意本服務之修訂條款,則請停止使用該本服務。

第三人網站的連結 本服務或協力廠商可能會提供連結至其他網站或網路資源的連結。您可能會因此連結至其他業者經營的網站,但不表示希平方與該等業者有任何關係。其他業者經營的網站均由各該業者自行負責,不屬希平方控制及負責範圍之內。

兒童及青少年之保護 兒童及青少年上網已經成為無可避免之趨勢,使用網際網路獲取知識更可以培養子女的成熟度與競爭能力。然而網路上的確存有不適宜兒童及青少年接受的訊息,例如色情與暴力的訊息,兒童及青少年有可能因此受到心靈與肉體上的傷害。因此,為確保兒童及青少年使用網路的安全,並避免隱私權受到侵犯,家長(或監護人)應先檢閱各該網站是否有保護個人資料的「隱私權政策」,再決定是否同意提出相關的個人資料;並應持續叮嚀兒童及青少年不可洩漏自己或家人的任何資料(包括姓名、地址、電話、電子郵件信箱、照片、信用卡號等)給任何人。

為了維護 希平方 網站安全,我們需要您的協助:

您承諾絕不為任何非法目的或以任何非法方式使用本服務,並承諾遵守中華民國相關法規及一切使用網際網路之國際慣例。您若係中華民國以外之使用者,並同意遵守所屬國家或地域之法令。您同意並保證不得利用本服務從事侵害他人權益或違法之行為,包括但不限於:
A. 侵害他人名譽、隱私權、營業秘密、商標權、著作權、專利權、其他智慧財產權及其他權利;
B. 違反依法律或契約所應負之保密義務;
C. 冒用他人名義使用本服務;
D. 上載、張貼、傳輸或散佈任何含有電腦病毒或任何對電腦軟、硬體產生中斷、破壞或限制功能之程式碼之資料;
E. 干擾或中斷本服務或伺服器或連結本服務之網路,或不遵守連結至本服務之相關需求、程序、政策或規則等,包括但不限於:使用任何設備、軟體或刻意規避看 希平方 - 看 YouTube 學英文 之排除自動搜尋之標頭 (robot exclusion headers);

服務中斷或暫停
本公司將以合理之方式及技術,維護會員服務之正常運作,但有時仍會有無法預期的因素導致服務中斷或故障等現象,可能將造成您使用上的不便、資料喪失、錯誤、遭人篡改或其他經濟上損失等情形。建議您於使用本服務時宜自行採取防護措施。 希平方 對於您因使用(或無法使用)本服務而造成的損害,除故意或重大過失外,不負任何賠償責任。

版權宣告
上次更新日期:2013-09-16

希平方 內所有資料之著作權、所有權與智慧財產權,包括翻譯內容、程式與軟體均為 希平方 所有,須經希平方同意合法才得以使用。
希平方歡迎你分享網站連結、單字、片語、佳句,使用時須標明出處,並遵守下列原則:

  • 禁止用於獲取個人或團體利益,或從事未經 希平方 事前授權的商業行為
  • 禁止用於政黨或政治宣傳,或暗示有支持某位候選人
  • 禁止用於非希平方認可的產品或政策建議
  • 禁止公佈或傳送任何誹謗、侮辱、具威脅性、攻擊性、不雅、猥褻、不實、色情、暴力、違反公共秩序或善良風俗或其他不法之文字、圖片或任何形式的檔案
  • 禁止侵害或毀損希平方或他人名譽、隱私權、營業秘密、商標權、著作權、專利權、其他智慧財產權及其他權利、違反法律或契約所應付支保密義務
  • 嚴禁謊稱希平方辦公室、職員、代理人或發言人的言論背書,或作為募款的用途

網站連結
歡迎您分享 希平方 網站連結,與您的朋友一起學習英文。

抱歉傳送失敗!

不明原因問題造成傳送失敗,請儘速與我們聯繫!
希平方 x ICRT

「Karima Bennoune:恐怖主義沒有成為頭條的那一面」- When People of Muslim Heritage Challenge Fundamentalism


框選或點兩下字幕可以直接查字典喔!

Could I protect my father from the Armed Islamic Group with a paring knife? That was the question I faced one Tuesday morning in June of 1993, when I was a law student.

I woke up early that morning in Dad's apartment on the outskirts of Algiers, Algeria, to an unrelenting pounding on the front door. It was a season as described by a local paper when every Tuesday a scholar fell to the bullets of fundamentalist assassins. My father's university teaching of Darwin had already provoked a classroom visit from the head of the so-called Islamic Salvation Front, who denounced Dad as an advocate of biologism before Dad had ejected the man, and now whoever was outside would neither identify himself nor go away. So my father tried to get the police on the phone, but perhaps terrified by the rising tide of armed extremism that had already claimed the lives of so many Algerian officers, they didn't even answer. And that was when I went to the kitchen, got out a paring knife, and took up a position inside the entryway. It was a ridiculous thing to do, really, but I couldn't think of anything else, and so there I stood.

