She was born in Iran and built her life in Afghanistan a woman's rights activist with a voice that frightened the men around her. So her ex-husband threw acid on her face. In the hospital, after the surgeries, she sat with her head shaved doctors had taken skin from her scalp to rebuild her face. She was still bandaged, still bleeding, still healing. But her son was not by her side. He was living with his father. And his father set the condition: if you want to talk to your son, you will do it on a video call so I can see what you've become. She accepted. She needed to hear her child's voice. On that call, her ex-husband looked at her destroyed face and smiled. He said: "Look at you. You've become like a monster. You'll never dare go out in public again people will be terrified when they see you. I dare you. I dare you to go out and talk about women's rights." He thought he had broken her. He thought that face was the end of her. He was wrong. Every scar on her face became a sentence in her speech. They took her beauty so she took his fear and turned it into courage. Today she walks in public with her head high, and she speaks about women's rights louder than ever. He wanted to bury her in shame. Instead, he gave the world a witness. That is why I invited her to our Freedom gala in Poland to dedicate to her the Medal of Freedom I received. Because she is the symbol of resilience itself: the symbol of every woman whose face was burned but whose voice could not be silenced. Thank you, Poland for opening your doors, for giving visas to my delegation of women from Iran, Afghanistan, and Cameroon. We are about to start a global women's rights movement and we will go together, all of us, to the German Parliament very soon. This time, I invited 10 women. In Berlin, we will invite more dissidents. @FahimaSarfaraz