James W.Douglass
1/19/03 Chicago: Voices in the Wilderness (VitW)
Office
The office is actually an apartment, though no
one is sure whose apartment it is. We think it is Kathy Kelly's. There are few
indications that someone lives there. Most of the space has been taken over by
office equipment, files etc. In the same way, the lives of the people who enter the apartment have
been taken over by the human needs the office strives to address. As a VitW
veteran gives us advice for our journey, we stuff vitamins, OTC medicines and
medical texts into our luggage. These items are on the list of items which are
disallowed into Iraq under the sanctions. As I stuff children's vitamins into my
bags, I fight back the tears which well up when I consider that my government
has made it a crime to give vitamins to malnourished children. I am so extremely
grateful to have the opportunity to engage in this "criminal"
behavior. O'Hare Airport- A reporter from
FoxTV asks me why I would put myself in the middle of a war zone. I tell him I
wonder why my government would put Iraqi civilians in the middle of a war
zone.
Detroit Airport- We landed in
Detroit to take on more passengers. We are told it is a 45 minute stop and we
are not to disembark. Several moments later we are all made to leave the plane
with our carry on luggage. Customs interviews all passengers, saying they are
checking if anyone is leaving the country with more than $10,000. Several people
of Middle Eastern descent, including an elderly woman in a wheelchair, were
extensively questioned, all their possessions were gone through and they were
frisked. They remained patient and helpful, but a fool could recognize the pain
in their eyes. 1/20/03 Amman, Jordan The hotel we are staying in is permeated with an
atmosphere of kindness and good will. Neither the rain leaking through the roof
and windows nor the insufficient amount of heat coming through the pipes can
dissipate the warmth given by the hotel staff. They are as much a part of VitW
as we who are on our way to Iraq are. I cannot help but to be reminded of the
comforts I enjoy at home such as unlimited warmth in my home and I consider how
much my excessive demand for comfort fuels my government's unjust foreign
policies. No matter how much I protest injustice, my lifestyle continues to
support it. I hope that my experiences here helps me to live in a manner that
promotes justice when I return home. The newspapers here are filled with talk of war. There are
many Palestinian refugees living in Aman. A US led invasion of Iraq will not
only cause significant economic stress to Jordan, it may politically destabilize
this country. The Jordanian government will be forced between a rock and hard
place. If they allow the US to use their land or airspace to launch a military
program, they will alienate the vast majority of the population; if they side
with Iraq by refusing to cooperate with the US, they risk becoming an enemy of
Washington. Jordanians only need look to their eastern neighbors to see what
becomes of Washington's "enemies." 1/21/03 Baghdad, Iraq We were able to get our visas taken care of on Tuesday
morning so left then from Amman. It was a long journey to Baghdad- we left
Jordan at 11:30 AM and arrived in Baghdad around 2:00AM. If we would read the secret history of
our enemies, we would find in each man’s life sorrow and suffering enough to
disarm all hostility. Longfellow 1/23/03 Baghdad, Iraq Today we went to the Amaryah shelter, which at 4:30AM on
Feb.13, 1991 the US mistakenly bombed, killing 408 women and children. The
shelter was built for a nuclear attack. It consists of 2 floors. The first bomb
blew a gaping hole through the top and killed all but 14 people on the first
floor. (those 14 were blew out of the shelter and survived, though seriously
injured.) The second bomb was a "smart bomb." It went into the ventilation
system and incinerated those remaining alive on the lower level of the
shelter. I talked with a woman at the shelter who knew many of the
people killed. She explained that there were no men in the shelter because they,
if not in the army, followed the custom of protecting the family home. Only
women and children under the age of 16 were permitted in the shelter. Because of
what occurred there, few Iraqi people will go to a shelter if there is more
bombing. I felt an emotional numbness in that place. Bombs are so
impersonal. The pilots who dropped those bombs didn't see what they were doing,
who they were killing. Their experience were probably that they bombed a target,
a faceless object. So I didn't really feel the emotional impact from the fact
that a US bomb was the cause of this suffering. What kept going through my mind was mothers telling their
frightened children that they were safe now, that they could go to sleep and
they were safe. And then the screaming that must have taken place between the
first bomb and the second bomb. "mommy, mommy, help. hot, mommy,
help...mommy..." So I was speaking with this woman, our
conversation ended and she was walking away. I walked back to her, and I told
her I was sorry. At that, the emotional numbness disappeared. I am not "guilty" for what happened, but I share
in the responsibility for what happened. The gracious woman embraced.
me. When I walked outside, a large group of Iraqi children had gathered. They were happy to get their pictures
taken with an "Amereeki." I was grateful to be surrounded by living Iraqi's. One Father and One Mother
The hotel we are staying in does not have a large gathering
area for meetings, so we use an area in another hotel nearby. We had a large
team meeting there the other day-there were about 42 of us from various groups-
and we were all brought tea. After the meeting I inquired how much to pay for
the 42 cups of tea and the waiter informed me it was a gift from the hotel, so I
just tipped the waiter for his service. ( I am the team banker). A while later
something came up and we had to meet again. Again the waiter brought 42 cups of
tea and again the hotel refused to accept any payment. I noted to the waiter how
busy we had kept him through these meetings and how much we appreciated his
service to us. He responded: “We are glad, so happy to have so many of you. You have a
good message-a message to go all around the world. Peace. But not just peace for
Iraq. Peace for everyone. All people around the world. Because we are all one
people. We have one Father and one Mother.” The media in the United States often portrays people of the
Islam faith as radical fundamentalists who are committed to obliterating,
freedom, democracy, non-Islamic faiths, and the people who adhere to these
faiths, institutions and principles. During my time in Iraq, the overwhelming
majority of Muslim people I encountered there expressed a faith similar to the
one described in “One Father, One Mother.” To be sure, there are violent
extremists within Islam. The same can be said of Christianity and Judaism and
Hinduism, etc…. However, these violent extremists are a very small minority of
the whole people who call these religions their faith. The overthrow of Saddam Hussein’s regime left a void which
many groups came forward to fill. Large demonstrations were held by Islamic
fundamentalist groups- they protested for Islamic rule in Iraq and an end to the
American occupation. On several occasions I was present on the street with these
demonstrators. I was treated with courtesy and respect. I never felt threatened.
From my experience, violent extremists of are a very small minority within
Islam. To portray them as more is akin to describing a noble and upright family
by relating the bad deeds of one member. Religious extremists are sensationalized in U.S. media, but
that is only because sensationalism is what we, the public, are willing to
buy.If we demand responsible journalism, and back up that demand with our
pocketbook, i.e., only buy, listen and watch responsible journalism, our media
will become responsible to balanced, truthful reporting. The Meaning of War The other night I met with the archbishop of Iraq, Fr.
Kasalb. What a wonderful man! Very down to earth. Before sanctions, people had
free access to medical care and medications, so the church was not involved in
medical assistance. Now, most people cannot purchase even the most basic
medicines. Voices in the Wilderness assisted Fr. Kasalb in establishing a small
pharmacy-free to any in need-with medicines brought in by VitW delegates willing
to break the sanctions. Today it is the largest dispensary of medications in
Southern Iraq. Most of the people assisted are Muslim. Fr. Kasalb said a strong
bond exists between Muslims and Catholics in Iraq. When asked what we can share with our communities back in
American to strengthen the call for peace, he said, “If someone wants to know
the meaning of war, have them come to Basra.” (As you know, the bombing has
never stopped in Southern Iraq since the Persian Gulf War and more than 20
million tons of depleted uranium munitions have left the land toxic-cancers and
birth defects have skyrocketed.) Fr Kasalb continued: “Mothers used to ask as
soon as their child was delivered, ‘Is it a boy or girl?’” He chuckled saying,
“We Iraqis want boys, you know.” Then he said, “Now they ask , ‘is my baby OK,
is it normal?’ That is the meaning of war.” Fr. Kasalb was not exaggerating about
the query of mothers who have just given birth. At the turn of the century, 90%
of persons killed in war were of the military. Today, 90% of war fatalities are
civilian. This percentage does not include the indirect fatalities, such as the
children who die from congenital birth defects or develop cancer from the
exposure they or their parents have had to chemical, biological or nuclear
warfare. The hospitals of Iraq are filled with these “uncounted” casualties of
war.
A Soldier Shares a Smoke Yesterday I went to the Museum of the Tomb of the Unknown
Soldier. The building itself is a monument – a MASSIVE monument. It is sort of
like a huge open clamshell on a base the size of a football field or two. You
walk up into the clamshell then descend down into it to get to the museum. But
the museum inside is very small and unremarkable-some uniforms, guns and medals
from various eras. What was most interesting was the military personnel who are
stationed around the Museum. After looking around inside, I walked around the
outside of the monument, then went back to the car to wait for Dana and Mary*. A
soldier nearby got a chair for me from the guardhouse, set down his machine gun,
hung his hat on the barrel and offered me a cigarette. As a rule we do not smoke
out in public, but for the sake of being polite, I accepted. He lit my cigarette
and then I showed him the cigarettes I had and he tried one. He really liked it,
so I gave him the rest of the pack. He was so touched that I would give him my
cigarettes that he insisted I take his. When Mary and Dana came back he offered
Mary a cigarette and Dana got a picture of him lighting it. It is amazing how
easy it is to make friends with "the enemy" if one takes a moment to be human.
If only the people in high places would do the same. *Dana Visalli and Mary Schoen, IPT members. A Woman’s Home Devoted to Art More
than anyone I have met in Iraq, Amahl reminds me of the Native American elders
of home who devote so much of their energy keeping their tribal culture alive.
