The last training I ever gave

Today I was shown a newspaper photo of my friend Tom, just after he had been
shot in the back of the head while rescuing a child in Gaza.
I hadn't seen this photo before
I couldn't tear my eyes off his face
Later, I was badly shaken.

Just now I put down the thoughts in my head

Today in Toronto, I led a training. It was the CPT Ontario regional group
meeting, and I led three role plays and discussion about this week's past
events on team in Hebron. Afterwards, several of my 'students' came up and
thanked me for the training I gave.

You have a gift, you're very good at this, a natural, they said
I smiled
I guess it didn't go too badly

I remember the last student I had who thanked me for my training.
His name was Tom Hurndall.

The last training I ever gave in Palestine,
a tall, friendly boy my age
with dark hair and a slight beard,
gangly and gentle
A kindred spirit traveling Iraq and now Palestine
smiled and thanked me for the training I gave.
I feel safer and more confident now having been here with you, he said.

I smiled, received the compliment
touched his hand
and saw him off to Gaza.

Four days later, I received the terrible phone call.

He did everything right,
everything I taught him to do.
Everything I would have done.
Today I saw his photo
beautiful Tom
eyes wide open
as if calmly surveying the world
in reality,
dead.

His mother went to Gaza and held the boy he saved
he also is gangly and dark, with brown eyes and black hair

Above Tom is Alice.
Face wrenched in pain
hopeless, tormented
She also was my student
When she came she was petite and cute
redhead, shaved head, feminist
experienced activist
laughing, centered, solid

She's been in many famous photographs.
I think I've seen them all
Crouching over Rachel's broken body
in the dunes of Rafah
Melting into horror in the hospital upon learning of her death
Mouth gaping, body rocking
Her dignity torn away by the glare of television cameras

She did everything right
everything I told her to do
everything I would have done
Now as I am shown her distorted face
over Tom's distorted body
I am told now she will never get over this
I understand, Alice, neither will I

I remember Brian smiling
casual, chatting easily
strong and good looking

Sadly I am not so good with names and
I didn't realize it was him they were speaking of,
whose face was ripped away by the bullet
whose tongue and jaw and cheek and teeth
are shattered
who shall not smile for years
until someone finally found a photo of him
from 'before.'

Until then I had only seen
a bare body lying in the hospital bed
surrounded by tubes
and white cloth masking
where his smile used to be

The nauseating reality finally struck
I clung to my chair and waited for it to pass
it never did.

And here I have to pause and admit my shame
for being so glad it was not Tobias
With whom I made the sorrowful journey down to Gaza
and befriended, another kindred spirit
we shared admiration for each other's strength
we brought flowers for Rachel
how many flowers has he brought now
he's made this trip three times
Standing next to Brian under the streetlamp
He escaped,
only to have those terrible images seared into his brain

After Tom, he pleaded with me to come join them in mourning
and I wanted to desperately
But I also couldn't take it anymore
I am no longer strong
And he bore so much more than I did
He's still there

To make a friend one day,
And hear he is dead the next,
Then see his broken, bloodied body in the newspaper the next day.
How do you live?
Can I ever see another friend looking back at me through lifeless eyes
Can I ever take another phone call in the middle of the night?

I guess I really know now how it feels to be a Palestinian.
Or an Israeli.
The three years before were only practice in feeling

George, Rachel, Brian, Tom
My friends are dead and dying
broken
their shattered faces looking back at me
their bodies blending together
in my mind's eye.

[I don't begin to count the ones whose bodies are also broken
from beatings
and prison
still they live on
if only marginally inside
and I left the country
and I did not call
what kind of friend am I]

Already to account for the distorted corpses I have seen
I need more than fingers and toes
babies children fighters friends students teachers
Each face is still with me

The cries of the living, the wails of the maimed in Nablus
still ring in my ears tonight
drowning out the voices of the
perfectly normal whole complete people I mingle with now

Four years ago in an interview
someone asked me if I ever got angry.
I replied that there had been several indignities in my life
and I tended to ruminate when troubled
but no, I never really felt anger
It didn't seem worth it
They thought I must have been lying then
I assured them I was not
Now I know that indeed I was telling the truth

I feel the anger
it is burning
I am consumed with rage




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# people killed in terrorist attacks on Sept 11th: 3,700
# people killed by hunger on this date worldwide: 24,000
# children killed by diarrhea on this date worldwide: 6,020
# children killed by measles on this date worldwide: 2,700
.....................
# Afghan civilians killed by US forces in recent war: 5,000
# Iraqi civilians killed by US forces so far in this war: 2,500
# Iraqi civilians killed by US-enforced sanctions over past 13 years: 1.2
million
#Iraqis killed by US forces on Feb 27, 1991: 10,000
.....................
average # of people killed annually by draught and famine: 73,606
average # of children killed each year in conflict: 200,000
average # of children each year made homeless by conflict: 1,200,000
# African children under 15 living with HIV: 1,100,000
--------------------
Everybody counts.