Free Austin Tice Now!

Austin Tice, 2012. Photo via CNN.com

August 13, 2015, marks the third year that my fearless reporter friend and fellow Texan, Austin Tice, has been held captive in Syria – by whom and where, no one but his captors and a select few know. It was also the last day we chatted briefly and privately on Twitter®. Two days earlier he'd celebrated his 31st birthday with some of the Free Syrian Army (FSA) guys who were his embed hosts. He hit the road later on the 13th, eager to take a much-needed break in a safe place, far from the intense situation brewing with Syria's civil war.

I could sense in Austin's Twitter® feed and in his stories that things were starting to unravel in that late summer of 2012. Austin's last article, in a shared byline with McClatchy News' Hannah Allam, lay witness to the calamity taking hold of Syrian's civil war. It confused me enough to ask him on Twitter® to clarify just who, now, were "the good guys"? It was the beginning of the Islamic State's (IS) hostile takeover of the FSA's fight against Syrian President Bashar Al-Assad. His tweets a week before his disappearance were a foreshadowing of what was to come.



Oddly, you don't hear much news about Austin, almost as if he didn't exist. There's a strange refusal to utter his name. There's not a lot of hubbub about him or Syria's civil war, except for now on the eve of his third year of in captivity. On the one hand, maybe it's better that way. Why put a spotlight on his plight, enticing the IS and their thirst for their dastardly PR campaigns? Sadly, the other side of that coin is the ex-marine's seeming anonymity.

People started talking again when a video of Austin appeared on youtube on September 26, 2012. In the video, a blindfolded Austin is forced by unknown captors to recite a prayer to Allah. It was heart-wrenching to watch and to hear his distressed "Oh, Jesus! Oh, Jesus!" between the recited Arabic prayer, but it was proof that he was still alive after no word for more than a month. The intel community was able to determine that his captors were dressed in Afghan chapans, not typical Syrian garb, but offered little less.

Then it got quiet again until the IS' high-definition videotaped brutal execution of captured journalist, James Foley, on August 19, 2014 – shortly followed by a September 2, 2014, execution of journalist Steven Sotloff. (I did NOT link those videos.) It shook the journalistic community to its core. James' and Austin's parents formed a bond that day.  And his parents work tirelessly to try to change U.S. foreign policy in hostage matters and to implore our government to bring Austin home. One of the most compelling articles to date is a May 2014 Vanity Fair article  written by James Harkin. Harkin's riveting article offers a glimpse of what Austin might be going through in one of Assad's prisons, where it is believed he is being held captive. In February 2015, Reporters Without Borders teamed up with Austin's parents to launch the "Free Austin Tice" blindfold campaign to bring new attention to his plight.

My take on "Free Austin Tice" blindfold pledge. 

A collage of world journalists and supporters who took the "Free Austin Tice" blindfold pledge.

How is it that the young Austin Tice became my cyber friend? Our common bond besides being long, tall Texans, was journalism – in particular, foreign war correspondents and their ballsy reporting from dangerous war zones. I, myself, had set my sights on becoming a foreign correspondent while in journalism school, but life had other plans for me. Besides, I've been told more than once that I was not thick-skinned enough to be a journalist, period. I had difficulty navigating the war zones within small-town gossip and politics of weekly newspaper reporting. Thus, I lived vicariously through other pros reporting in foreign lands.

The closest I came to being a foreign correspondent was playing one as an extra in the pilot "War Stories", which never went to series because its debut coincided with Bush 2's invasion of Iraq. Jeff Goldblum & Lake Bell discuss scenes behind me.

Me with some Uzbeki soldiers and hotel staff. "War Stories" set.

Austin found me on Twitter® through the follow-list of a high-profile, internationally renowned war correspondent veteran and author. He thought I was "somebody" for having the honor of such a prestigious Twitter® follower, but alas, I was only a highly astute Twitter® user, having taken the crash course tweeting the 2009 Iran revolution. On St. Patrick's Day 2012, Austin broke the ice by asking me if I knew our idol. "Not yet!" I told him.