Amahl’s home-al beit al Iraq (The House of Iraq)- which might also
be called an antiquities shop, a museum of culture and an historic landmark of
architecture, lies between the sleepy Tigris River and a bustling Baghdad
street. Though the entryway into her home is indistinguishable from the others
on the avenue, it gives visitors passage into the history of Iraqi art and
culture. We are greeted by Amahl and several of her friends, all
dressed in modest western attire and fluent in the English language. With the
hospitality so much a part of Iraqi life, tea and sweets are shared around as we
are given an informal tour of Amahl’s home, then left to chat and browse. Our
hostess, a small woman about fifty years of age, is highly educated and speaks
four languages fluently. In the United States she could command a high salary as
a university professor or an artist. But this is Iraq and since sanctions have
destroyed the economy, attaining a just wage is impossible. Luckily for Amahl, a
just wage is not her major concern. Like the Native elders who investigate,
record, share and teach the culture and languages of their tribe, Amahl is
motivated to share the rich Iraqi traditions with the forthcoming
generations. Four rooms make up the front of the house. The first is
devoted to tile mosaics, sculpture and small furniture; the next clothing and
bedroom furniture; the third jewelry and small silver pieces; and a fourth room
is lined with wall art. Then a passageway leads to the main living area: a
courtyard alive with native flora and fauna surrounded on three sides by living
space and the fourth side by the Tigris River. As we sit in the courtyard sipping tea, Amahl explains some
of the architecture of her home. She comes to a wall that does not quite fit
with the rest of her home. She explains that when the bridge in back of her home
which spans the Tigris was bombed in 1991, this wall crumbled. The wall was
replaced by a temporary structure, the intention being to replicate the original
when some amount of assurance came that another bombing campaign would not
destroy it as well. That was in 1991. No such assurance has come yet, and in
fact the chance that her home and its many cultural treasures will survive the
“shock and awe” bombing campaign being threatened is questionable. About a week after the bombing had begun, Amahl phoned the
hotel we were staying in to see if we were all OK. I assured her we were fine,
and expressed concern for her-she sounded extremely anxious. She said she was
not staying at the al beit al Iraq but had gone to another home for safety. It
had been heavily damaged in a bombing raid and she had lost the personal
possessions she had there. I told her there were some of us who would to come
and visit with her, but she insisted we not as she said the neighborhood was
still being bombed sporadically and a visit would be unsafe. I asked her if
there were sensitive sites nearby that would explain the bombing of this
residential neighborhood. She said there was not-the only building other than
residences was the neighborhood mosque. A day or so later Amahl called the hotel
again. This time she was calling from a friend’s home. The house she had been in
was destroyed in another bombing raid. After the U.S. military invaded
Baghdad and looting became extensive, al beit al Iraq was stripped bare. There
was literally nothing left in the building. The Persian carpets which had
covered the floors were gone. Furniture and personal items were stolen. The
walls were bereft of their artwork. Amahl lost everything. The temporary wall
installed after the 1991 bombing now more closely matches the other walls of the
home, a reminder of the scourge of war. Booksellers Row Booksellers
Row occurs every Friday morning near the suuk,
or central market. At first glance an American visiting the Row might think
they have happened upon a flea market for book lovers. Indeed, Booksellers Row
has every type of book one would expect to find at a book mart in the West.
There are inexpensive novels, classics of the East and West, children’s books,
the Holy Qu’ran, college texts, medical journals and professional manuals. Some are displayed
on rickety tables, but most are carefully laid out on the ground. If one is
attentive to detail, one will notice that these books have been well cared for
by their owners. If one
gets hungry while browsing the Row, there is the old man selling fresh baked
bread from a huge flat basket balanced on his head, and a young boy who sells
olives from a large wooden cart he pushes through the streets. If not hungry,
one can still give some business to these food-sellers by purchasing something
for the hungry children who daily beg for sustenance on the streets of Baghdad.
These people live in the run down buildings surrounding Booksellers Row. And like the books being sold on the street, their lives, their presence,
their actions, and their words speak volumes to the paradox of life here in
these days. Contrast the children’s beautiful faces with their ragged
clothes. Contrast their shining eyes with their dull matted hair. Contrast the
fact that they are hungrier than you or I have ever been with their insistence
that you share with them the bread they have begged from you. Contrast the smile
these beautiful people bring to your own face while yet the knowledge of their
suffering is breaking your heart in two. The children run off to other adventures, as children will
do, and one steals a glance at the place these children call home. Architecture
ennobled by skilled craftsmen stands in semi-ruin. Lifeless electrical wires
hang bare in dark alcoves. Ragged laundry hangs from crumbling balconies. Fouled
water seeps from open sewer pipes. By now the reader might think we are visiting
the inner city of a third world nation. But
look again at the books for sale. College texts, encyclopedias, the world’s
classics in Arab, French, German, English…not the type of books one would
expect to find among the uneducated masses of a third world nation. Indeed, we are not visiting a flea market in a third world nation. We are
in Baghdad, Iraq, the country that lead all the Arab nations in social and
economic growth until war and sanctions decimated it. These books, being sold so
that their highly educated owners can feed their families, represent the poverty
and hardship inflicted upon the civilian population by unjust international
politics. At the end of Booksellers Row lies the Literary Café. One
enters and, despite the run down appearance of the building, one is reminded of
a busy expresso shop on a thriving university campus. Every seat is taken with
men and women who share tea and engage in conversation. Intellectuals
intellectualize and philosophers philosophize while poets share their rhymes.
The latest newspapers are passed around and commented on. There is a jovial
camaraderie between everyone. They share a common love for education, a common
culture, and a common affliction. A gentleman who loves American movies is anxious to speak
about them and engages an American visitor. His English is excellent and his
conversation animated. They discuss James Cagney for a bit, then the American
asks him how the sanctions have effected his life. His face darkens and he says
simply, “they have destroyed my life.” With some prodding he explains that he is
professor of literature but cannot find work of any kind. He has lost everything
and his family has been torn apart. It is obvious that he would much rather
discuss his happy memories of American movies, but the American presses him:
“Can you give me an idea of how the sanctions have effected your everyday life?”
He loses his lively smile once again and tells the American to look out on the
Row, saying, “Look around. It is plain to see. We have become a people who lay
their books on the ground. This is what the sanctions have done to us. Books
should be placed upon shelves; books should be honored. Our books are laying on
the ground.” The Dancing Tea-Seller Kaamil
is an elegant presence at the al funduk
fanar, the Al Fanar Hotel. His tall lean frame is covered with a saaya arabeeya, the traditional Arab
robe of the Iraqi men. Its fit is tailored, always freshly pressed, buttoned
from neck to floor. Kaamil’s white head
cap, the taaquiyeh, worn by
many Muslims, is a symbol of his sense of humility before God. Kaamil sells tea in a small alcove of the al Fanar. The
alcove’s décor is common for an Arab tea house: chairs placed close together to
accommodate conversation and small tables to hold little glasses of hot sweet
tea. The dim lighting, rich colors and melodious sounds invite refreshment and
friendship. I was not surprised to learn that Kaamil was an
internationally acclaimed Iraqi Folk dancer. His every movement is filled with
the grace of a dancer. He maneuvers through the small alcove balancing trays of
steaming tea as though the work of selling tea were itself a dance. As he places
our glasses of tea before us, he quietly repeats his daily query: “What is the
news-is it war?” It hurts us to answer him with a response that brings more
concern to his already sad, fearful eyes. And indeed, Kaamil has reason for
concern. The Iraqi folk dance for which he was famous is now a dance of tea
service because his leg was irreparably injured in the fallout of an American
bomb during the Persian Gulf War. His knowledge of the cost of war is personal,
and his fear of another bombing campaign is evident in his eyes when he asks,
“What is the news?” Last evening, when honesty triumphed over the human
need to speak comforting words to such a gentle being and we confessed that the
news was very bad, this beautiful man shared his favorite passage of the Qu’ran
with us. In it, Allah speaks to his human creation, saying he created all people
to be as one. Then, says Allah, he separated them into various nations,
cultures, tribes and religions, so that they could learn to get along with one
another in diversity. Kaamil is a beautiful man. He has a wife and three children
under the age of sixteen. Kaamil and his family will be, whether intended or
not, a target of any bombing campaign on Baghdad. Several words come to mind when I think about Kaamil.
Kaamil was an extremely dignified man, and he was a sad man. Rarely did the
sadness completely leave his eyes. He was special to all of us on the Iraq Peace
Team. Several days before the bombing began, Kaamil said that he wanted to flee
the country, but needed money. I tried to discourage him from the idea- he had a
passport but his children did not, and it would be impossible to procure ones
for them at this late date. Then there were exit visas to be gotten, which often
took just as long or longer. Getting to any border would be dangerous and
costlyat this time, and making it to a bordering country was no guarantee that
an entrance visa would be granted. Chances of entry were diminished if the
family in question was poor. Kaamil and his family remained in
Baghdad. During the bombing some of us slept in his tea room because it felt
safer to us than our rooms upstairs or the makeshift bomb shelter of the hotel’s
basement. He remained at home during the first week or so of the bombing. I and
others were very happy when he was able to return to the hotel. He came in every
morning and remained until late in the evening. Then he would return to his
family, a 45 minute trip under the best of circumstances- when buses were
running and taxi’s could be hailed. These were not the best of circumstances,
and there were nights that he did not get home until it was almost time to come
back to work. Now, with the streets as dangerous as they are, I worry for this
gentle man for whom the violence of past wars had left such deep scars of
sadness in his eyes. She Fed Me with Her Spoon Yesterday there was
a long line to get on a computer at the internet center so I went to the little
store nearby to buy a soda. The women who runs the store was eating her lunch
and she insisted I join her. I wasn't hungry and indicated so, but it seemed
inconceivable to her that someone would turn down food, whether hungry or not,
and so I sat down to share her lunch of rice and beans. (She fed me-a stranger-
with her spoon!). She asked me if I had been to the Amaryah Shelter and then
she told me her story. She is one of the 14 survivors of the shelter. She was 8
or 9 years old and was in the shelter with her mother, father, sister, brother
and some aunts and cousins. They were all killed. She said her mother was
sleeping and holding her baby brother. She said they were "burned black,
like this" and she pointed to her black dress. She has scars all
over her body from imbedded shrapnel. She said she remembers being taken to the
hospital and asking again and again for her oom and baba (roughly equivalent to
mommy and daddy). They finally told her they were all dead. She went on to say
that the government (here, and she named the president) gave her a house and
money, but she said she really couldn't understand that, because what she needed
was her mommy and daddy and sister and brother and aunts and cousins. She said
when so many Americans started coming to Iraq she didn't trust them at all. She
didn't understand why they were coming here. She didn't know what the English
word "peace" meant until our conversation. But they would indicate to her that
they wanted to be friends of the people in Iraq. Gradually she came to accept
their presence, and if her welcoming of my presence is any indication, she sees
the Americans who come here as friends. But she sure doesn't like
Bush! I visited with this kind and generous woman a number
of times before the bombing began and she stopped coming to work. She spoke
enough English for us to communicate pretty well, and we taught one another
some of our respective languages. When I came into her shop, she would insist I
eat or drink something, and she would prepare some type of language lesson for
me to complete. She would interrupt my lesson to ask me how to say something in
English. Several times she asked me to spend a Friday with her. She had the day
planned out-“You will come home with me on Thursday night and we will eat and
then we can visit some of my friends. On Friday morning we will go to prayer at
the Mosque then we will go to the soog (central market) and you can teach me
how to say everything in English. Then I will
make “good”
food-home-cooked. And then we can visit some of my friends and I will give you
some Arabic lessons. OK?” Unfortunately, I never got the opportunity to take
her up in her offer. She did open her shop for a day or two into the bombing.
