Posts
A Sadder Return from Iraq
January 10, 2003
Hi everyone,
I arrived safely back in Jerusalem this afternoon, after a little stress at the border. Sadly, the anxiety paled in comparison to my emotions and feelings of trauma these past few days since the accident. The rest of this letter may seem a little disjointed and difficult as I try to work it all out.
As you probably read in the release I wrote (Claire sent it on to you), our delegation was returning from Basrah (in the Southern no-fly zone) to Baghdad a day before we were scheduled to leave. About an hour out of town, the rear driver’s-side tire of the car behind ours peeled apart, causing the car to fishtail. But the driver was skilled, and everybody in the car said they thought they would it was coming back under control. Unfortunately, even while slowed down and steering correctively, the front passenger tire
clipped a slight curb on the road and it was enough to flip the car diagonally and send it rolling into the ditch. It rolled at least three times and landed upside down. My teammate George Weber was thrown from the car and killed (he was sitting above the tire that blew), two of our delegates were hospitalized, and two more had cuts and back strain. Another CPTer, Jim Loney, was in the middle seat and best survived the accident. He helped everyone else from the car and is now staying in Baghdad with the two who still need medical care and will fly home with George’s body to Canada. He lives half an hour away from George’s house and knows his family. These past few days he has been an untiring and unseeking hero.
The Sanctions Committee does not allow for the export of any ‘cargo,’ including bodies of foreigners, to be taken out of Iraq. I believe it was the Canadian consular officials who were able to push the US (which heads the committee) into allowing a special exemption. We are glad, but feel the bitter irony. George should be home by Friday.
Images have been playing in my mind, and everyone’s minds in our group, since the accident. It feels like a movie, both in that it feels like others were playing the roles in front of me, including my own, and that it is still so unreal. A few of us gathered the last night in Baghdad to help each other piece together the missing scenes and unanswered questions about why things happened the way it did—slowly, slowly the reality is now sinking in.
I remember our driver and our guide suddenly looking up and screaming into the rear-view mirror, then I looked back just as the car began to flip into the air and come down in a cloud of dust. At first I didn't realize it was one of our caravan. Cliff and I sprinted to the wreck, and when I saw it was our car, I actually stopped, thinking somehow that if it was us, we must all be okay. People didn't seem too panicked. Only a few seconds later I realized it was because everyone was in a state of shock. The driver of their car, Razek, our driver Sittar (his brother), and our guide Zayed fell to their knees and beat their hands against their heads in the style of Arab grief, and I will never forget that high-pitched, anguished unrelenting wail that I never knew men to be capable of, that said they had done everything to keep us safe and well cared for these past two weeks, and somehow things had gone horribly wrong. Our group had the best drivers in the best cars on the best roads available. We were immediately aware that this was what saved the other six people in the car, a crash that no one should likely have walked away from, and we tried to console them. Sittar replied simply, “But somebody is dead.” It was a somber ride back to Basrah.
There were many more horrible realizations I had within just a few minutes, that I will not share here. I know many of my teammates in CPT receive my letters, who were also teammates with George. Because he had been so badly injured, I went to cover him before the others came to realize what had happened. I couldn’t believe it was really him, for a moment I thought the car must have hit a person trying to cross the road. Slowly I knew. I don't know if I can ever forget that image. That morning, I sat across from
George at breakfast and noticed all the little white hairs individually sticking up about an inch from his head. He was such a sweet old man. I wanted to reach across and rub his head, it was so cute I thought. But I behaved myself. I wish I hadn’t. No one will be able to do that again.
Immediately when I realized he was gone, I felt crushing guilt that I had not spent more time with him, often because I felt I had other things to do. At our memorial service for him the next day, as I remembered and shared each wonderful exchange of words we'd had while working together, I came to realize that really I had learned a lot in only a little time.