When I look back now, I think that that was the moment that set me on the path was to writing a book called "Your Fatwa Does Not Apply Here: Untold Stories from the Fight Against Muslim Fundamentalism." The title comes from a Pakistani play. I think it was actually that moment that sent me on the journey to interview 300 people of Muslim heritage from nearly 30 countries, from Afghanistan to Mali, to find out how they fought fundamentalism peacefully like my father did, and how they coped with the attendant risks.

Luckily, back in June of 1993, our unidentified visitor went away, but other families were so much less lucky, and that was the thought that motivated my research. In any case, someone would return a few months later and leave a note on Dad's kitchen table, which simply said, "Consider yourself dead." Subsequently, Algeria's fundamentalist armed groups would murder as many as 200,000 civilians in what came to be known as the dark decade of the 1990s, including every single one of the women that you see here. In its harsh counterterrorist response, the state resorted to torture and to forced disappearances, and as terrible as all of these events became, the international community largely ignored them. Finally, my father, an Algerian peasant's son turned professor, was forced to stop teaching at the university and to flee his apartment, but what I will never forget about Mahfoud Bennoune, my dad, was that like so many other Algerian intellectuals, he refused to leave the country and he continued to publish pointed criticisms, both of the fundamentalists and sometimes of the government they battled. For example, in a November 1994 series in the newspaper El Watan entitled "How Fundamentalism Produced a Terrorism without Precedent," he denounced what he called the terrorists' radical break with the true Islam as it was lived by our ancestors. These were words that could get you killed.

My father's country taught me in that dark decade of the 1990s that the popular struggle against Muslim fundamentalism is one of the most important and overlooked human rights struggles in the world. This remains true today, nearly 20 years later. You see, in every country where you hear about armed jihadis targeting civilians, there are also unarmed people defying those militants that you don't hear about, and those people need our support to succeed.

In the West, it's often assumed that Muslims generally condone terrorism. Some on the right think this because they view Muslim culture as inherently violent, and some on the left imagine this because they view Muslim violence, fundamentalist violence, solely as a product of legitimate grievances. But both views are dead wrong. In fact, many people of Muslim heritage around the world are staunch opponents both of fundamentalism and of terrorism, and often for very good reason. You see, they're much more likely to be victims of this violence than its perpetrators. Let me just give you one example. According to a 2009 survey of Arabic language media resources, between 2004 and 2008, no more than 15 percent of al Qaeda's victims were Westerners. That's a terrible toll, but the vast majority were people of Muslim heritage, killed by Muslim fundamentalists.

Now I've been talking for the last five minutes about fundamentalism, and you have a right to know exactly what I mean. I cite the definition given by the Algerian sociologist Marieme Helie Lucas, and she says that fundamentalisms, note the "s," so within all of the world's great religious traditions, "fundamentalisms are political movements of the extreme right which in a context of globalization manipulate religion in order to achieve their political aims." Sadia Abbas has called this the radical politicization of theology. Now I want to avoid projecting the notion that there's sort of a monolith out there called Muslim fundamentalism that is the same everywhere, because these movements also have their diversities. Some use and advocate violence. Some do not, though they're often interrelated. They take different forms. Some may be non-governmental organizations, even here in Britain like Cageprisoners. Some may become political parties, like the Muslim Brotherhood, and some may be openly armed groups like the Taliban. But in any case, these are all radical projects. They're not conservative or traditional approaches. They're most often about changing people's relationship with Islam rather than preserving it. What I am talking about is the Muslim extreme right, and the fact that its adherents are or purport to be Muslim makes them no less offensive than the extreme right anywhere else. So in my view, if we consider ourselves liberal or left-wing, human rights-loving or feminist, we must oppose these movements and support their grassroots opponents. Now let me be clear that I support an effective struggle against fundamentalism, but also a struggle that must itself respect international law, so nothing I am saying should be taken as a justification for refusals to democratize, and here I send out a shout-out of support to the pro-democracy movement in Algeria today, Barakat. Nor should anything I say be taken as a justification of violations of human rights, like the mass death sentences handed out in Egypt earlier this week. But what I am saying is that we must challenge these Muslim fundamentalist movements because they threaten human rights across Muslim-majority contexts, and they do this in a range of ways, most obviously with the direct attacks on civilians by the armed groups that carry those out. But that violence is just the tip of the iceberg. These movements as a whole purvey discrimination against religious minorities and sexual minorities. They seek to curtail the freedom of religion of everyone who either practices in a different way or chooses not to practice. And most definingly, they lead an all-out war on the rights of women.