As we privately chatted about journalism, I was tickled that he asked me for advice on his plan to go to Syria and cover the war there. I was surprised because I was out of the loop. It'd been awhile since I'd written for any newspapers. I told him his military experience should serve him well there. He asked which news agencies he should send queries to before leaving. I threw out the Rolling Stone and Time magazine. Then, finally, I told him something along the lines of, "Heck! If you've got the means and can go, then GO! You'd be the only one over there so news agencies will be vying to buy your stories!"

On May 20, 2012, Austin emailed me asking if I would mind "taking a look" at his first story that he was trying to get published. The eagle-eyed editor in me jumped at the chance, and to be honest, I didn't expect much. But, man, was I wrong! I was blown away by the poetic flow of his story from within a war zone! Not only was his story just about perfect as it was written (which is rare in journalism, trust me), but it was a compelling read chock full of imagery the world had yet to open their eyes to. I've edited many a story and very rarely have I come across the natural gift of word that Austin possesses. His dispatches were quickly picked up by Al Jazeera, McClatchy, The Washington Post and CBS, who, like I, saw his inherent talent as a writer.  I know that when he finally does come home, he'll emerge with a Pulitzer prizewinning book that only he will be able to write.

I think of Austin often. My heart aches for him and his parents and his family. I don't know how they get by day to day with so many of them ticking by. So many missed birthdays and holidays. So many seasons and celebrations. So many awards given in absentia for his Syrian stories. I wrote this today with the hope that all who read this keep Austin and his family in their thoughts and pray for his safe return. The world will benefit more with Austin here, at home, telling his stories and sharing his passions and talents. And I truly miss our funny chats.

Austin Tice links:

Austin's Twitter: @Austin_Tice

Austin's Flickr: A.B. Tice photos

Tice Family website

Reporters Without Borders "Free Austin Tice" website

Sign the petition to bring Austin home

Follow @freeaustintice  for the latest, up-to-date information on Austin.

The Badlands: Life Imitates Internet

In this age of TMI, with so many ways to over-share our personal business in the fishbowl of the cyber-world, you'd think we'd have bridged the gap between our differences and in real life transformed into kinder and more cohesive life forms. But au contraire, mon ami. Methinks the divide has grown wider, with everyone grouping off into big cyber-cliques divided by race, sex, creed, proximity, disease and political persuasion. Strangely, we're quite cohesive in our disconnect.

We are the Selfie Stick nation. (Screen grab from Samsung commercial.)

One cannot begin to fathom the depth of the myriad subcultures that exist in cyberspace. The cliques range from those addicted to extreme couponing, to those searching for Big Foot or the Chupacabra. Then there is the seedy and dark side of cyberspace, where any or all of the 7 Deadly Sins are amply represented for the cruel and/or sexually depraved. If Asian sex tourism is your thing, you're not alone. If you never miss a chance to have sex doggie style while watching Scooby Doo and shouting, "Rooby Roo! ... Rooby RooOoo! ... Ruh Roh!" you'll probably find find at least another who shares your passion.

There is some positive and useful stuff out there. You can trace your lineage. You can  "visit" the grave site of a loved one who has passed, or start your family's own grave site memoir. You can even look at graves of the dearly departed famous on the site. (Fancy thee William Shakespeare? Or are you earnestly seeking Oscar Wilde?). You can verify almost anything with your geeky friend Google.

Unfortunately, these useful sites share a common problem with the seedy ones – trolls and bullies. Being the lowest of all forms, trolls hide under the blanket of anonymity to permeate every site out there with their cowardly hatred. It's this brazen online bullying that I think has crossed over into the real world.

We are a rude, thoughtless and self-absorbed lot. We kill beautiful, rare and majestic things for "sport".  RIP Cecil The Lion. And where are you Walter J. Palmer? We kill innocent things for no reason. I mean, what was the motivation for killing the harmless and lovable hitchhiking robot, hitchBOT? Seriously?! What gives? Way to rep it for the USA, 'bot bully!

HitchBOT Crime scene photo. He never made it out of "Killadelphia", as one Philly native said.

Customer service in far too many businesses is almost non-existent these days. Many times I feel like I'm interrupting someone's private dinner conversation when I'm checking out at the grocers. Sometimes there's no acknowledgement of the customer at all! When I get treated rudely trying to fulfill a necessity in life, I feel violated and dirty for having given the establishment any money at all.