It has been a very long year. I have come into contact with seven bodies of people who have died violently in about as many months, and dozens more pictures of others still. Each has impacted me deeply. Somehow I know my teammate will likely not be the last. Not in Palestine, nor Iraq or Colombia if I find myself there; not in CPT, not in my line of work now or in the future, I imagine. I feel selfish in hoping then not that there will be no more, but that it will never again be somebody I know. And yet I would very much like that to be so.
We did a CPT workshop on trauma healing this past September, and I found some of the techniques we learned there helpful. In the hours after the crash, I had to respond to the urgent needs--accompanying delegates to the hospital, translating with hospital staff, writing the press release, attending to the emotional needs of the rest of the group. It seemed as though there was no time to cry, no time to respond emotionally to the
horrible images replaying themselves in my head. By the end of the day I had no idea why my legs and head hurt so much. I got in a taxi to the internet cafe, the first moment away from the group and constant activity, and suddenly found myself barely able to contain my tears. (I am sure the Iraqi taxi driver was unsure what to do with a sniffling American woman in the back seat). It wasn't until the next day when I was able to really
break away and find a quiet place to deal with the images, remember the parts that I'd forgotten--and remember the sprinting which caused my legs to be so sore. Soon the aches began to fade and the weight was a little easier to bear.
A few days earlier, I had been in the most beautiful place I'd ever seen. Our group visited a plantation of date palms and citrus, which Iraqis plant together. (They have known about sustainable and organic agriculture for thousands of years before it became trendy here.) The date palms shelter the oranges from the hard sun and occasional frosts, allowing a lengthy growing season. The grove was so thick that it silenced all outside sounds, and the air was remarkably pure. Even the light had an ethereal quality to it. It was so beautiful, to see the canopy of trees high above as well as the bright colors below, I felt like crying out of happiness and I never wanted to leave. I thought to myself, this is what Eden must have looked like. I thought to myself then I would have to etch this place in my mind to counter the next painful experiences I have to face in life. I tried hard
after the accident to remember that place and that feeling. Finally it is beginning to come back.
While I stood over George's body for what seemed like an eternity, the desert around us seemed truly a harsh and unforgiving, life-forsaking place. I felt guilty and grateful at the same time that he had died instantly, knowing we were too far away from anywhere to save him, let alone the lack of medical equipment necessary to keep him alive due to the sanctions.
Previously in my two trips I had found the deserts beautiful and contemplative. I was grateful later to leave Iraq at sunset, when the desert mists with pinks and periwinkles I have never seen elsewhere, under a bright red sun.
One of the things our delegation discussed before we parted was how to honor George's memory without forgetting our original mission: to witness to the horrors present and to come in Iraq. Several people are following up on the origin of the tire which disintegrated on the highway, if it is indeed one of the recalled tires that were a major US scandal last year, if they were indeed then sold unscrupulously and without recourse to unknowing Iraqis. Under the sanctions, many malfunctioning or unsafe materials have been sent into Iraq. Perhaps our accident can help call attention to this immoral
practice and get it stopped. I think George would approve.
Our delegation was well aware that if it were a carful of Iraqis, nobody would notice or care. I thought of this with every scrap of tread I saw alongside the highway as we traveled back to Jordan. How many in Iraq or other third world countries have died as a result of the junk we sell them, and what responsibility do we have in their deaths? When will their lives begin to have value in our eyes?
We also shared what had the deepest effect on George while he was with us in Iraq—the children suffering from malnutrition and radiation-related diseases in the hospitals. After our first tour of the wards, even though I wasn’t the delegation leader, he stopped me outside the second hospital and asked if he could sit in the garden a while instead. His heart had just been broken over them. He went everywhere else with us those two weeks, but could not bring himself to enter another hospital. I know when I do come home, I’ll be sharing a lot of those pictures and stories from the wards.
In the meantime, I am happy to be here still. I look forward to helping develop our new team in Jerusalem, looking forward also to the perk of perhaps seeing friends in Bethlehem and Ramallah more often than I have recently. For my own health, I am taking a few days off to rest now, and I’ve bought an hour of another friend’s time, probably payable in chocolate, to squeeze hands and remember.
