As the Senate caved in to President Bush and passed the FISA Amendments Act of 2008 (FAA), there were many debates on both sides of the issue. Some people argued that this law compromises our Constitution and civil liberties, while others believed the Democrats were right in passing it because it's the best available option. Others observed that, yet again, members of Congress — especially Democrats — don't want to be seen as "soft on terror" right before the elections.

I, too, followed these discussions and thought about how to write an analytical — and detached — blog post about this huge threat to our Constitution and civil liberties. Instead, I have decided to make it more personal because the FAA is not an abstract bill. It affects the lives of thousands of law-abiding people in the United States who are Muslim, Arab, or South Asian with no connections to terrorism but who are being illegally spied on. As the bill was passed, Senator Christopher S. Bond (R-MO), who was a lead negotiator, said there is nothing to fear "unless you have Al Qaeda on your speed dial."

Well Mr. Bond, I disagree. I am afraid. I am very afraid that my every move or word, spoken and written, is being evaluated based on preconceived, homogeneous notions of what Muslims look like or think or how they dress or behave. As I log onto Facebook, I screen myself and am more cautious about the stories I post or how I express my ideas and thoughts. When I see pictures of my brother posted online with him in traditional Arab attire, I am afraid that he will be unduly screened by authorities, his name will appear on a watch list, and he will be harassed the next time he travels. When my male family members and friends travel, I am relieved when I find out that they passed through security without being harassed or detained.

These are real fears and issues. These are not the reasons I proclaim myself to be a proud U.S. citizen. I am proud because the U.S. Constitution and the Bill of Rights guarantee my freedom of expression and protection against spying and the right to privacy. Unfortunately, the passage of this bill and the apathy of much of the American public towards this issue have robbed me of that pride. Instead, it has been replaced by fear, tinged with a slight hope that through the work of UUSC's Civil Liberties Program and other organizations, those rights will be restored — for everyone.

The following blog post was written by Camilo Mejia, of Miami, Fla., while participating in UUSC's annual Freedom Summer: Civil Rights Journey.

Day 3 of the Civil Rights Journey started at 7 a.m. with a traditional southern breakfast at the Capitol Inn's café. By 8 a.m. we were well on our way to Selma, Ala., where our day would begin with a visit to The National Voting Rights Museum and Institute.

The 45-minute bus ride to Selma wasn't long enough to finish the Eyes on the Prize episode on the Civil Rights Movement battle against segregation in the lunch counters and downtown stores of Nashville, Tenn. Still, it was a great introduction to a day that would take us down the path of resistance to segregation in two historical marches: Bloody Sunday and Selma to Montgomery.

Sam Walker, our guide at the Voting Rights Museum and Institute, gave us a lively presentation about the main events, such as the killing of Jimmie Lee Jackson and the shutting down of registration centers in order to prevent African American citizens from voting, which launched the two historic marches. We then learned how the marches were organized and carried out, initially viewed as setbacks by some, but then leading to two crucial victories in the movement: a federal judge's decision to uphold the protesters' right to march and force the government to provide protection for the marchers.

Our second stop was the most powerful of the day. It seemed a bit odd, as I got out of the bus at The Slavery and Civil War Museum, that one of the guides told me to "get over there with the men, against the wall!" At first I didn't make much of it, but then she told us (men and women) to bow our heads and to avoid making eye contact with her. What followed was an incredibly intense interactive reenactment of the treatment of African slaves, from their capture in Africa all the way to slave markets in the United States.

"Can you imagine..." asked the guide in a dark and scary chamber that resembled the belly of a slave ship, "... being taken away from your family; never again seeing your wives; never again seeing your husbands, your children, your home, only because of the color of your skin?" "Can you imagine..." she continued, "... being chained to a person who's dying or dead? Can you imagine one of your friends being cut up in pieces and then fed to you, only because of the color of your skin?"

The tour continued through more rooms, each challenging us more and more not only to absorb the history in an abstract way, but also to physically put ourselves into situations that made us feel just a tiny bit closer to the horrible realities that were the lives of slaves.

More traditional southern food and stops at historical sites in Selma followed our visit, but that visit and the intense realism of it was by far the greatest lesson of day three of this amazing journey. If all people were able to visit The Slavery Museum and get but a small taste of the inherent cruelty, violence, and brutality behind racism and its byproducts (slavery, lynching, segregation, etc.), I think the struggle for equality would be much easier to win. If only we could educate people; if we used history to learn from our mistakes instead of perpetuating them by ignoring it, I think the world would be a much better place.

Can you imagine?

The words, "Thank you, Hurricane Volunteers - You alone have made a difference," painstakingly formed out of blue duct tape, are frequently emblazoned on the back of the KatrinaRitaVille Express, a FEMA trailer, which was parked in front of the Fort Lauderdale Convention Center during GA.

Like other GA attendees, I took the opportunity to step inside the FEMA trailer to see what life is like for families who have had to live in the trailers since hurricanes Katrina and Rita devastated the Gulf Coast almost three years ago. The trailer is so small that you have to step outside to change your mind. "How on earth could a family of six live in one of these things?" I wondered.

