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Condemned Afghan Journalist Wins Right to Appeal Death Sentence
A young Afghan journalist, sentenced to death in January for spreading feminist criticism of Islam, has been granted an appeal, according to one of the international organizations monitoring his… More
Larry Siems: Ken Saro-Wiwa: The High Price of Dissent
Larry Siems is a poet and director of the Freedom to Write and International Programs at PEN American Center.In the spring of 1995, Ken Wiwa stood in for his… More
Africa and the World
I’ve been asked very loosely to think about the relationship of African writers and Africa at large to American writing. An enormous topic, of course, but I’ll offer a… More
Q & A with Larry Siems, Director, Freedom to Write and International Programs
In 1921, two years after the First World War, British writers (C. A. Dawson Scott and John Galsworthy) founded the first PEN (poets, playwrights, essayists, editors, and novelists) center… More
Promoting democracy while suppressing ideas
This spring, the U.S. State Department sent a message to the Association of American Publishers announcing new procedures for expediting business visas for U.S. companies' foreign employees, customers and… More
Our Town Downtown: Q & A with Larry Siems, Director of Freedom to Write and International Programs
Our Town Downtown, May 28, 2007—In 1921, two years after the First World War, British writers (C. A. Dawson Scott and John Galsworthy) founded the first PEN (poets, playwrights,… More
Suite Française
1Hot, thought the Parisians. The warm air of spring. It was night, they were at war and there was an air raid. But dawn was near and the war… More
House of War
The Building looms over the Potomac across sixty years of war and peace, through six decades of memory. A forbidden temple even now, when I am older—imagine how the… More
Feeling(s) Cheated
From 1995 to 2005 I was on Paxil, a medication that, ostensibly, was to help me in the areas of depression and obsessive compulsive thinking. As I look back… More
The Seventh Sense
A death cloud hovered over the prison. My Seventh Sense was still dormant. Chico walked around the yard against the flow of traffic—the first omen of doom, and I… More