I really don’t know when I am coming home next, due to the situation, but will let you know as soon as I do. I am really looking forward to speaking about my time in Iraq. If you know any journalists interested in doing interviews over email, I’d be happy to hear from them.
Talk to you all soon,
Le Anne
Friday, January 10, 2003
Monday, January 06, 2003
CPT Reservist Killed in Iraq Highway Rollover
CPT Reservist Killed in Iraq, Delegates Injured, in Highway Rollover
January 6, 2003
By Le Anne Clausen
Basrah, Iraq - George Weber, 73, of Chesley ON, Canada, was killed instantly in a motor accident on Jan. 6, north of Basrah, Iraq, while travelling with a Christian Peacemaker Team (CPT) delegation.
Charlie Jackson, 43, of San Antonio TX, USA, and Michele Naar-Obed, 46, of Duluth MN, USA, sustained moderate injuries in the crash. Two others had minor injuries.
Six CPT delegates were travelling in a Chevrolet Suburban as part of a three-vehicle caravan returning to Baghdad from Basrah. The left rear tire blew out causing the car to fish-tail. The driver tried to stabilize the vehicle but it hit the shoulder of the road, flipped over, and rolled to a stop upside-down beside the road. Weber sustained massive head injuries when he was thrown from the vehicle.
Iraqi passers-by and CPT delegates from the other two cars witnessed the crash and immediately came to help. The delegation then returned to Basrah where the victims were examined and treated at a local hospital. Jackson sustained a broken rib and back strain in the accident and remains in hospital. Naar-Obed sufffered a broken nose and neck strain but was released after treatment. Larry Kehler, 69, of Winnipeg MB, Canada, and Pat
Basler, 64, of Webster WI, USA, were also examined for minor injuries and released.
The vehicles were in excellent condition with skilled drivers, on a lightly travelled six-lane highway, under clear weather conditions. The tires on the vehicles were all replaced just prior to the delegation. The cause of the tire failure is still being investigated.
Delegation members said that, while in Iraq, Weber had been most deeply touched by the children he saw suffering from radiation-related cancers and the lack of medications under the UN-administered economic sanctions.
Delegation leader Cliff Kindy, 53, of North Manchester IN, said, "On this day, Christians celebrate Epiphany when strangers brought gifts from the East. Our delegation came from the West. George Weber brought the gift of his life."
Weber was a retired history teacher and trained CPT Reservist. He served in 2001 and 2002 with the CPT team in Hebron, West Bank. There, he took a particular interest in accompanying Palestinian school children to classes under curfew in the occupied city. With his wife Lena, he had also spent three years teaching school in Nigeria in the 1960s.
When Weber first applied to CPT in 1999, he wrote, "I think that most of the calamities that befall ordinary folk could be alleviated if it were not for the selfishness and greed that motivate the power structures which are in place throughout the world. But there are also many people of good will who wish to treat everyone fairly and with charity. I try to be among this group."
CPT delegates issued a statement that attested to the driver's skillful handling of the vehicle in an attempt to avert the crash. The delegation thanked the Iraqi hospital workers, and local officials, who provided quick and compassionate assistance to the group after the accident. The delegation will stay in Basrah overnight and most plan to return to their home countries as scheduled on Jan. 9.
The 17-person delegation has been in Iraq since Dec. 29 visiting hospitals and other Iraqi civilian institutions to witness first-hand the devastating impact of 13 years of sanctions, the Gulf War, and the threat of another war on the Iraqi people.
Delegation members include Anne Albright (McPherson KS), Pat Basler (Webster WI), Le Anne Clausen (Mason City IA), Bill and Genie Durland (Cokedale CO), Thomas Finger (Evanston IL), Peggy Gish (Athens OH), Sue Gray (Carbondale CO), Charlie Jackson (San Antonio TX), Larry Kehler (Winnipeg MB), Cliff Kindy (N. Manchester IN), Robert Leonetti (Trinidad CO), Jim Loney (Priceville ON), Mary Ellen McDonagh (Chicago IL), Anne Montgomery (New York NY), and Michele NaarObed (Duluth MN).