People in traffic are rude or inconsiderately too preoccupied with texting and/or gabbing that they don't see how they're messing it up for the others around them, or how they endanger us all with their half-assed attention to the task of driving. There are those pants-on-fire jerks who zigzag in and out of lanes, switching back and forth between two lanes like a yo-yo, up this person's tail and up that person's tail. Their raison d'etré is to arrive at their destination one car sooner.

And then there is the equivalent to impatient road trolls and that is grocery line trolls. These are the impatient whiners who work passively-aggressively behind you to let their presence with their one item be known. I am keen to the signs and ignore them – the loud placement of their one item on the conveyor and their over-dramatic sighing, clearing throat and coughing spells. It is the quiet folk with one item that I let go ahead of me, those ones who don't feel entitled to cut in front of me.

Early one Sunday morning a few weeks ago I had an encounter with a impatient misogynistic jerk in the grocery line. There were only two lanes open as I got in line behind a man whose cart was loaded down while he waited for the woman ahead of him with the same. None of us qualified for the other lane that was open – the "15 items or less" lane. The elderly woman who came up behind me made a beeline for the 15-item line at the same time a man with a cane and a 12-pack of Blue Moon beer. A few people with only a few items went for the lane, which the cashier all-of-a-sudden closed.

My items were almost loaded onto the conveyor belt as I watched the mean cane man cut the elderly woman off with his stick as they both made their way back to my line. He said to the woman, "Uh, no. I was actually in line here first." A liar on top of it! No, he was not! Any man who cuts off an elder woman for any reason is not worthy of my acknowledgement. But, oh, how he tried to get my attention with the opening act of the passive-aggressive hem and haw and slapping down his 12-pack a few times for good measure. The moment my head was turned slightly in his direction to reach into my cart for the last items in the basket, he said, "Hey. Do you think I can cut in front of you? I've only got this."

"Ummm. No, you can't," I said, "I've been standing here for awhile and I have to go pee!"

I lied. I did have to pee but it wasn't that urgent of an issue at that moment. What he did to the woman and his whole aggressive demeanor was unacceptable to me. I may have been the first woman to tell him "no" because he mumbled curses, trying to get the people in line behind him to nod in agreement and form a small, temporary grocery line lynch mob. Then he spoke at me.

"Well, my dog thanks you."

*Screech!* OK, first of all, it was early morning and cooler than usual. Secondly, how dare that man's sense of entitlement, thinking the seas would part because he was thoughtless enough to drag his dog along?

"Well, and my bladder thanks you!" I replied. I could feel the man's seething hate vibe fry my backside. I imagined, given the right circumstances, he wouldn't have hesitated to deck me one.

It's gettin' hot in here...

As I loaded my groceries into my car, still in a kerfuffle about the whole encounter, a voice out of a passing mini SUV said, "I hope you piss yourself!"

What?! I was in such shock that I threw back choice words I never utter loudly in public: "Fuck you!" I threw in one of those Italian "up yours" hand gestures for good measure.

Yeah, I know, not very zen of me. I'm pretty much a conflict-avoiding peacenik but rudeness and bullying set me off! As a highly sensitive person, I was the victim of bullies from the fourth grade on through high school. It didn't stop there. Ten years later, I was bullied in college, though it didn't affect me much then because I was kicking butt winning prestigious scholarship after scholarship and receiving written and verbal accolades from the college higher ups. Professors loved me. I sat in the front in class, asked questions and participated in my higher education.

Then there were the battlefields of brutal workplaces. Even within the ranks of the professional, I was bullied. It affected my health and well-being. I'm not the only one who's been at the receiving end of workplace bullying. There are articles in popular business magazine addressing the issue like this one by Adam Piore for Bloomberg, "Taming The Workplace Bully. And there are entire websites based on books addressing the issue, like Tim Field's "Bully In Sight. 

I collected my composure as I burned the image of the mean man's mini SUV into my brain. As I drove home I thought of gentler responses I could've thrown at mean man that would cut a little deeper, like, "Your dog thinks you're an asshole!"