The FEMA trailer, and a sister trailer, were purchased by several Gulf Coast organizations for a FEMA trailer road show around the United States to raise awareness of the continuing crisis in the region and the lack of coherent government action to rebuild to meet the needs of poor and minority residents, who are still without housing or adequate government assistance.

Despite the obstacles, Gulf Coast survivors have mounted an extraordinary effort to rebuild their homes and their lives. It is both profoundly moving and depressing that the only real support and solidarity that they are getting is coming from volunteers, not from our government. Volunteer work is important, but not sufficient: it should be complemented by the type of large-scale problem-solving and resources that only government can provide.

UUs, of course, represent a considerable number of Gulf Coast volunteers who have come to the region since the 2005 hurricanes. Over 2,000 people have participated in the UUA-UUSC Gulf Coast Volunteer Program to date. At GA, the UUA and UUSC officially transferred the stewardship of the joint UUA-UUSC volunteer program to a coalition of New Orleans UU churches known as the Greater New Orleans Unitarian Universalists (GNOUU). It will now be stewarded by the coalition's New Orleans Rebirth Volunteer Center.

I was both happy and sad when UUA and UUSC staff handed GNOUU a check for $125,000 to help launch the new volunteer center. Happy, because the coalition has done an extraordinary job of getting ready to take on the responsibility of managing the volunteer program and because it belongs in their hands. Sad, because I've been proud of UUSC's direct connection to this life-changing experience for so many UUs.

However, the UUA and UUSC's commitment to the Gulf Coast, and to the volunteer program itself, has definitely not ended. GNOUU and the Rebirth Center will continue to need time, money, and support from UUs and others. In addition to volunteering our hands and hearts, we must continue to contribute our advocacy efforts to ensure a just recovery for the people of the Gulf Coast.

as a therapist and acting team leader in Providence, R.I., with the VA's Readjustment Counseling Program (or Vet Centers), the Washington Post's May 16, 2008, story "Official Urged Fewer Diagnoses of PTSD" sounded familiar.

Watching another generation of soldiers and veterans face a repeat of history with the Iraq war, I am outraged and feeling a sense of déjà vu. Unfortunately, this war is costing veterans the ability to truly "come home."

In 1979, the year the American Psychological Association made post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) the official diagnosis for victims of war trauma, Congress finally authorized the comprehensive Vietnam Veterans Readjustment Assistance Act, which created Vet Centers, and I was hired by the VA. Throughout my VA service, I encountered attitudes that ran from indifference to open hostility towards veterans with PTSD. Other VA officials said virtually the same type of things as Norma Perez — psychologist and PTSD program team leader at the Department of Veterans Affairs' Olin E. Teague Veterans Center in Temple, Tex. — is quoted as saying in the Washington Post: "Don't tell vets they have PTSD because they'll want compensation" and words to that effect.

From the very beginning of the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, I was one of many who cautioned, warned, and implored government officials at the Department of Defense (DOD), Department of Veteran Affairs (DVA), and Congress to increase the VA system's capacity for a substantial influx of returning soldiers with PTSD. In 2003 -2004, I attended DOD and VA briefings to voice concerns over a lack of resources and preparedness. Sadly, those warnings were ignored.

The problem is bigger than Perez or "repudiation [of PTSD as an issue] at the highest levels of DVA." Until government officials and the American people understand and accept that veterans' health care is a cost of war, their refusal to take PTSD seriously will amount to déjà vu - all over again.

This year at GA, UUSC was able to bring together exciting panelists to talk about who pays the price of the Iraq war, how families in Iraq and the United States have been devastated by the war, and how many veterans are speaking out.

Our speakers included Dahlia Wasfi, an Iraqi American who has traveled to Iraq twice since the 2003 invasion; Nancy Lessin, co-founder of Military Families Speak Out; Lindsay Burnett, who helped found Appeal for Redress; Camilo Mejía, of Iraq Veterans Against the War; and Andy Shallal, an Iraqi American who has helped found several peace groups and owns Busboys and Poets, in Washington, D.C.

The diversity of the speakers highlights the Civil Liberties Program's attempt to bring diverse groups together to work collectively to end the occupation. It also shows UUSC's commitment to freedom of speech and social justice by building coalitions.

Over the past few weeks, I was so busy planning GA events that I lost sight of how painful the content can be. Wasfi spoke eloquently of the pain and suffering of her family in Iraq, sharing disturbing pictures of not only what the current war has done to the country but of the huge role that the United States played in destroying vital infrastructure through economic sanctions in the 1990s.

Lessin shared painful stories of how military families feel betrayed by the government and how many lives of military families had been shattered by this war, even when a soldier survives to return home. Many of the veterans suffer from post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) and struggle to get vital care. Suicide rates have skyrocketed. One poignant story she shared was of a woman who walked into her house only to find her three-year-old daughter beside the dead body of her father who had shot himself in the head. After that, she and her two daughters had to live in the basement because her kids were afraid that "Daddy's ghost" was in the house. They did not have enough money to pay for funeral expenses.