January 6, 2003
By Le Anne Clausen
Basrah, Iraq - George Weber, 73, of Chesley ON, Canada, was killed instantly in a motor accident on Jan. 6, north of Basrah, Iraq, while travelling with a Christian Peacemaker Team (CPT) delegation.
Charlie Jackson, 43, of San Antonio TX, USA, and Michele Naar-Obed, 46, of Duluth MN, USA, sustained moderate injuries in the crash. Two others had minor injuries.
Six CPT delegates were travelling in a Chevrolet Suburban as part of a three-vehicle caravan returning to Baghdad from Basrah. The left rear tire blew out causing the car to fish-tail. The driver tried to stabilize the vehicle but it hit the shoulder of the road, flipped over, and rolled to a stop upside-down beside the road. Weber sustained massive head injuries when he was thrown from the vehicle.
Iraqi passers-by and CPT delegates from the other two cars witnessed the crash and immediately came to help. The delegation then returned to Basrah where the victims were examined and treated at a local hospital. Jackson sustained a broken rib and back strain in the accident and remains in hospital. Naar-Obed sufffered a broken nose and neck strain but was released after treatment. Larry Kehler, 69, of Winnipeg MB, Canada, and Pat
Basler, 64, of Webster WI, USA, were also examined for minor injuries and released.
The vehicles were in excellent condition with skilled drivers, on a lightly travelled six-lane highway, under clear weather conditions. The tires on the vehicles were all replaced just prior to the delegation. The cause of the tire failure is still being investigated.
Delegation members said that, while in Iraq, Weber had been most deeply touched by the children he saw suffering from radiation-related cancers and the lack of medications under the UN-administered economic sanctions.
Delegation leader Cliff Kindy, 53, of North Manchester IN, said, "On this day, Christians celebrate Epiphany when strangers brought gifts from the East. Our delegation came from the West. George Weber brought the gift of his life."
Weber was a retired history teacher and trained CPT Reservist. He served in 2001 and 2002 with the CPT team in Hebron, West Bank. There, he took a particular interest in accompanying Palestinian school children to classes under curfew in the occupied city. With his wife Lena, he had also spent three years teaching school in Nigeria in the 1960s.
When Weber first applied to CPT in 1999, he wrote, "I think that most of the calamities that befall ordinary folk could be alleviated if it were not for the selfishness and greed that motivate the power structures which are in place throughout the world. But there are also many people of good will who wish to treat everyone fairly and with charity. I try to be among this group."
CPT delegates issued a statement that attested to the driver's skillful handling of the vehicle in an attempt to avert the crash. The delegation thanked the Iraqi hospital workers, and local officials, who provided quick and compassionate assistance to the group after the accident. The delegation will stay in Basrah overnight and most plan to return to their home countries as scheduled on Jan. 9.
The 17-person delegation has been in Iraq since Dec. 29 visiting hospitals and other Iraqi civilian institutions to witness first-hand the devastating impact of 13 years of sanctions, the Gulf War, and the threat of another war on the Iraqi people.
Delegation members include Anne Albright (McPherson KS), Pat Basler (Webster WI), Le Anne Clausen (Mason City IA), Bill and Genie Durland (Cokedale CO), Thomas Finger (Evanston IL), Peggy Gish (Athens OH), Sue Gray (Carbondale CO), Charlie Jackson (San Antonio TX), Larry Kehler (Winnipeg MB), Cliff Kindy (N. Manchester IN), Robert Leonetti (Trinidad CO), Jim Loney (Priceville ON), Mary Ellen McDonagh (Chicago IL), Anne Montgomery (New York NY), and Michele NaarObed (Duluth MN).
Friday, January 03, 2003
When the Bombs Begin to Fall
When the Bombs Begin to Fall
January 3, 2003
Greetings from Baghdad! I have been here about three days now, and the weather is sunny though cool. It is the rainy season, and though it has only rained a little here everything is beginning to grow green. I am reminded everywhere I walk of how only a few decades ago, this was a popular, exotic tourist country. I hope all of you are able to come here someday and experience the best of Iraq.