She told me the bombings frightened her very badly. She would make a gesture
with her hand to imitate a bomb falling through the sky, then she would cover
her head with her arms and cower down, saying “not good, not good.” She did not
return to her shop after the 3rd day of bombing. I do not
know what became of her. Because of the bombing of the Amaryah Shelter, most Iraqi’s
will not go to a bomb shelter. I never met a single Iraqi who was willing to go
to one of the country’s shelters. An Evening of Entertainment In the
heart of ‘old Baghdad’, a hundred or so people meet every Friday night to sing,
play and listen to "Maqaam", the traditional Iraqi folk music. The building which houses the gathering appears
to have once been a church. A small stage is the focal point for the long
wooden benches that fill the majority of the large building. The cost for this evening of entertainment
is 100 Iraqi Dinar, or not quite 2 pennies in U.S. currency. As
the room fills up with guests, a gentleman makes his way through the crowd with
a large tray filled with small glasses of hot tea. Maqaam
is an ancient form of Arabic music. A basic form identifies maqaam
as a particular type of music, but regional variations are many. The tunes are played out on instruments
unfamiliar to this westerner- something like a guitar or bango, something like
a xylophone, etc.… The Arabic lyrics are improvised by the singers; it is my
understanding that singers give voices to events in their lives and the life of
their country through the songs. On this particular
night the lyrics are lively and everyone appears to be in a jovial
mood. About six of us from the IPT join the crowd on our first
Friday in Iraq. The room is already more than halfway full as we make our way to
a seat. Within minutes we are served the streaming tea, and we pass around some
magic sheets (a document, written in English and Arabic, that explained the
mission of IPT) to those near us who appear curious about our presence.
Immediately, looks of curiosity are transformed into looks of acceptance and
gratitude. That we westerners are voices for peace quickly spreads and many
around the room turn to give us the “thumbs up.” As the
night’s music begins, it is obvious that the macaam is an Iraqi favorite.
The singers put a tremendous amount of
energy into their songs and the crowd frequently bursts into a rhythmic
hand-clapping accompaniment to the band. IPT’ers join in the hand clapping,
which seems to please the Iraqi crowd. Though unable to understand the lyrics,
the music is thoroughly enjoyed by us all. During one of the particularly
upbeat songs, I asked Mohammed, the taxi driver who brought us, what the song
was about.He said the singer was
singing about his home. The
last singer of the night, a 60ish gentleman with sparkling eyes and shining
face, appeared to be quite a celebrity with the people. Indeed, he is an old-timer of Friday night
macaam in old Baghdad. A picture on the
wall shows him performing here when he was yet a young man. The
sparkle in his eyes is inflected in his songs as he sings his way through the
crowded room. His last song ends the evening and people begin to file out of the
rows of benches. The
evening has been uplifting for everyone. I have only been in Iraq for several
days, and as delighted as I am with the people and their city, I am deeply
saddened at the suffering I have witnessed. The evening of music has dissipated
some of the sadness. I can only imagine how much an evening like this means to
the Iraqi people who have suffered so much through war and the social/economic
collapse caused by the sanctions. People are visiting with one another and progress towards
the door is slow. I look around the building- the worn stone flooring testifies
to the building’s antiquity; pictures of singers performing here through the
years grace small alcoves set into the walls; traditional Iraqi décor, colorful
tiles inlaid with small mirrors, vivify the stone ceiling. As I look forward
to next Friday at the maqaam, I am suddenly struck by the awareness that this
building might be a casualty of war. These people who welcomed us to share their
evening of culture might be casualties of war. And these same people, after the memory of the music fades and they say their
goodnights to one another, will harbor the same concerns. But for these good
people, the buildings they will most worry over are their homes, and the people
they fear for, their families. One Platter, One Cup
Today Khaled, one of the taxi drivers who has worked with
IPT for a long time, took me to visit with his family. Khaled and his wife have
four children, two grown and two still in school. On this particular day
everyone is home, and two of his wife’s sisters are visiting from a nearby
neighborhood.
The family has recently put in a well so to assure they have safe
drinking water if bombing disrupts Baghdad’s water supply. After they show me
the well site, cold bottles of Pepsi are passed around. Everyone seems very
pleased that they have such a treat to offer a guest. After a little while of
visiting, made possible by the excellent interpretive skills of Waleed, Khaled’s
second oldest son, the women (excluding myself since I am a guest) go to work in
the kitchen. Soon, a mid-afternoon feast of richly seasoned hummus with Iraqi
bread baked into it, fresh and pickled vegetables and rice is brought out. There
is no dining room table so we all sit in a circle on the floor. The delicious
food is heaped on a large platter. We all eat from the one platter. A large pitcher of
water is accompanied by a single cup, and we all share of it. The food is
excellent. The floor is comfortable. It is wonderful to be with these friends.
And the one platter and one cup is all that is needed to share a meal with
friends. Recycling in Iraq I am trying to learn some basic Arabic from one of the
shopkeepers, Faiz. He spends an hour or more everyday teaching me. The only
thing he has asked for in return is crayons, paper and vitamins for his
children, though I am sure it is hard for him to provide for his wife and three
children on the limited income he makes in his shop. The other day he said his
wife has a lot of pain in her hands and washing diapers and the families
clothing everyday worsens it. They, of course, do not own a washing machine.
Later I was thinking how nice it would be to anonymously purchase her a washing
machine, but of course do not have the resources for it. As silly as it seems,
it was really upsetting to me. Here, a laundry-mat (if it would be affordable)
would be a luxury. In the states, having to use the laundry-mat rather than have
one's own machine is a burden. So anyway, yesterday I mentioned to Faiz that my lighter
was about out of fluid and I needed to buy a new one from him. He said he would
just fill it and I told him it was a disposable. He said he could fix it. I
thought he just didn't understand what ‘disposable’ meant. I showed him the
lighter and noted that there was not any place to add fuel to it. He got out a
plastic bag of lighter "tools and spare parts" and proceeded to take the lighter
apart, fill it with butane, put in a new flint, and even add a part to make the
flame adjustable. (Though he lost the sale of a lighter to me, he refused to
take any money from me for making my old lighter like new again.) He said that
there are plenty of Iraqi's who now make their living re-enlivening disposable
lighters. I wonder how many wars are fought because we think we need what we
already have. In the years prior to my time in Iraq, I had devoted some
time to thinking and writing about the difference between want and need, and the
general lack of many Americans, myself included, to differentiate between the
two. I would, at times, ask myself whether something I was planning to purchase
was a want or a need, but the whole question remained on more of a theoretical
level than a practical one. A most blessed gift of my time in Iraq has
been the movement of that question from theoretical to
practical. When I returned to the States, I had lost my job and with
it, my home. Some very kind friends gave me a place to stay, but their home is
very small so I had to eliminate much of the material baggage I had acquired. A
house full of clothes, furniture, dishes, and other “needs” was reduced to a
suitcase and a few boxes containing books, office supplies, photographs and
items I cherish because they were gifts from others. However, I have found that
getting rid of excess baggage is only half of the battle. I still use far more
than I really need on a daily basis. I am afflicted with a mindset that urges me to drive when I
could walk or use a bike, to buy something new rather than make due with the
old, to purchase ready prepared rather than make it from scratch…. I don’t
expect I will ever be entirely healed of this affliction. But when I am forced
to make due with needs instead of wants, I remember what my friends in Iraq get
by with, and I realize just how lucky I am to have my most basic needs
met Al Monsur Pediatric Hospital
Due to the circumstances in Iraq during the first part of 2003, some of the stories
written never made it out of Iraq and the original writings are lost.
Circumstances also made writing extremely difficult at times. In the case of
the former, I have recreated the stories as closely as possible to how they
were originally written. This has not been difficult at all. These stories,
like the people who enliven them, never leave my thoughts for very long;
nothing is forgotten. When things were not written that should have been, and
would have been in better circumstances, I have written for the first
time here. In both cases, I have noted origins of the writings in the text.
I hope the reader finds some inspiration in these stories, some hope in
these stories. But for the people who are these stories, the people of
Iraq, I hope the reader experiences a kinship and recognizes the suffering masses of people in distant lands to be, in a
sense as real as the stories contained herein, the sufferings of our brothers and sisters.
Hosts of a Ravaged Land
October 2002
Feb. 3, 2003
I went to al Monsur hospital today to set up an arts and crafts program for children on the cancer ward. (Why are peace activists doing arts and crafts with children? Because we in the Iraq Peace Team are standing in solidarity with the people of Iraq, and that means being present to them in their circumstances. Many face the tragic circumstances of watching their children die of cancer. In the United States, many of these children would live; in Iraq, they will die because medicines for cancer are not allowed into the country under sanctions. There is much evidence that these cancers are related to the depleted uranium used by the US in the Gulf War... I guess peace activists doing arts and crafts with these children does make a lot of sense.)