Now, faced with these movements in recent years, Western discourse has most often offered two flawed responses. The first that one sometimes finds on the right suggests that most Muslims are fundamentalist or something about Islam is inherently fundamentalist, and this is just offensive and wrong, but unfortunately on the left one sometimes encounters a discourse that is too politically correct to acknowledge the problem of Muslim fundamentalism at all or, even worse, apologizes for it, and this is unacceptable as well. So what I'm seeking is a new way of talking about this all together, which is grounded in the lived experiences and the hope of the people on the front lines. I'm painfully aware that there has been an increase in discrimination against Muslims in recent years in countries like the U.K. and the U.S., and that too is a matter of grave concern, but I firmly believe that telling these counter-stereotypical stories of people of Muslim heritage who have confronted the fundamentalists and been their primary victims is also a great way of countering that discrimination. So now let me introduce you to four people whose stories I had the great honor of telling.

Faizan Peerzada and the Rafi Peer Theatre workshop named for his father have for years promoted the performing arts in Pakistan. With the rise of jihadist violence, they began to receive threats to call off their events, which they refused to heed. And so a bomber struck their 2008 eighth world performing arts festival in Lahore, producing rain of glass that fell into the venue injuring nine people, and later that same night, the Peerzadas made a very difficult decision: they announced that their festival would continue as planned the next day. As Faizan said at the time, if we bow down to the Islamists, we'll just be sitting in a dark corner. But they didn't know what would happen. Would anyone come? In fact, thousands of people came out the next day to support the performing arts in Lahore, and this simultaneously thrilled and terrified Faizan, and he ran up to a woman who had come in with her two small children, and he said, "You do know there was a bomb here yesterday, and you do know there's a threat here today." And she said, "I know that, but I came to your festival with my mother when I was their age, and I still have those images in my mind. We have to be here." With stalwart audiences like this, the Peerzadas were able to conclude their festival on schedule.

And then the next year, they lost all of their sponsors due to the security risk. So when I met them in 2010, they were in the middle of the first subsequent event that they were able to have in the same venue, and this was the ninth youth performing arts festival held in Lahore in a year when that city had already experienced 44 terror attacks. This was a time when the Pakistani Taliban had commenced their systematic targeting of girls' schools that would culminate in the attack on Malala Yousafzai. What did the Peerzadas do in that environment? They staged girls' school theater. So I had the privilege of watching "Naang Wal," which was a musical in the Punjabi language, and the girls of Lahore Grammar School played all the parts. They sang and danced, they played the mice and the water buffalo, and I held my breath, wondering, would we get to the end of this amazing show? And when we did, the whole audience collectively exhaled, and a few people actually wept, and then they filled the auditorium with the peaceful boom of their applause. And I remember thinking in that moment that the bombers made headlines here two years before but this night and these people are as important a story.

Maria Bashir is the first and only woman chief prosecutor in Afghanistan. She's been in the post since 2008 and actually opened an office to investigate cases of violence against women, which she says is the most important area in her mandate. When I meet her in her office in Herat, she enters surrounded by four large men with four huge guns. In fact, she now has 23 bodyguards, because she has weathered bomb attacks that nearly killed her kids, and it took the leg off of one of her guards.

Why does she continue? She says with a smile that that is the question that everyone asks—as she puts it, "Why you risk not living?" And it is simply that for her, a better future for all the Maria Bashirs to come is worth the risk, and she knows that if people like her do not take the risk, there will be no better future. Later on in our interview, Prosecutor Bashir tells me how worried she is about the possible outcome of government negotiations with the Taliban, the people who have been trying to kill her. "If we give them a place in the government," she asks, "Who will protect women's rights?" And she urges the international community not to forget its promise about women because now they want peace with Taliban. A few weeks after I leave Afghanistan, I see a headline on the Internet. An Afghan prosecutor has been assassinated. I google desperately, and thankfully that day I find out that Maria was not the victim, though sadly, another Afghan prosecutor was gunned down on his way to work. And when I hear headlines like that now, I think that as international troops leave Afghanistan this year and beyond, we must continue to care about what happens to people there, to all of the Maria Bashirs. Sometimes I still hear her voice in my head saying, with no bravado whatsoever, "The situation of the women of Afghanistan will be better someday. We should prepare the ground for this, even if we are killed."