We kicked off the new year at the UN compound, where the weapons inspectors depart from each morning. New Year's eve, we held a 'public celebration' of the fact that most nations in the world, and most US citizens as well, do not want this war. Quite a bit of press showed up for our candles, sparklers, traditional Iraqi drum-and-bugle party band, and dancing. (If you saw the girl with the pink hat doing a 'peace shimmy,' well, there I was.) The next morning we were back early under the same banner, waiting to send off the inspectors with waves, smiles, and words of encouragement. They seemed to really appreciate it. We also released doves as a prayer for peace in the new year. Our regular taxi driver, Mohammed, found them for us. In what couldn't have been better if it were planned, the doves flew backwards over the UN compound and circled overhead for about five minutes! We kiddingly congratulated Mohammed on his long hours of training. The cameras stayed around and got plenty of footage of the circling doves, too.
Hope some of our stuff made it back home.
We heard Kofi Annan (head of the UN) say on the radio that he is pleased with the progress of the inspections, that there is no evidence of weapons of mass destruction, and no justification for an attack against Iraq. A few moments later, we heard Bush say in an interview that the "results were discouraging." I pondered how so exactly. Later in the day, we heard Bush say his wish for the New Year was that we wouldn't have to have a war with Iraq. Maybe there is a change in the air? One can only hope.
Our ten year old shoeshine boy who stays outside the hotel, Assan, sneaked along for the demonstrations and accompanied us afterward while we had a singalong over dates, oranges, baklava, and 'numi Basra,' which is a tea made of dried lemons. The song 'We Shall Overcome,' is also translated into Arabic, as he showed us.
Assan was hit by a car a few months ago and has several teeth broken. Still, he is an incredibly sweet and smiling boy. He's extremely small for his age, as are many children for whom the monthly food ration is their family's main source of income. We try to get as many shoe shines as possible while here. He is an extremely calm, polite, and responsible child for his age as well, which is somewhat disconcerting. Yesterday there was another accident on the road outside our hotel, where traffic moves at 40 mph, and a dump truck collided with a sedan. While the drivers argued and cars continued to speed by, he slipped out to the accident site and gathered up all the broken little pieces of the car and put them inside, then came back to shine shoes.
On Monday, we visited Central Teaching Hospital here in Baghdad. While I have seen pictures of babies with deformities that appear to be linked to the high radiation levels from our weaponry in the first Gulf War, this was the first time I saw them in person. We met a three year old boy named Omar, and his mother. Omar's head was swollen to double its size with tumors, in stark contrast to the thinness of the rest of his body. He groaned and wept while his mother held him. The doctor told us plainly. "We have done what we could with the medicines we are able to get. But we cannot get the full regimen of cancer medications here. Now we all know we must wait for him to pass on." His mother is a strong woman who has spoken to many groups, and encouraged us to take pictures. There are many strong women in that ward, who shouldn't have to be. Other children in the ward were suffering from hydroencephalitis, one a newborn who seemed another head behind her own. Others were dying of wasting diseases.
I did not see the baby who died while we were in the ward. Her mother brought her in a few days ago with severe malnutrition. The doctor took the rest of the group in to see her. The doctor asked the group to take her photo too, to document what happens to children here. No one felt quite able to do so.
I was in the nearby neonatal wards, where many of the premature and severely ill infants and their parents waited. There some of the tiniest and most sickly babies I have ever seen were lined up in old, yet still somewhat functional incubators. Since I know how to use a Polaroid, I got the task of taking pictures of the babies for their parents as a thanks offering for visiting with us. Each mother opened the incubator and arranged their child's clothes for the picture. I tried to take the photos from an angle that showed as little of the incubator and as little of the illness as possible. The parents were incredibly grateful for the photos. The nursing staff on the ward also asked for their photo together.