We have been trying to get this started for a week now – the red tape! First I had to get a list of 5 IPTer’s who would be here long enough to make it seem a credible endeavor to the hospital-they wanted assurance of continuity. Then the program and the list of volunteers had to be approved by our minder. Then this all goes to the gentleman who I met with today. He approved it, and now someone who is (I think) roughly the equivalent of a mayor of the area of the city the hospital is in has to approve it all.
For some reason, people rarely use telephones here to conduct business. The hospital is half an hour away by cab, and I must physically go back there tomorrow to find out if the “mayor” approves of the program. (Dr. Haseed assured me it would be approved, but the proper procedures must be followed.) I think perhaps that not using the phone to conduct business is more of a social thing than anything else. Certainly it cuts down on efficiency, but it increases human contact.
You can imagine how busy the assistant director of a large, underfunded, understaffed, hospital is. I go in to his office very conscious not to waste his time, but he, like so many people here, seems to feel that the person in front of him deserves undivided attention and, of course, hospitality. He asked me about what I do at home and I told him a little about Pascal Sherman Indian School, and then about some of the social problems we have in the US. I was still feeling very self conscious about taking up his time, and I made to leave, but he insisted we share a cup of tea!
He is very worried about the possibility of war. Not only does he have the hospital to worry about (which is next to a water treatment plant that was bombed in ‘91), he also has a wife and 4 children. The headline today’s Iraq Daily was about the Pope’s call for peace. Dr. Haseed asked me if the Pope has any influence over Bush. I swear, he asked me that with the hope of a child.
Balloons and Tumors
Feb. 9, 2003
All the permissions were granted for our arts and crafts program at al Monsur Hospital and a small group of us began the project last week. We started going to the hospital every other day so we have been there 4 times now. On the first two days most of the children we visited were too ill to interact with us, so we mostly created the craft project for them and put it up on their walls. On the first day we took a Polaroid picture and made a paper frame for it. The mothers really cherish pictures of their children. On the second day we made paper weavings. There was an 8-year-old boy who had just been diagnosed with leukemia, and he was relatively active. He really enjoyed the activity. On the third day there was another little boy (10 y/o) who was well enough to interact and he actually tossed a balloon with Mary.
I met a woman on the first day whose son was too ill to be
in a room with others. He is six and a half, his stomach is distended to the
size of a basketball; a tumor invades his frail little body like troops invading
an innocent city. He is in a lot of pain and too weak to participate in any real
activity. But his mother really seems to enjoy the visit. She read to me from
the Q'ran on my second visit. While I was with them, Dowad, the father of a
little boy in another ward, came and asked me to see his son, Ali and wife,
Fozia. The little boy is 3 years old. He has a tumor in his upper stomach
pushing against his lungs, and a tumor in his head. His chart said he had not
recognized his parents or responded to any stimuli for 2 days. I sat with them
for a little while and took a picture of all of them together, then of Dowad and
Fozia. I really doubted I would see the family again because I didn't think Ali
would make it two more days, but when I went back yesterday he was still with
us, and was even awake; I am not sure if that is a blessing or a
curse.
While with this family, someone came and asked me to see some other children on a different ward. These children were also cancer patients, but a little older. I ended up with a large group of parents and hospital workers who wanted to understand why Bush was so intent on bombing Iraq. As I have so often been, I was amazed at everyone's ability to separate the actions of our government from the intentions of the American people. But these people just don't understand why Bush would insist that bombing their city is the best possible alternative. Then a woman came forward with her 9-year-old daughter Ashera, pregnant with a tumor the size of an eight month-old fetus. The mother said, "I don't like Bush, only because his bombs do this to my daughter." She was almost apologizing for her dislike. This mother has already lost four of her children to this cancer, yet she feels sorry that she holds malice in her heart for Bush.
Pictures
Feb. 24, 2003
Yesterday I took a Christian Peacemaker Team to the pediatric hospital where myself and others have been doing arts and crafts with the young patients. We had some administrative problems, so got a late start and decided not to try an art project, but to just visit for a bit. (The children have very limited energy and by early afternoon are for the most part physically spent.) The CPT group had brought some gifts so we decided to give the gifts and take some polaroid pictures.
I have a difficult with picture taking. On the one hand, the children and their parents almost always love to have their pictures taken, in or out of the hospital setting. And the children in the hospital and their parents are accustomed to many many pictures being taken. Just about every time I have been there, there has been a press crew or photojournalists documenting the children’s suffering that bombs have given birth to and sanctions have nurtured for 12 years.
But there is still something about the pictures that I am
uncomfortable with. Partly, it feels as though the children are being treated as
objects whose suffering could somehow be captured on film and shared with those
willing to see. If only we could share one another's sufferings so easily....
Even more heartbreaking to me is the desperate hope in the eyes of the parents
when they see the camera. They imagine when the world sees the image it
produces and becomes aware of how badly their children suffer, medicines will
replace the bombs. I wonder if they know that there have been camera crews and
journalists with cameras in hand coming to the cancer wards of Iraq’s hospitals
for a number of years, and the world has not been moved to justice
yet.
So yesterday we went to the hospital with cameras and gifts in hand. Parents brought their children to have their pictures taken, lifting their blankets and pajamas to expose to the camera the numerous surgical scars their child has endured and the grotesquely large, painful malignant growths they suffer. Fozia and Dowad, whom I met several weeks ago, came forward with their son, Ali. Ali was in a coma when I first met them, but had revived a bit when I saw them 2 days later. He was now back in a coma, his stomach distended horribly and his face burning with fever. The IV had been discontinued. Dowad had carried him from another hall to have this picture taken. A little while later, after he had taken his son back to his bed, Dowad came back and indicated to me that his boy would die.
Then, I spoke with a mother whose daughter has been in the
hospital for 2 months. The 10 y/o has done a number of art projects with us, and
her portion of the wall by her bed is decorated with her labors. She has
undergone (suffered) 2 months of chemotherapy, and it is for naught. Her
treatment is to be discontinued for lack of medicine. Her discharge orders are
her death sentence.
Fear and Finger Puppets
March 5, 2003Something very special happened at the hospital yesterday. Mohammed is one of the four taxi drivers who most frequently provide transportation and other assistance to IPT. Mohammed is especially helpful -- he knows everything there is to know about the city, where to find things, how to get done what needs to be done, etc... I really don't know what we would do without his help. He is also street savvy and there is a toughness about him, originating perhaps from his experiences in the Persian Gulf War. (He was badly wounded in the war; he spent nearly a year recovering from his wounds. He went down the to Kuwait border with us and it was something of a pilgrimage of reconciliation with those bad times for him).
Tough as Mohammed seems, the first time he took us to the
hospital for our program of arts and crafts with the young patients there, he
was so saddened by their suffering that I avoided asking him to take us again.
He often asked to drive us to the hospital and serve as interpreter, but I tried
to avoid his offer because he was obviously uncomfortable. However, two days
ago none of the other drivers were available and he insisted to take us. He
remained pretty quiet and was anxious to leave once the 90 minutes we usually
spend with them was up. Then yesterday he asked to take us again. (It is a good
paying job and right now everyone is trying to earn as much extra money as
possible). So he took us again.
There were 3 children in the room we were working in, and it was only Kathy Kelly and I, so I just gave one of the children (Ali) some materials and he was more or less on his own. Soon enough, Mohammed was painting with Ali, and when the medicines which are injected into the IV ports (very painful) came around and Ali started crying, tough Mohammed got out the finger puppets and diverted Ali's attention by playing a finger puppet game with him. It was very moving to see.
A Desperate Daddy
February 18, 2003
Today was a sad day at the hospital as Sh’hed, one of the
little girls who came in about 10 days ago, died. Almost as heartbreaking was
her father’s desperate attempt to save her.
Death visits here on a daily basis and I know most of these
children will die, but when this little girl came in I thought she might be the
exception. Sh'hed was a beautiful, strong-willed 7 year old. When the IV port
was put in her tiny arm the day she came in, it took 3 people to hold her down.
She was a real fighter! On the second day of her stay she was not feeling so
well but she did string some beads for a bracelet. On the third day she had a
spinal tap, and after that she never sat up on her own again. When she was awake
I would read her story books with brightly colored pictures. She would follow
the pictures with her eyes, but otherwise she was unresponsive. Yesterday and
the day before her fever was so high she was close to convulsions, and as I was
leaving yesterday she was put on oxygen. (Apparently oxygen for medical purposes
is not available under the sanctions. The tanks they use are like those used to
fill balloons in the US). She died early this morning. I think she must have
contracted pneumonia, or perhaps gotten some type of infection. She wasn't
wasted away like the children are when they are succumbing to the
cancers. Her parents were a little better off financially than most
of the parents of the children in the hospital. I am pretty sure they brought in
some medications from outside the established system in an attempt to save her,
but these "black market" meds are probably no more useful than the legal ones
which are either impotent or useless when not used in conjunction with others
meds called for in the treatment protocol.
But her father was desperate yesterday. Apparently he
thought that a blood transfusion might be helpful. He came in with a look of
furtive desperation, clutching something precious inside his shirt. It turned
out to be a bag of blood. I don't know where he got it (perhaps it was his own).
I do know it wasn't easy to come by since the anti-coagulant necessary for blood
bags is on the sanctions list. Can you imagine?
Can you just imagine? In desperation a father goes out and
buys blood in a futile attempt to save the life of his little girl. What she
needed was antibiotics for whatever infection she had contracted. But then those
antibiotics would have only saved her to need the chemotherapy that is also
unavailable. Medications Feb. 21, 2003
Yesterday was a very difficult day at the hospital. Two
people came with us for the first time and they were (rightly) horrified by the
suffering they encountered there. As is often the case, the mothers ask us to
bring some medicine for their children. Yesterday was unusual as the mothers in
one ward were under the impression that we could go out to the local pharmacy
and purchase the medicine needed to save the lives of these children.
The new people at the hospital with me were ready to go out and get it.
If it were only that easy! (I actually checked with many pharmacies in
Baghdad. They do not have cancer meds.)