There are no words adequate to denounce the al Shabaab terrorists who attacked the Westgate Mall in Nairobi on the same day as a children's cooking competition in September of 2013. They killed 67, including poets and pregnant women. Far away in the American Midwest, I had the good fortune of meeting Somali-Americans who were working to counter the efforts of al Shabaab to recruit a small number of young people from their city of Minneapolis to take part in atrocities like Westgate. Abdirizak Bihi's studious 17-year-old nephew Burhan Hassan was recruited here in 2008, spirited to Somalia, and then killed when he tried to come home. Since that time, Mr. Bihi, who directs the no-budget Somali Education and Advocacy Center, has been vocally denouncing the recruitment and the failures of government and Somali-American institutions like the Abubakar As-Saddique Islamic Center where he believes his nephew was radicalized during a youth program. But he doesn't just criticize the mosque. He also takes on the government for its failure to do more to prevent poverty in his community. Given his own lack of financial resources, Mr. Bihi has had to be creative. To counter the efforts of al Shabaab to sway more disaffected youth, in the wake of the group's 2010 attack on World Cup viewers in Uganda, he organized a Ramadan basketball tournament in Minneapolis in response. Scores of Somali-American kids came out to embrace sport despite the fatwa against it. They played basketball as Burhan Hassan never would again. For his efforts, Mr. Bihi has been ostracized by the leadership of the Abubakar As-Saddique Islamic Center, with which he used to have good relations. He told me, "One day we saw the imam on TV calling us infidels and saying, 'These families are trying to destroy the mosque.'" This is at complete odds with how Abdirizak Bihi understands what he is trying to do by exposing al Shabaab recruitment, which is to save the religion I love from a small number of extremists.

Now I want to tell one last story, that of a 22-year-old law student in Algeria named Amel Zenoune-Zouani who had the same dreams of a legal career that I did back in the '90s. She refused to give up her studies, despite the fact that the fundamentalists battling the Algerian state back then threatened all who continued their education. On January 26, 1997, Amel boarded the bus in Algiers where she was studying to go home and spend a Ramadan evening with her family, and would never finish law school. When the bus reached the outskirts of her hometown, it was stopped at a checkpoint manned by men from the Armed Islamic Group. Carrying her schoolbag, Amel was taken off the bus and killed in the street. The men who cut her throat then told everyone else, "If you go to university, the day will come when we will kill all of you just like this."

Amel died at exactly 5:17 p.m., which we know because when she fell in the street, her watch broke. Her mother showed me the watch with the second hand still aimed optimistically upward towards a 5:18 that would never come. Shortly before her death, Amel had said to her mother of herself and her sisters, "Nothing will happen to us, Inshallah, God willing, but if something happens, you must know that we are dead for knowledge. You and father must keep your heads held high."

The loss of such a young woman is unfathomable, and so as I did my research I found myself searching for Amel's hope again and her name even means "hope" in Arabic. I think I found it in two places. The first is in the strength of her family and all the other families to continue telling their stories and to go on with their lives despite the terrorism. In fact, Amel's sister Lamia overcame her grief, went to law school, and practices as a lawyer in Algiers today, something which is only possible because the armed fundamentalists were largely defeated in the country. And the second place I found Amel's hope was everywhere that women and men continue to defy the jihadis. We must support all of those in honor of Amel who continue this human rights struggle today, like the Network of Women Living Under Muslim Laws. It is not enough, as the victims rights advocate Cherifa Kheddar told me in Algiers, it is not enough just to battle terrorism. We must also challenge fundamentalism, because fundamentalism is the ideology that makes the bed of this terrorism.

Why is it that people like her, like all of them are not more well known? Why is it that everyone knows who Osama bin Laden was and so few know of all of those standing up to the bin Ladens in their own contexts. We must change that, and so I ask you to please help share these stories through your networks. Look again at Amel Zenoune's watch, forever frozen, and now please look at your own watch and decide this is the moment that you commit to supporting people like Amel. We don't have the right to be silent about them because it is easier or because Western policy is flawed as well, because 5:17 is still coming to too many Amel Zenounes in places like northern Nigeria, where jihadis still kill students. The time to speak up in support of all of those who peacefully challenge fundamentalism and terrorism in their own communities is now.

Thank you.

播放本句

登入使用學習功能

使用Email登入

HOPE English 播放器使用小提示

  • 功能簡介

    單句重覆、上一句、下一句:顧名思義,以句子為單位重覆播放,單句重覆鍵顯示橘色時為重覆播放狀態;顯示灰色時為正常播放狀態。按上一句鍵、下一句鍵時就會自動重覆播放該句。
    收錄佳句:點擊可增減想收藏的句子。

    中、英文字幕開關:中、英文字幕按鍵為綠色為開啟,灰色為關閉。鼓勵大家搞懂每一句的內容以後,關上字幕聽聽看,會發現自己好像在聽中文說故事一樣,會很有成就感喔!
    收錄單字:用滑鼠框選英文單字可以收藏不會的單字。
  • 分享
    如果您覺得本篇短片很有趣或很喜歡,在短片結束時有分享連結,可以分享給朋友一同欣賞,一起看YouTube學英文!

    或是您有收錄很優秀的句子時,也可以分享佳句給大家,一同看佳句學英文!