While taking the photos, I thought to myself that it probably wasn't healthy to whip open an incubator and shoot a camera flash in a sick infant's face. I asked the doctor about it and he said to go ahead. A little later I realized that for most of the parents, they were not expecting their children to survive much longer. "It is a memory," our guide said as I left the ward.
I thought a lot about the twisted circumstance everyone was in at the hospital there. The brilliant, American-educated pediatrician, who was giving tours to American peace activists about the devastation of their medical system from the Gulf War and thirteen years of sanctions. The parents, who graciously allowed us to see their children's slow deaths, that could have been prevented or made more comfortable with the medicines our government forbids them to have. Myself, walking in with a fancy machine to spit out a photograph at them instead. I thought also that it might be more appropriate for these parents to simply spit at me. I wonder, how would people from our country react, if the sides were reversed over these past thirteen years?
Several news articles I have read from the States suggest the military will use a 'microwave bomb' to immediately knock out all electricity, phones, television, radio, etc. I thought to myself for a moment, well, this seems logical from a military perspective.
However, the hospitals here do not have backup generators like our hospitals at home. Doctors told us about having operated on patients late in the last war, and at other times, without electricity, running water, medicines, or anesthesia. When the bombs begin to fall, the children in the incubators and hooked up to other lifesaving machines will be some of the first to go.
I know that now. Bombs do not discriminate, particularly when aimed at a city crowded with five million people. I wish that I could stay here when that time comes. And I know that for myself, I cannot. My role to play will be outside, likely helping train international volunteers for accompaniment and documentation work when they begin to arrive in larger numbers in Palestine. Many there expect that a large-scale campaign of 'transfer,' or ethnic cleansing deportations, will begin when war on Iraq begins. The world's attention will be diverted then.
Probably if things are looking bad, I will try not to come home in February as scheduled.
I have more to write and little time to do so. I am thinking about you all constantly and looking forward to coming home again when I am able to do so.
Please work as well as pray for peace now,
Le Anne
January 3, 2003
Greetings from Baghdad! I have been here about three days now, and the weather is sunny though cool. It is the rainy season, and though it has only rained a little here everything is beginning to grow green. I am reminded everywhere I walk of how only a few decades ago, this was a popular, exotic tourist country. I hope all of you are able to come here someday and experience the best of Iraq.
We kicked off the new year at the UN compound, where the weapons inspectors depart from each morning. New Year's eve, we held a 'public celebration' of the fact that most nations in the world, and most US citizens as well, do not want this war. Quite a bit of press showed up for our candles, sparklers, traditional Iraqi drum-and-bugle party band, and dancing. (If you saw the girl with the pink hat doing a 'peace shimmy,' well, there I was.) The next morning we were back early under the same banner, waiting to send off the inspectors with waves, smiles, and words of encouragement. They seemed to really appreciate it. We also released doves as a prayer for peace in the new year. Our regular taxi driver, Mohammed, found them for us. In what couldn't have been better if it were planned, the doves flew backwards over the UN compound and circled overhead for about five minutes! We kiddingly congratulated Mohammed on his long hours of training. The cameras stayed around and got plenty of footage of the circling doves, too.
Hope some of our stuff made it back home.
We heard Kofi Annan (head of the UN) say on the radio that he is pleased with the progress of the inspections, that there is no evidence of weapons of mass destruction, and no justification for an attack against Iraq. A few moments later, we heard Bush say in an interview that the "results were discouraging." I pondered how so exactly. Later in the day, we heard Bush say his wish for the New Year was that we wouldn't have to have a war with Iraq. Maybe there is a change in the air? One can only hope.
Our ten year old shoeshine boy who stays outside the hotel, Assan, sneaked along for the demonstrations and accompanied us afterward while we had a singalong over dates, oranges, baklava, and 'numi Basra,' which is a tea made of dried lemons. The song 'We Shall Overcome,' is also translated into Arabic, as he showed us.