I remember several stories in US press about how the
government here chooses not to purchase these life saving medications. The
situation is much more complicated. First of all, the hospital makes a request
for the medications they need. As you know, everything purchased by Iraq must go
through the UN. This process can take up to one and half years. If the requested
is granted, the medications are paid for, then they are shipped to Iraq. The
shipping process can be quite lengthy. (As you can imagine, the children who
needed the meds are probably dead by now, but there are always plenty of new
patients). So the purchased medicines go through quality control here in Iraq
and if they are of adequate quality, they are turned over to the hospitals that
requested them.
Unfortunately, many of the purchased meds do not pass
quality control. Iraq does not have access to the best pharmaceutical companies.
For example, Lilly refuses to do any business with Iraq, even if they can
legally get around the sanctions to provide life saving medications. So Iraq
ends up purchasing medications from manufacturers that are not able to provide
quality products. Inadequate medications arrive too late and the children
die. As if this isn't outrageous enough, consider this: Iraq has no ability to
recoup their losses on these ineffective medications. They must pay for
them in advance, and there is not an international body which will enforce a
just trade with Iraq. So the Iraq Health Ministry goes to all this effort-the
time, the paper-work, the humiliation, the expense...and their children die
anyway. I have passed by these writings
about Al Monsour Pediatric Hospital at least ten times, thinking I ought to add
some commentary, but then feeling there was nothing I could add. How many ways
are there to say these children are dying needlessly? Which words will turn
indifference into compassion? How do I string those words together so that the
reader will understand the truth they contain is incomprehensible? I don’t have
the answer. But Sh’hed’s mother does… I thought that everyday visits to the hospital would be too
overwhelming for us so we began the program going every other day. But when we
returned after a day’s absence, the staff would tell us the mothers and children
wondered why we hadn’t come the day before. And when we walked into a ward room,
faces would light up and what little tidbits of saved food or tea the mothers
had would be offered. We could offer nothing tangible to these desperately ill
children and their families. We couldn’t bring them the medicines they needed.
We couldn’t get them passports to a hospital where working medical equipment
might stave off death. We couldn’t even adequately communicate with these
people. But we cared and we acted on that caring, and that was enough to make
our visits something for the children and their families to look forward to. One
day Sh’hed’s mother rushed down the hall to meet me when I walked onto the
floor. She gave me a hug, and an orange, and said in perfect English, “I love
you.” That evening, I learned how to say “I love you” in Arabic- anne abouka. I
practiced it over and over again so I could return these sacred, life giving
words to Sh’hed’s mother the next morning. Love-the only way to say the children are dying needlessly.
Love-the only way to turn indifference into compassion. Love- the only means to
make truth comprehensible. Praying for Peace, Preparing for War
Its very absurd when a war is imminent. Immense crowds
assemble…to applaud. They echo the government’s decision to have them killed.
Its odd. Its not what you would expect of human nature. Bertrand Russell Last night we went to the “press center” to hear UN
Inspector Hans Blix's report. Baghdad’s press center is a small, run down
building with a series of makeshift cubbies along its interior walls which house
foreign and domestic correspondents. It was obviously not built with Iraq being
the center of the world’s attention in mind. When something as newsworthy as
Blix’s or Bush’s address is aired, people flock to the press center in hopes of
seeing, or at least hearing, the news in a language they can understand. Between
the press, international aid workers and activists, it was difficult to find a
place to stand within earshot of a television. We ended up in the managers
office small office, with about 40 others, watching Blix’s report on a TV whose
reception was dependent on rabbit ears. Jan.29,2003 It is 2:30 am on Wednesday morning. Soon we will go to the
press center to watch Bush's state of the union address which will air in a
couple hours in Baghdad. As you might imagine, things are tense here. I find
myself wondering what will become of the kind and gentle people I meet
everyday. We were always eager for news. There were three sources for
news in Iraq. There was the internet, which was the most reliable means of
getting international news, though by no means foolproof. Iraq had one server
for the entire country and the frequent propaganda spamming by the US government
would jam the server and shut the internet down for hours, sometimes, a day or
more. Still, the internet was our best source for information (until the bombing
took it out)and one of the “jobs” IPTer’s were asked to volunteer for was to go to
the internet everyday, surf the reliable news sources and relay relevant
information to the rest of the team. The second most reliable source for information was BBC
radio. It required someone on the team to have a shortwave radio, reception was
usually poor and sometimes unintelligible, but we could trust the reports that
did come through. And it was a treat for us to hear the news for ourselves in
our own language. Sometimes there would be ten or fifteen of us crowded around a
small radio. Inevitably we would lose the reception, warranting a shifting of
the radio’s placement. We would all move away to give the radio operator space
to re-established the connection, then re-group ourselves around the
news. The third source of news (until it was bombed) was the
Press Center in Baghdad. We made the trip across town for live coverage of the
major reports or addresses which had an impact on the Iraq crisis. To watch
Bush’s State of the Union Address live, we had to get to the Press Center at
4:00am. A German station had a tent set up outside the center where they did
their live coverage mixing, and we watched on one their monitors. The news we
heard was very bad. The Plea Home after the State of the Union Address Jan. 29,2003
Hello everyone. I am just writing up a plea off the top of
my head that I would like you to send out to your email lists if you are
comfortable to do so. If you can get in some papers as a letter to editor, that
would be great, though I understand that may be difficult. Edit the political
part as needed for such purposes. Since time is critical, I am cc'ing this to
Chicago myself. Maureen, please send this to my friend in Florida (I don't
recall the email address), and Lauren, Greg, Mike, and Elizabeth, please send to
your friends back home. I will do my best to get you some more human
interest stories in the next few days and please let me know whatever else I can
do to assist you. As the Bush administration becomes more vocal in their
pursuit of an unjust invasion of Iraq, it becomes absolutely critical that we
continue to stress the possibility of avoiding this war. As long as there are
voices opposing war, there is some hope for the innocent people of Iraq. Those
of you who know me know that I am not a gifted speaker, nor does my presence
speak strength or command attention. That most difficult part of this witness is
on you. I have the easy part- spending time with the beautiful, gracious
open-hearted people of Iraq and sharing my impressions of this experience with
all of you so that your cry for peace can be embodied with the faces of Iraqi
people. As you know, for all practical purposes, Mr. Bush made a
declaration of war in his State of the Union Address. Because he is unable to
make a case for his war through WMD rhetoric, he is stepping up rhetoric
designed to manipulate fear into the hearts of our fellow Americans. He has used
the tragedy of September 11 to invade Afghanistan, silence free speech, imprison
the innocent and justify racism. He is now using this tragedy to justify an
invasion of Iraq by attempting to manufacture a link between Iraq and Al Queda,
a link which has consistently been disproved by intelligence agencies in the
United States and abroad. I am outraged my government would attempt to
manipulate my brothers and sisters of America, and vehemently renounce this
ploy. However, my outraged is eclipsed by the overwhelming sadness I feel when I
consider the innocent lives which will be lost if the United States invades
Iraq. And so I implore you to raise your voices in opposition to
this war. Be firm and steadfast while remembering that many people who support
this war do so out of fear. They need to be assured that peace affords the
greatest safety to all. Appeal to the hearts of family, friends and strangers
with the images of Iraqi people. Insist at every opportunity that there is a
peaceful solution to this situation. Demand that your government representatives
demand a peaceful solution is pursued. Be a thorn in the side of local press until
they give voice to our cry for justice. Be prepared to answer US propaganda with
facts. In most of the journal entries
included in this book, I edited out the personal notes to friends back in the
states. The above journal is unedited. The paragraph to my friends indicates the
sense of urgency I felt after hearing the State of Union Address. A moment of Dark Humor
Myself and another IPT'er, Mary, were bent over laptops writing our letters home after watching the
State of the Union address. We had been up all night and had heard war declared on the nation we
were living in to witness for peace. Our emotions were raw, to say the least. We wrote for some time, sometimes
crying as we wrote. Then, as we usually would have someone proofread our journals before sending them back
to the states, we traded spaces and Mary read my mine (above) and I read hers. It was short and to the point. It read
Jan. 31, 2003 Yesterday some of us visited Mother Teresa's home for
disabled children and as I sat on the floor rocking one child and playing with
another, the knowledge that these innocent lives are in such grave jeopardy
overwhelmed me. These children, most under the age of 5, are severely
handicapped. Most are not ambulatory, cannot dress or feed themselves, and so
are wholly dependent on the four Sisters of Charity here to care for all their
needs. They have no voice in the matters which threaten their existence- they
are the silent victims the decimation of the social structures which
once protected the vulnerable of Iraq. They cannot demand the US sponsored
sanctions be lifted so that they can receive the medical treatment which is
their inherent right. They cannot even plead to the world for an assurance they
will not be victims of bombing which seems so inevitable these days. The families I have visited remain silent on the topic of
war. They do not want to frighten their children or cause themselves despair so
they bury their fears and put one foot in front of another in an attempt to
create an illusion of normalcy. Feb. 3, 2003 I went to Mass last night. The church is not large but it
was packed. Most of the Mass is said in both Arabic and English, even though the
majority of people attending are Iraqi. In fact, Cynthia, Cathy and I were the
only westerners I noticed. The Lectors were men and women from the congregation,
which was nice to see and the translation of the Gospel was read by a young
woman. The musical accompaniment was violin- eloquent, mournful and altogether
in tune to the mood of the community. Everyone prayed for peace. The priest
recounted the hardships endured by the people of Scripture, and named the
suffering endured by the Iraqi people. He exhorted the gathered community to be
strong in their faith, hopeful in their God and steadfast in their prayers for
peace. And he prayed for peace. He beseeched God to hear our cry for justice and
respond. And the people prayed for peace. Heads bowed or looking heavenward,
hands raised or folded in prayer, standing or kneeling, the people made their
intercessions to God for peace in their land. A couple of blocks from St.