Mejía talked about how some of the things he was asked to do in Iraq disturbed him and how, when he returned to the United States, he could not convince himself to go back and applied for conscientious-objector status, only to be denied and sent to jail for nine months for desertion.

Burnett talked about the increase in substance abuse, violence, and suicide among soldiers due to the lack of resources for mental health care. On average, just one psychologist is assigned to 4,000 troops. Service personnel are allowed 30 minutes of therapy for a maximum of 4 sessions. Burnett also talked about how difficult it was for her and others to get medical care when they returned from Iraq. She emphasized that the military was built on the "backs of the poor" because so many who are in the service come from low-income households and joined just to survive.

Shallal spoke movingly about his family in Iraq and how they are suffering without adequate electricity and water in intensely hot weather — and how they lack security. He talked about how the U.S. military were not welcomed at all and how angry Iraqis feel about what this war has done to them.

So, who has paid the price of this war? The answer is all of us. It is clear that the ending this occupation is vital to begin the healing on both sides. During this important election year, we can work hard to make sure our voices are loud and clear. However, the presidential elections are not a panacea to all problems. Our work really begins when a new president has been elected.

Van Jones, founder and president of Green For All, based in Oakland, Calif., who delivered the UUA's Ware Lecture last night, bluntly said that the hard work of the last eight years was just flexing muscles for the real workout ahead. He said that the social-justice movement has become very successful in protesting and working against a powerful and irresponsible government. However, it is important to prove to those who have become disillusioned that people with progressive values, in government and in society, are prepared to govern and know what it takes to get this country back on track.

Having been a part of UUSC only since May 5, I am completely new to the UU world — so I was really excited to be apart of GA this year and learn more about our constituents. What really amazed me when I met a few of the older UUs is how long they have been involved in social-justice issues and how dedicated they remain, at a time when they could simply retire and enjoy life.

It made me question youth of my generation, and those even younger, who sometimes don't seem to care or are apathetic about building movements to change the world. Yes, Obama has been able to build a huge youth base, but when I met some of these older UUs, I realized how many of us lack a historic context that would allow us to evaluate our successes and failures as social-justice advocates. Many of those who lived through the U.S. Civil Rights Movement and worked to end the Vietnam War realize how long it took and how little ripples, over time, created waves of change. For young people who lack that context, it can be very frustrating to work on issues and see no immediate, concrete successes.

I think it is important to realize that change takes time and that all that we do is valuable. We should not discount small successes. I felt inspired by meeting some of our older UUs and am grateful for all the work they have done in the past and continue to do.

Camilo Mejía worked tirelessly on behalf of UUSC this past week. Over the course of this year's General Assembly in Ft. Lauderdale, Fla., he presented at four workshops, an activist training, and two youth events — and still had time and energy to sign books at the UUSC booth.

Numerous UUSC staff have remarked that his contributions are always thoughtful and responses to questions gentle yet powerful — I couldn't agree more. For example, when asked if the withdrawal of troops from Iraq would produce chaos, Camilo's simple and direct response: "There already is chaos there." He followed up that assertion by likening the occupation and withdrawal of Iraq to a common occurrence: a house raid. "We invade your house, tie up the women and children, take the men. We shoot them. We break things. We destroy the home. And then instead of leaving, we say, we are going to stay in your home indefinitely because if we leave there will be chaos."

This reasoned, leading approach, as if he is extending a hand and inviting you to follow him, was particularly pronounced in Camilo's candor with the youth groups he interacted with throughout the week. Sitting among a group of high school-aged students on Saturday, he talked about military recruitment. Camilo spoke of his experience of "just happening to be home" when the recruiter called — a time when he was looking for friends and a community to belong to in the States.

Now, years later, he has the experience to explain what signing an enlistment agreement really means. He did not discuss "stop-loss" in a hysterical, fear-inducing tone; instead, he presented this counter-recruitment discussion in a calm, peaceful one, meant to give young people an accurate depiction of the devil's bargain that is offered to them.

At Saturday afternoon's program "Join Patriots and Veterans in Saying No to the War in Iraq," Camilo poignantly framed his internal struggle, which continues to inform his outward struggle. It's his grappling with these forces that makes him such a great activist. "We were trying to reconcile the people who we were with the people who we are after the war." His efforts to deal with the moral questions that came with participating in war "came with a lot of guilt, a lot of confusion, of fear, and of pain."

He acknowledges that veterans groups such as Iraq Veterans Against the War are the ones at the forefront of the resistance — protesting this unjust war and working hard with communities, faith-based groups, and NGOs, like UUSC, for change. Each time I heard him speak, I felt proud and privileged to be a part of an organization that partners with such courageous, outspoken people like Camilo. If you haven't heard him speak firsthand, I encourage you contact UUSC and arrange to invite him to your congregation or other community gathering to witness his courage — and to join hands with him.