Assan was hit by a car a few months ago and has several teeth broken. Still, he is an incredibly sweet and smiling boy. He's extremely small for his age, as are many children for whom the monthly food ration is their family's main source of income. We try to get as many shoe shines as possible while here. He is an extremely calm, polite, and responsible child for his age as well, which is somewhat disconcerting. Yesterday there was another accident on the road outside our hotel, where traffic moves at 40 mph, and a dump truck collided with a sedan. While the drivers argued and cars continued to speed by, he slipped out to the accident site and gathered up all the broken little pieces of the car and put them inside, then came back to shine shoes.
On Monday, we visited Central Teaching Hospital here in Baghdad. While I have seen pictures of babies with deformities that appear to be linked to the high radiation levels from our weaponry in the first Gulf War, this was the first time I saw them in person. We met a three year old boy named Omar, and his mother. Omar's head was swollen to double its size with tumors, in stark contrast to the thinness of the rest of his body. He groaned and wept while his mother held him. The doctor told us plainly. "We have done what we could with the medicines we are able to get. But we cannot get the full regimen of cancer medications here. Now we all know we must wait for him to pass on." His mother is a strong woman who has spoken to many groups, and encouraged us to take pictures. There are many strong women in that ward, who shouldn't have to be. Other children in the ward were suffering from hydroencephalitis, one a newborn who seemed another head behind her own. Others were dying of wasting diseases.
I did not see the baby who died while we were in the ward. Her mother brought her in a few days ago with severe malnutrition. The doctor took the rest of the group in to see her. The doctor asked the group to take her photo too, to document what happens to children here. No one felt quite able to do so.
I was in the nearby neonatal wards, where many of the premature and severely ill infants and their parents waited. There some of the tiniest and most sickly babies I have ever seen were lined up in old, yet still somewhat functional incubators. Since I know how to use a Polaroid, I got the task of taking pictures of the babies for their parents as a thanks offering for visiting with us. Each mother opened the incubator and arranged their child's clothes for the picture. I tried to take the photos from an angle that showed as little of the incubator and as little of the illness as possible. The parents were incredibly grateful for the photos. The nursing staff on the ward also asked for their photo together.
While taking the photos, I thought to myself that it probably wasn't healthy to whip open an incubator and shoot a camera flash in a sick infant's face. I asked the doctor about it and he said to go ahead. A little later I realized that for most of the parents, they were not expecting their children to survive much longer. "It is a memory," our guide said as I left the ward.
I thought a lot about the twisted circumstance everyone was in at the hospital there. The brilliant, American-educated pediatrician, who was giving tours to American peace activists about the devastation of their medical system from the Gulf War and thirteen years of sanctions. The parents, who graciously allowed us to see their children's slow deaths, that could have been prevented or made more comfortable with the medicines our government forbids them to have. Myself, walking in with a fancy machine to spit out a photograph at them instead. I thought also that it might be more appropriate for these parents to simply spit at me. I wonder, how would people from our country react, if the sides were reversed over these past thirteen years?
Several news articles I have read from the States suggest the military will use a 'microwave bomb' to immediately knock out all electricity, phones, television, radio, etc. I thought to myself for a moment, well, this seems logical from a military perspective.
However, the hospitals here do not have backup generators like our hospitals at home. Doctors told us about having operated on patients late in the last war, and at other times, without electricity, running water, medicines, or anesthesia. When the bombs begin to fall, the children in the incubators and hooked up to other lifesaving machines will be some of the first to go.
I know that now. Bombs do not discriminate, particularly when aimed at a city crowded with five million people. I wish that I could stay here when that time comes. And I know that for myself, I cannot. My role to play will be outside, likely helping train international volunteers for accompaniment and documentation work when they begin to arrive in larger numbers in Palestine. Many there expect that a large-scale campaign of 'transfer,' or ethnic cleansing deportations, will begin when war on Iraq begins. The world's attention will be diverted then.
Probably if things are looking bad, I will try not to come home in February as scheduled.
I have more to write and little time to do so. I am thinking about you all constantly and looking forward to coming home again when I am able to do so.
Please work as well as pray for peace now,
Le Anne
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