Raphael’s
church is this neighborhood’s Mosque. During the Gospel reading the
Muslim Call to Prayer sounded from the Mosque. Though I was inside the church, I
knew what was happening on the streets. The Muslim people were stopping whatever
they were doing-for several minutes business, conversation, and play would be
put on hold-long enough to recite the obligatory prayers of faith to Allah. And
just like the people in St. Raphael’s Catholic church prayed for peace, the
people outside prostrating themselves toward Mecca prayed for peace. Entire books can and have been written
about war and peace from the Christian perspective. The catholic church has
defined boundaries for a “just” war, and counted a pre-emptive war against Iraq
“unjust.” A number of Protestant churches made public statements against war on
Iraq. Unfortunately, very few Christian churches publicly profess war itself
inconsistent with the Gospel message. If churches were to endorse pacifism as the fulfillment of
Jesus’ teachings, “resist not evil” and “love your enemy” they might inspire
enthusiasm among more Christians to create new means of non-violent conflict
resolution might. The church could proclaim they are ushering in a new “Kingdom”
with sincerity. But the church speaks around the exhortation to love our enemies
and resist not evil, implicitly supporting the antithesis of Christ’s teachings
and leading the faithful astray from the Gospel message. While Iraqi Christians pleaded for peace to God and to the
rest of the world, Christians in the United States chose personal comfort and
blind harmony over the very lives of their brothers and sisters in faith of
Iraq. “Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are
doing.” Feb. 10, 2003 It is difficult to live with uncertainty. Most of the
Westerners here have only been here for a relatively short time-weeks or several
months-the latter being much rarer. And in this short time the difficult truth
of the ambiguous and precarious circumstances in which we stand takes its toll
and has its outcome in whispered predictions about a future we aren’t really too
sure of. I imagine that all wars begin like this- witnesses and
victims speculating what the plans of the madmen who devise the wars will be.
But I wonder if the victims have ever before been forced to live through twelve years of
uncertainty, as have the people of Iraq. The first Gulf War officially began and ended
in 1991, but the bombs have never stopped falling and the sanctions have
continued killing the innocent, while threats of further major military
aggression have never ceased. The only certainty the Iraqi’s have had throughout
this time is that their lives are very difficult and the difficulties are likely
to increase exponentially with each coming day. A while back I shared the story of Amal, who lost a wall of
her home to a bomb in 1991. In response to the continued threat of more bombs,
she has forestalled rebuilding the original wall. Twelve years ago she made the
decision to build only a temporary wall to support her roof, and in like manner
the Iraqi people have come know the fragility of certitude. It is unfair to be forced to live with so much doubt about
the future. Human dignity demands that every person be guaranteed basic human
rights-life and those things which promote it. But the Iraqi people have, for
twelve years been denied any such guarantee. Now it seems I ought to continue by
writing how badly this uncertainty has effected the people I have met here. While I have no
doubt uncertainty has taken its toll, I surmise that the Iraqi people I know
have an incredible store of inner stability which sees them through these
difficult times. In spite of the physical, economical and psychological warfare
they have suffered, I daily experience incredibly beautiful people who remain
steadfast in their faith, maintain their dignity, and have not forgotten love
for one another and the strangers in their midst. Feb.7, 2003
Communication is probably going to get more difficult. The
Internet has been down quite a bit, and rumor has it that is will soon be shut
down altogether due to the spamming by US military. We heard the presentation by
Colin Powell last night - didn't sound good. Tensions increase daily,
anti-American* sentiment gets stronger. Footage of Baghdad being bombed in '91 is shown on Iraqi TV
frequently. Everyone is just waiting. Schools were out on spring break the past
two weeks and were to resume this coming week, but will be closed indefinitely.
No one really
expects the bombing to take place during the day so going to school would
probably be safe (probably more safe than home), but the children do not want to
be away from their mothers. *It was a poor choice of terminology on my part to have
said, “anti-American sentiment.” In Baghdad there were 2 television stations and
one newspaper. These media were owned and operated by the Baathist regime.
Throughout the month of February Bush’s preparations for war were reflected in
Baghdad’s media by Saddam Hussein’s opposition to America’s government. The term
“anti-American sentiment” may have lead readers to think the average Iraqi
citizen was anti “average American citizen,” which was not the case in any of my
experiences. The “anti” was between the two governments. Feb. 2003 Hello to everyone. Hope things are OK with all of you. The
news sounds good today!!! The likelihood of war seems to lesson everyday. The
voices of all working so hard to stop the slaughter of millions of
innocent people are being heard. If Turkey stands firm in spite of the US's
financial bullying, they will be a light to other nations as well. The months leading up the US lead aggression in Iraq were
an emotional roller coaster. War almost always seemed inevitable, but we on the
Iraq Peace Team and every Iraqi I met wanted desperately to see a peaceful
resolution to the crisis and so we would look for indications of peace. While
realistic about the possibilities, we allowed ourselves to hope. A report by the
UN weapons inspectors, urging a continuation of the inspections, would give our
hope life. A nation with veto power in the UN standing firm against a UN war
resolutions would put us in something of a celebratory mood. The unprecedented
protests, marches and acts of civil disobedience enlivened our hope.
Nevertheless,within a few hours or a day at the most, the news from the White House
would force us into a reality check. Then the question became when would the bombing begin, how
long would it last, what sort of ground fighting would be involved, etc…and these
questions would be the energy for another series of emotional roller coaster
rides. The “war preparedness committee” of IPT would gather supplies and make
plans. Meetings would be held with the entire team and everyone would be
informed on procedure, i.e., where to meet and what to carry once bombing
commenced and that sort of thing. Then Iraq would be given another reprieve.
Some team members would return to the States and new members would join us in
Baghdad, and the whole process would begin again. I once ended a journal entry
to my community back home with “we pray for peace and prepare for
war.”
During the last week of February IPT held a four day vigil
at the Kuwait-Iraq Border. Our ability to send emails home from Basra, the
nearest city to the border, was very limited. The internet center had only three
computers. The norm for electrical service in Basra was three hours on, three
hours off. And the city was bombed on a regular basis. During our stay, a communications center
was hit, disrupting internet service. (Note this was before the “war” officially
began) As a result of these challenges the sequence of events in
the writings which follow may be confusing. I wrote a hurried journal entry from
Basra, then wrote a fuller entry after we returned to Baghdad. The Border Vigil
Feb. 25-28, 2003
Baghdad, Iraq (written upon our return to Baghdad) I will try to describe some of the experiences of the
desert action- I guess we could call it 'Desert Peace.' :) But first of all, the Airport: I think the airport in Baghdad is one of the most visual
examples of the sanctions against Iraq. It was built just before the Gulf War,
but was not yet in operation during the war, so was not destroyed. It is an
airport as fine as any you would find in the states. Modern and large, it has
restaurants, shops and comfortable sitting areas. It is exceptionally clean. And
it is empty. A flight goes to Basra once a day, and returns, and several times a
week a flight goes to Amman. That is it. So the restaurant workers, the
shopkeepers, the custodians, the technicians and air-traffic controllers and
flight attendants, etc. are without work. There is just this big airport devoid
of human life.
A little about Basra: I believe Basra has a population of about 2 million people.
It has been much more effected by sanctions and the bombing in and around Basra
did not stop when the Gulf War "ended." In addition, it is quite a distance from
Baghdad, where all the NGO's and other aid/rehabilitation programs are located,
so assistance comes much less frequently. There has been and continues to be
significant damage done to infrastructure (communications was knocked out the
other day for 36 hours). Virtually all the water/sewer lines have been
compromised, and because water pressure is so low, there is no resistance to
sewer infiltration in the pipes that ought to carry clean water. People cannot
afford to buy bottled water, so they are forced to drink this toxic water and
give it to their children. Families may or may not have the facilities to assure
the water is always boiled first. That too takes money. So, this city of 2
million, part of a country which once led the Arab world in development, copes
with raw sewage running in the streets and flowing through the drinking supply,
and so loses its children to diseases considered the problems of 3rd world
nations. Kuwati-Iraq Border I just have a few minutes, which is not nearly enough to
relate to you the experiences of the border, but wanted to share what I could.
More will follow when we return to Baghdad on Friday. We are actually right on the Kuwait/Iraq border, in the
demilitarized zone. It is a surreal setting. Middle of the desert, a rutted road
with grass growing through the cracks. There is an expanse of about 10 km.
called the demilitarized zone. Then there is the actual border, about 1/16 of a
mile (?), which neither Iraqi's nor Kuwaitees are allowed to enter. It is
controlled by the UN. They have not been especially welcoming of our presence,
but there are a few of them who are amiable. We wrote a letter to the US
soldiers in Kuwait who are stationed rather near the border, but we were not
able to deliver it. The UN personnel passing through the border cannot accept
anything from us, we can't walk into the UN zone, and neither can anyone from
the Kuwait side. We were not given permission to spend the night in the
desert as it was felt it would be much too cold. So we return to Basra at night.
