Memoir for Mazen

I lost another friend this week. His name was Mazen.
I found out when a teammate picked me up for breakfast yesterday morning.
It took a while for the reality to sink in.

US soldiers shot him in the chest.
He was a journalist from Hebron, covering a story at the Abu Ghraib prison
in Baghdad.

Mazen.

I couldn't sleep much last night, after dreaming that I was indeed in
Baghdad, witnessing him being killed, running over to his body on the
ground, red blood intermingling with light brown skin and silver hair,
screaming his name and trying to bring him back. My voice was echoing in my
ears as I woke up, and lingered through the day.

In this dream, the US soldiers look at me as if I'm crazy. Why do I, an
American, care so much and am so upset over the death of this man? To them,
he is just another Arab.

I am shamefully grateful that I was not there and did not and will not see
his body. I do not wish to be broken so soon, after having been broken this
spring and the winter before that and the fall before that and the spring
before that. [Already, I was worried whom I might know at the UN. I knew
Michael, who narrowly escaped and set himself to helping the wounded.
Michael the Invincible, I will call him. Ah.]

I feel sick, knowing that Mazen narrowly escaped death on the streets of
Hebron at the hands of Israeli soldiers and settlers, only to die in Iraq at
the hands of US soldiers.

I thought of Mazen as the Dan Rather of Palestine. I don't know if that's
how others felt. He stood out from the fray, probably because of his
noticeably silver hair on a younger face; his ability to appear polished
even in the midst of chaos; his kind of movie-star bravado personality. He
was, or at least appeared bigger than most Palestinians--built more like a
quarterback. Well, come to think of it, Dan Rather really doesn't have
quite the charisma, or 'presence,' that Mazen did.

When I started working in Palestine, it was a time when international NGO
workers were pulling out because of the violence, and I learned to temper my
relationships, to not get too invested in people because who knows when they
would be moving on. Now, it seems, I could avoid much heartbreak by not
getting close to people with whom I work, because who knows when they will
be killed.

But that is no way to live. And I have too many friends, especially friends
who are journalists.

Mazen taught me a lot about documentation, and how important it is. Mostly
this happened by his yelling at me in mock exasperation, "Why didn't you get
that on film? I can't do anything with it unless it was on film!" One of
these times was after I got beat up by the settlers. That time, I shrugged
my shoulders and sheepishly said, "sorry Mazen, I was busy." But I kept the
lesson.



Sometimes when I was alone on the streets of Hebron (usually stepping out to
buy bread or another forgotten grocery item), and finding myself suddenly in
the midst of soldiers wreaking havoc in the marketplace (and yes, without
having remembered cell phone or camera), I would spot the journalists
standing nearby in a group, taking pictures. During those times when I knew
I was in over my head, I would simply join them. There is strength in
numbers, after all. At other times, when trouble arose from unfriendly
strangers in the street, I remember standing next to Mazen, and occasionally
behind him, for protection, and being kidded by him that I, an accompaniment
worker, needed protection from him! But he was pleased to oblige.

I only wish I could have been there to return the favor, Mazen.

And so, at different times today I find myself on the brink of tears, a dark
void settling in my heart. It's becoming a familiar feeling.

It makes me realize anew how I am entering face-first into the storm and how
it will hurt. I want to steel myself somehow for the experience, against
the pain, even; but I know all the same if I cannot feel the pain of human
suffering I am no longer humane, nor of use in bringing comfort to the
victims of human violence.

Mazen was training a successor, Nael, also a friend of mine. I know who I
will look up first in Baghdad when I arrive, to try and bring comfort to a
grieving friend.

Sadly, I have more tales like this one to share that are coming from Iraq.
I will try to pace them for you, lest you become hardened to the realities,
or overwhelmed by their frequency. A letter from one of my friends working
in Baghdad, previously in Palestine, is due tomorrow.

peace

Le Anne



"the West won the world not by the superiority of its ideas or values or
religion but rather by its superiority in applying organized violence.
Westerners often forget this fact, non-Westerners never do."
----------

Samuel P. Huntington

Heading to Iraq!

Hi everyone,

Well, it's official now and the plane tickets are being ordered as I write.
I depart Monday the 18th for two weeks in Toronto to watch the CPT office
there and be the support person for the Grassy Narrows project while the
Canada director is away, then I depart to Iraq on Sept. 2nd. I'll be in
Iraq until Christmas, when I'll travel to Palestine and try to visit as many
of my friends there as possible. That puts me back here in the US around
January 2.

So, I get to do a final week's worth of packing, sewing some last-minute
Iraq-suitable summer clothes (long-sleeved, dressy, and lightweight),
contacting media friends, wrapping up things here and saying good-byes. I'm
glad I'll make it to the family reunion the day before I ship out. I am
glad to be heading to Toronto first--it makes packing easier and Toronto is
a fun city as well as home to several good friends.

I started writing a longer reflection on some of the amazing and inspiring
things I saw happening within churches I visited this summer. While in
Michigan last week, for example, I got to see what a real "mission-minded"
congregation and synod looked like. Wow! So I'm working on that to send to
you all later. A large part of me wants to stay here and get more things
organized, but after three months away, I really miss the field. Next year,
in seminary, some of those big ideas will evolve into reality. I've got a
heck of a long 'wish list' these days...

peace,

Le Anne