I want to share with you an excerpt from the children's storybook, the Velveteen Rabbit by Margery Williams. In this excerpt, the Rabbit asks the Skin Horse what it takes to be Real.

"What is REAL?" asked the Rabbit one day, when they were lying side by side near the nursery fenderDoes it mean having things that buzz inside you and a stick-out handle?"

"Real isn't how you are made," said the Skin Horse. "It's a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become REAL."

"Does it hurt?" asked the Rabbit.

"Sometimes," said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. "When you are real you don't mind being hurt."

"Does it happen all at once, like being wound up," he asked, "or bit by bit?'"

"It does happen all at once," said the Skin Horse. "You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't often happen to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand."

Yesterday, when I was listening to the group and to what each one of you were sharing, I felt overwhelmed like a small fish in a big pond of distinguished and experienced human rights defenders. For a moment, I tried thinking of what story of me to tell and how to share it with all of you.

Story not my own

After much thought, I later realized that my story is not my own. It is the story of so many people that I have met from day to day and who have been part of my life and who have touched my life. To tell of my story is to tell of their stories.

It is the story of a 60 year-old farmer who, together with his family, evacuated recently from their inner villages where battle is ongoing out into the evacuation centers in the town proper. After weeks of continued fighting, they remained in the centers living in makeshift tents and relying solely on food supplies given them by relief organizations and local government. For a farmer who has previously been able to provide for his family through earnings from his crops or the crops themselves, it was hard for him to see his family suffer and starve. He couldn't even harvest his crops because his cornfield was now a battlefield. One day, despite the risks, he decided to come back to his land and try to harvest some corn to augment his family's supply of food. When he left, it was the last time that we would see him. He did not return that day and we found his dead body the day after in a shallow grave, a gunshot wound through his abdomen and hacking injuries to his arms and back.

It is the story of a 16-year old boy who was an evacuee living in a remote evacuation center along the river. He was referred to me because of an injury that has not been seen and taken cared of by a health worker because of their being far from the nearest medical facility. After a 45-minute boat ride along the river and a 30-minute walk to his house, I met this boy lying down with his left lower extremities on makeshift splints made of the bark of a banana tree.

When I saw this, I thought that I was dealing with a simple case of a leg fracture. But as I came down and came closer, I realized that this was no ordinary fracture. Five days earlier, this boy went out with his small boat into the river to fish. He wanted to find food for his family because for the last 13 days, they have not received any rations from local government or any relief organization and they were starving. He promised his mother that he wouldn't go far and that he will come back as soon as he is able to catch some fish. But he couldn't catch any. He didn't want to go home without anything. He and his family were starving.

He went further up river determined that he will not come home empty handed. He didn't realize that he was already into the inner village that was still not secure for civilians. He would be painfully reminded of this when he hears a volley of gunfire going to his direction and when a bullet hit him just above the left knee area. He hurriedly rowed his boat with all the strength left and made his way home. He was hit by a 50-caliber machine gun that tore through his flesh and fractured his bone. When I saw him, he was still all smiles despite the pain and thanked me for attending to him.

War makes me sad

It is the story of the kids that we interact and play with in the communities and in the evacuation centers. During one of our play sessions, we read the kids a storybook entitled, "War Makes Me Sad". The book is written from the point of view of a little girl who was sharing her experience during war: of having to evacuate, of hearing gunfire and bombings and mortar shelling, of people getting killed, of fellow children losing loved ones. While this story is being read, we give the children some materials such as a doll family and wooden toys. We encourage them to help us tell the story by acting out or playing out the roles and characters in the story using the toys. Children find it difficult to share their own sad story, but when it is someone else telling that story, they recognize the similar experience and through the toys they are able to express their own stories. Every kid started to say that the girl in the story was just like them and her experiences much like theirs. They shared the difficulty of having to move away from home, walking for hours just to get to reach the evacuation centers. Some shared the fear they felt when they heard the explosions of bombs and mortar fire or the sound of hovering helicopter gunships and bomber planes.

For others, the grief and sorrow of losing a relative or losing a father or a mother or both. At the end of the story session, one of the kids, together with his father, came up to us and shared this thought. The father said," I have experienced war for so many years now. For the past five years, I have gone through four major armed conflicts. They say that this war is for our benefit. They say that war is the solution and it is only through war that peace and development can be attained. I couldn't help but ask myself, then why are we still poor, why are we still suffering and why are we experiencing war over and over again."

Then his son said," War is not the answer...War is the problem, war is what we should be going against."

These are but a few of the many stories that make up my story and these are but a few of the so many people whose lives have touched mine. My story is not my own. It is the story of these people. My courage and strength is not my own. It is the courage and strength of fathers and mothers who persevere amidst the chaos and confusion of war to provide for their families shelter, protection, sustenance and love. My wisdom is not my own. It is the wisdom of the communities and the people who have given me the opportunity to be part of them and experience how it is to face danger and peril, how it is to struggle and survive and how it is to hope and dream. My spirit is not my own. It is the spirit of the youth who despite facing so much uncertainty and hopelessness still strive to regain control of their lives and chart for themselves a better future. My dream is not my own. My dream is the dream of each and every one of you here today, of each and every one who continues to struggle all over the world, the dream of a better world, a world of peace.

I do not come before you to explain the roots of conflict or terrorism. Neither would I claim to know the solutions. However, if the stories I shared disturb you, I hope that each and every one of us here will seek to understand both the poverty and oppression that is the cause of conflict. Until we understand the violence to the spirit that comes from watching your child die needlessly in evacuation centers, there can be no insight into the desperation that leads a peasant to pick up a rifle and fight. Only with this kind of understanding will we be able to find lasting solutions.

I am no human rights defender or an activist. But, I count it an honor to have been given the chance to work hand in hand, side by side with all these real people, the real human rights defenders.

"I suppose you are Real?" said the Rabbit

"The Boy's uncle made me real," he said. "That was a great many years ago; but once you are Real you can't become unreal again. It lasts for always."

ERNEST RYAN GUEVARRA, 24 is recipient of the Reebok Human Rights Award in 2003. He is a physician and brings health services to people caught in conflict zones and helps innocent victims, particularly children to recover from the trauma. He founded the Medical Students for Social Responsibility. As a medical student, he co-organised the first Asia Pacific Training on Medicine and Human Rights in Manila and a conference in Sarajevo on the medical problems of refugees, landmine victims and the rights of children in conflict zones. He is now a volunteer doctor in Mindanao with the Medical Action Group. In 2003 he responded to the emergency crisis in Mindanao when government forces were routing Muslim rebel groups. Ernest provided emergency care to more than 20,000 refugees.