Last night there was a bombing here. We heard the siren, then several moments
later the bomb. Very sadly, the people here are used to this. I visited with a woman last night-her name is Umheider- and
hopefully she will soon be coming to the US. On 1/25/99, her two sons, about 6
y/o and 8 y/o, were outside their house playing. There was a bombing and her
older son (Heider) was killed and Mustafa, the 6 y/o was critically
wounded. He lost part of his right hand, and had internal injuries that almost
cost his life. He and his mother hope to travel to the US for medical treatment,
and to speak to American’s about the impact war and sanctions have had on their
family. Umheider speaks excellent English. Also, a little girl, Assif, who lost
her right arm at the shoulder in a bombing raid in 2001 is to travel with them
to the states for treatment. We traveled to one of the many toxic waste dumps here
in the south. The effects of the depleted uranium on the people here is a human
catastrophe of massive proportions. I am ashamed to say that I have moments of
fury when I think about it. I must go for now, as we only have a bit of time and there
are others waiting to send messages. Will send more Friday. (written upon our return to Baghdad) I am not sure if I can adequately describe the border
experience yet. The topography was, to be sure, stark. It was stark in the
fullest sense of the word. There is a large group of buildings which once housed
Customs and processed the heavy traffic between Kuwait and Iraq. Now the
buildings have fallen to ruin from age and bombs. Then there is the Iraq side of
the border, guarded by young soldiers who while away the hours talking with one
another and staring out over the barren horizon. They have no adequate shelter,
no electricity. Then there is the UN border, which is definitely in better
shape facility wise, and staffed by international UN Soldiers. (It is of course
funded by the Oil for Food program). They have the dyke in their territory-the
man-made barrier to keep Kuwaitees from seeing Iraqis and Iraqis from seeing
Kuwaitees. Wild dogs live in and around the border and sit atop the dike
watching waiting for some movement to take action on. Then there is the Kuwait
border, which I can not describe because we were not allowed near enough to see
it. All I can really say about the experience is it was a
prayer. We sat across the narrow, unused border road and prayed in whatever
manner we felt called to. Sometimes we sang together, sometimes we read
reflections, sometimes we sat off by ourselves to pray in silence. We sat
together in silence. We knelt on the road and we lay prostrate on the road. We
fasted. In voices united and through silence shared we prayed that the people of
Iraq would not suffer yet another major war led by our own country. We prayed
for the lives of the people we know here, for the lives of those we have never
met, and for the lives of the US soldiers on the other side of the
border being led into this unjust war. Adapted from an article written for the Columbiana
Newspaper, May 2003
The barren desert of southern Iraq sits atop the most
fertile oil fields in the world. The oil is priceless to the United States,
which uses more the earth’s natural energy resources per capita than any other
nation in the world. It appears the Bush administration is willing to pay any
price to maintain America’s rate of energy consumption. Unfortunately, it is the
Iraqi people who are footing the bill. They pay-with their blood- for what one
Iraqi termed “the curse of oil.” The people of this land have always had to struggle to
exist in the harsh environment of the desert, but today the greed for oil which
lies beneath the desert sand has made the struggle even more difficult, and for
many, impossible. Wars waged for the oil have left the land toxic and many who
survive the combat later succumb to disease wrought by the residue of war. In
the 1991 PersianGulf War, the United States used more than three hundred and
twenty tons of munitons manufactured with depleted uranium. Since then, the
incidents of leukemia, cancer and birth defects have skyrocketed in
Iraq.
In February of 2003 I and other members of the IPT kept a
four day vigil at the border of Kuwait in Southern Iraq. Our vigil of prayer and
fasting was a protest against the Bush administration’s threat of another major
war against Iraq. Several members of our team kept vigil with us from a
distance-women of childbearing age remained in Baghdad out of concern for the
effect several days exposure to depleted uranium might have on them and their
future children. On our drive from the city of Basra to the border, the
desert expanded on either side of the road as far as the eye could see. We
passed by some solitary homes and small communities, a large oil refinery,
tomato farms that feed tomatoes grown in DU laced soil to all of Iraq, and the
remnants of homes bombed during the Gulf War.
As we entered the demilitarized zone, a five mile buffer
between Iraq and Kuwait controlled by the UN, the harsh environment began to
feel hostile. The first UN post we passed was partially hidden by a tall razor
wire fence and the guard tower within make me think of a prison rather than a
peace keeping facility. In fact, most of the UN workers we encountered were very
tense. This was understandable. They had traveled from their homelands and lived
in this DU contaminated desert in order to keep peace between Iraq and Kuwait.
But they were expecting evacuations orders any day because the United States was
ready to launch a full scale attack.
Just outside of Safan, a small town just north of the
border, we drove through what was once the customs complex. It was a large
facility, obviously built to process many people traveling between Iraq and
Kuwait. But we were the only travelers passing through; the buildings were
deserted and laid in ruin. Evidence of past bombings was everywhere. We drove
another half mile and saw the high dike which extends the length of the border,
a modern UN border station with watchtower, a dilapidated shelter which housed
the Iraqi guards, and our vigil tent. Just beyond our canvas shelter we saw some
more dilapidated dwellings which we assumed (correctly) to be the homes of the
young Iraqi men who guard what has come to be known as “no-man’s land.” Many
times during our stay at the border I wondered what the future might bring these
kindly Iraqi guards who, like all the inhabitants of Southern Iraq, are exposed
to DU radiation every day of their lives. On the second day of our vigil, a fierce sandstorm blew up
before we left our hotel for the border. Within moments the sun was concealed
and the air became an unnatural shade of yellow from the windblown dust of the
surrounding desert. Though the windows and doors of the hotel were tightly shut,
sand made its way into the lobby and I could feel its grit in the back of my
throat. As we made our way to the bus that would take us out to the
border, young boys begged to shine our shoes. They laughed and cajoled with one
another while individually assuring their targeted customer that they were the
best at shining shoes. They had to talk
quickly. We, with scarves covering our faces, were hurrying to get out of the
sandstorm. But the boys, like children everywhere, were oblivious to the storm.
Hair, lashes and brows were heavily flecked with sandy dust, their olive
complexions obscured from it. Realizing the sand that covered them was likely
contaminated with depleted uranium left me speechless as we traveled to the
border. It remains incomprehensible to me that innocent children, like these
shoeshine boys, are exposed to disease and death by the weapon’s of mass
destruction used by the so called civilized nations of the world. On our last day of vigil we brought fruit and cookies to
the Iraqi border guards and broke our fast by sharing cookies and tea with them.
As we left the border for the last time, the young Iraqi guards stood on the
side of the road and saluted us as we drove by them. When we passed by they
formed a line across the road and continued their salute until we out of
sight. I don’t think they were saluting us as individuals, but
rather what we kept vigil for. They were saluting peace. They were saluting a
cessation of the bombing. They were saluting the right of their children and
children all over the world to live free from war and its consequences.
March 6, 2003 There has been some discussion here about possible
scenarios when and if war befalls us, and I would like to share with all of you
some things that have been on my mind regarding these circumstances. I have been
very forthcoming about my experiences here, and I hope I have shared extensively
about the good will and hospitality I have been blessed with from the Iraqi
people I have encountered. Yet, I also understand that the level of stress put on the
people here is more than any one person or group of people ought ever have to
endure. One might picture a pressure cooker which has for hours been boiling on
high heat with the vent closed. Sooner or later the pot is going to
blow. It seems likely that the pot here will blow once bombing commences.
The pain, the anger, the injustices, the indignities experienced by the people
of Iraq are likely to come to the fore when the bombs blow a hole in the lid of
the pot. And all of us here on the Iraq Peace Team are aware that we might be
the object of violence by the very people we have come to advocate
for. This being the case, I have a deep concern to share with
you my feelings on this manner. I am here of my own accord, fully conscious of
all the risks involved. I believe unequivocally that I am where I am supposed to
be and I believe unequivocally that my presence here, regardless of the outcome,
will serve some good in time. I do not have to see those results in my lifetime
to believe they are a reality. I also believe unequivocally that it would be a grave
mistake to blame anyone in Iraq if harm does come to me...even if it comes to me
from Iraqi people. I am a citizen of the country which has waged war against the
innocent civilian people of Iraq for 12 years. I am a citizen of the country
whose Secretary of State (Madeleine Albright) said the deaths of 500,000 Iraqi
children "was worth it." I am a citizen of the country whose chief of staff of
the armed forces (Powell) said he wasn't interested in the question of how many
Iraqis died in the Gulf War. I am a citizen of the country whose president brags
about the "shock and awe" bombing planned for a city of 5.5 million, 46% of whom
are under the age of 16. I fully understand if violence comes my way because I am a
westerner, and with all my heart I ask that you not blame Iraqi people, in
general or particular, if harm comes to me, regardless of the
circumstances. Rather, I ask that you continue your work on behalf of
peace and justice for the people here and for all people.
I have quite a bit more to write, but for now must give the
computer over to another. May our Creator bless all you. peace, Bettejo The Iraq Peace Team met together several times and
discussed what possible scenarios might arise during and after a major bombing
campaign initiated by the United States. Most of the seasoned journalists we had
contact with expected fierce resistance to forces invading Baghdad, which would
mean “urban warfare.” Our location, a major route through the city and along the
Tigris River would be in the line of fire. A long siege in which people would be
without the basic needs of survival might precipitate a ransacking of hotels
housing foreigners and aid agencies with food, medical and financial resources.
We also considered the possibility of civil unrest likely and as most of our
team carried American passports, we understood hostility might be directed at
us. In short, we understood that remaining in Iraq was a risk to our personal
safety. We chose to remain in Iraq out of our love and respect for the people we
had come to know there, and out of our commitment to
non-violence. We dealt with our personal feelings towards the dangers
presented by sharing with one another in our morning reflections, in our
affinity groups, and one on one. But our greatest concern was for the people of
Iraq-we did not want our presence to endanger our Iraqi friends in any way-and
this was the issue that we concerned ourselves with in our larger group
meetings. We decided against staying with individual families as our presence
might make them targets of suspicion or even violence. We also decided against
hospitals or other agencies where we had been a presence because of issues of
safety for agency staff (as in the case of the Sisters of Charity Orphanage) and
our desire not to place ourselves in “safe” locations the average Iraqi could
not take advantage of. Most of our team remained in the three hotels
VitW had been a presence in since 1996. March 15, 2003 Hello everyone. I hope things are well for all of you. I am
well. I understand from phone calls we have received from the States that the
number of protesters to the war is phenomenal and that there is much civil
disobedience in an effort to bring attention to the plight of the Iraqi people.
All of us here are so grateful and humbled by the efforts and sacrifices of all
of you there. It is perhaps the only chance that war might be averted. We are
definitely standing on an edge slanted toward the abyss of war and its
consequences, but the strong cry for peace keeps us from slipping downward.
While all of us here on the team hold out hope for peace, we are also practical
in our preparations, in a physical sense and in the emotional realm. We are very frugal with the money we have, as there is no
telling how long our resources might need to stretch if there is some kind of
siege. Prices raise daily, especially for the most essential items. The price of
water went from 4250 dinar for 6 bottles to 8000 dinar in one day; the following
day it increased to 10,000 dinar. Luckily, we have a large store of water
already. But the average Iraqi couldn't afford to plan ahead like we have, and
will not be able to pay the current prices. The cost of rides out of the country
has also increased, and (if I understand correctly) there is a tax imposed on
plane fares even if the tickets were purchased in advance. The other day I rode
past the agency that grants passports to Iraqis, and there was a throng of
people there. Mothers who are able to get passports and visas head for the
borders with their children (usually without money) while their husbands remain
behind to protect their home. Every morning that I wake up I am grateful that the bombing
has not begun yet- none of us know when we go to bed whether tonight will be the
night. I really can't imagine what it is like for the people of Iraq. I am
choosing my presence here, it must be a very different psychological dynamic to
have no choice in the matter. The bombing in Basra and the surrounding areas has
increased. Jameel, who works here at the hotel, just returned from Basra and he
said things are very bad. His family is there. Jameel always has a smile for
everyone, but his smile cannot hide his sadness these days. For the most part, life goes on as though everything is
normal. (As I have said many times, the people are used to dealing with great
hardship and constant threat). But the effects of such an imminent threat is
taking its toll in many ways. Pregnant women who can afford it are having
caesarian sections so there babies will not be born during the bombing. Women
are afraid they will not be able to make it to a hospital, or if they are the
hospital staff will be overwhelmed with war casualties and will not have medical
personnel to assist with deliveries. But the birth just gives cause for a
different set of fears. Will there be clean water to care for the new child,
will there be food available, will there be gas for cooking and sterilization,
electricity? And the most likely answer to all these questions is
‘no.’ I spoke with the assistant director at the al Monsourhospital
I visit yesterday and he said that these c-sections births are very dangerous
for mother and child. To begin with, the babies are not ready to be born yet, so
they are at greater risk for health problems. They are less immune to disease,
less able to absorb nutrients, and are likely to have breathing difficulties.
And of course, the mothers are at greater risk for post operative problems such
as infections and bleeding. He also said that many of the mothers who have children
undergoing cancer treatments will stop the treatments and take their children
home now. Most of the women have other children at home and feel they must
return home to care for them during war. They feel it is better to allow their
sick child to die rather than risk their other children being killed in a
bombing. Can you imagine being forced to make such a choice. The prognosis for these children is grim even if they
remain in the hospital. The medicines they need are rarely
available. But mothers being forced to discontinue the treatments that are available to their
children is simply obscene. The other day in prayer I had the strongest desire to in
some way wrap my arms around all the people of this city and protect them from
the dangers of the days ahead. Of course, I can do nothing of the sort. But
yesterday in prayer I had a sense that there were the spirits of angels all
about us and all of them were crying upward in intercession. I could almost hear
the sweet though mournful sound of their sighing and weeping. It was a powerful experience and a feeling comes to me that
prayer is the best arms of protection I can offer just
now. The Bombing of Baghdad There is no greater love than this, that you lay your life
down for your friends. Jesus
March 20, 2003 Hello to all of you. I hope things are well with everyone.
I am doing OK. The situation here is surreal. Baghdad more or less shut
down by Tuesday night (though I actually got a banner made on Wednesday
afternoon). I am a bit confused about days as sleep is elusive and everything
seems to be happening at once. I don't want to go to much into that which the media will
no doubt be full of. I will give a bit of our personal experience with the
beginning of the bombing, and then move onto my experience at the
hospital. We were prepared for the bombing to begin Thursday at
around 4AM. This itself was rather unreal to me. Having a definite time for such
a thing seems an attempt to give definition to that which ought to defy human
definition. We congregated together until around midnight when we started
hearing that a sandstorm had grounded the military planes and the invasion would
be called off. Then at 3AM we recieved word from the States that the planes were
on the way. Some went to the shelter, some remained together in rooms. Kathy B.,
Kathy K and I were sitting in KK's room at 5:30 and the opinion was expressed
that if it didn't come by dawn, it wouldn't come tonight. Cathy B. said
something like, "Well, dawn is here, so I guess we can go back to bed." Then
came the first explosion. The attack lasted for about 1 1/2 hours. Two
explosions rocked our building, but they were pretty far away, I think. There
are 4 children in the shelter of the hotel. I didn't go to the shelter for this
first attack, so can't tell you much about the effect it had on these children.
But the experience of going to a strange place with very nervous parents and
sleeping in the basement on a cot with strangers could not be too
comforting. There hasn't been any bombing since the above, so Cathy B
and myself went to the hospital to see if perchance there were any kids left to
do arts and crafts. It was surrreal to move from being bombed in a country where
it is my own nation doing the bombing to driving through the streets of the city
to visit children of the nation under attack. As I expected, the hospital ward
where I had been working was entirely emptied. Even the sound of the children
crying as they did when IV infusions were given would have been a welcome sound
to drown out the ghastly silence. But even this silence was eclipsed by the scene I
encountered when I walked into the hospital. There is a very long and wide
corridor one passes through to get to the steps leading up to the wards. The
corridor was lined with empty beds (at least 20 beds on either side) awaiting
war casualties. I was taken aback at the sight, and then again by the mental
recognition that this is a children's hospital. Then when I saw all the empty
beds on the wards which should be filled with children being treated so that
they might live….
How backwards war makes our world. The children's beds are empty because
their mothers are compelled to go home with their sick child in order to comfort
their healthy children and keep them as safe as is possible during the bombing.
And the corridors of the vacated hospital lie waiting for the casualties of
those who could not be kept safe from the bombs. I spoke with a nurse, Razmiya, on the vacant ward and she
said she had worked all night in the emergency room of a regular hospital. There
were many elders brought in with heart problems, most of which were a response
to the stress of the situation the Iraqi people face. After some conversation
with Razmiya, I asked her if there were not any children left in the hospital.
She indicated there were children on another floor and we made our way there.
There was actually one little boy who had been there since I started
visiting the hospital. His name is Atarid and he is 5 years old. The floor he is
on is actually the intensive care nursery. He has an isolation room so isn't
with the infants. On Tuesday his mother, Adra, had told me they were going home
as she has 2 other children to see through these difficult days, so I was a
little surprised to see the two of them. His mother just couldn't stand to take
him off the medications he is on in the hospital. She knows it will mean
imminent death. When asked when he would finish this round of treatments, Adra
responded, "when he dies." Thank you all for all you are doing to stop the atrocity of
this war before more lives are claimed. I don't know how many people died in
today's bombing. But it is too late to save them. I don't know how many people
have died in wars past. But I know it is too late to save them. I don't know how
many people will die in the days coming from this war, but I know it isn't too
late to save them. May the peace of the Spirit be with all of you. The first round of bombing was a very frightening
experience. However, bombs crashing around us quickly became the normative
occurrence. After the second round of bombing on the first night, I remember
thinking to myself, “I don’t like this.” There was no great emotion or fear
associated with this thought. Given a choice, I would rather not have had to
hear the bombs and feel the hotel shaking from their impact. But my emotion about it
was comparable to emotion I might experience when I consider a food I do not
care for. Being bombed became the normative experience. But there was no
emotional neutrality when it came to the devastation the bombs
wrought First Day of Spring Hello to everyone. I hope that all is well with everyone on
this first day of Spring. It is a beautiful day here-the sky is clear, the sun
is bright and the air is warm. It may seem strange that I write about the
beautiful weather here when the "story" is the wrath of war, but I feel it is
important to acknowledge the beauty that remains and will not be overcome, even
in the midst of war. This truth is so very evident in the people I have come to
know here in Iraq. They have lived in the midst of war for so long, suffered its
horrid consequences, and yet remain a flame of beauty to all of us on the Iraq
Peace Team. Last night I was able to get acquainted with two of the
families who are staying in our basement shelter. There is a large family-Deva
(8 y/o) and Fady (about 14 y/o) with their grandparents, parents and several
aunts and uncles. There is also a mother with 2 young daughters, aged 2 and 3.
When the bombing began last night, I got out our hospital art supplies and asked
the kids to draw some pictures and make paper chains and such. I think it helped
to distract both them and myself, but it is shameful that the best our world can
offer these children are paper chains in a makeshift bomb shelter. I can find no beauty in the knowledge that there are
generations of children growing up in Iraq for whom war is simply way of life.
These children have done no harm. They are entirely innocent. And yet they will
at best carry the fright of these dark days with them for life, and at worse
they will perish because those who purport to care for their safety think they
can bring safety about with bombs. But we only have the moment, and at this moment these
children are beauty in the midst of everything which speaks otherwise, and they
are an incentive for all of us to continue the struggle for a world at
peace. Today we needed to get copies of our visas to be on file in
the hotel records. Of course, it isn't easy to find anything open in war time.
And even businesses which might open during the day were closed today for the
Muslim Holy Day (Friday). But we needed to get these copies and so went in
search of a miracle. We walked for some time but was having no luck at all. We
passed a group of soldiers and they tried to help us but to no avail. Then we
passed by a couple of men sitting in front of a shop and indicated our need.
They directed us to a stationary store very near by. But when they saw the doors
were closed up, they came along with us and banged on the steel security doors
until the owner came out. In all honesty, the owner didn't seem thrilled to open
up, but he did so and he made the numerous copies we needed. We traded names and
explained through our limited Arabic who we were and why were in Baghdad. When
he was finished with the copies and I asked him how much I owed, he said there
was no charge. On our way back to the hotel, we passed two groups of
soldiers. Understandably, they appeared suspicious of us. But we wished them
peace and they returned the blessing to us with sincere smiles. If the United States were being bombed by a foreign
country, would residents of the “enemy” nation living in the U.S. be allowed to
roam the streets so freely? Would they be given the same welcome and hospitality
the Iraqi’s have given us? I am not in the land of the enemy.
We hailed a taxi to take us back to the hotel and when the
driver saw we were Americans he refused to accept any fare, saying we were
guests of his country. He told us he has an uncle who lives in the United
States. He is a pilot. A jobless pilot since 9/11. He is no longer able to find
work in his field in the U.S. due to his nationality. We explained to him
why we were here in Iraq and he expressed the deepest gratitude (and agreement)
of our commitment to peace. When we pulled up to the hotel, we again tried to
give him fare, but he adamantly refused. I hope his uncle in the United States
ends up meeting some Americans who are as good to him as his nephew was to
us.
"Dear Family and Friends,
We are fucked.
Living
and Dying with Depleted Uranium