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Letter
from Kathy Kelly
April 10, 2003
Early this morning, Umm Zainab sat quietly in the Al Fanar lobby
staring at the parade of tanks, APCs and Humvees that slowly rolled
into position along Abu Nuwas Street. Tears streamed down her face.
"I am very sad," she told me. "Never I thought this
would
happen to my country. Now, I think, my sadness will never go away."
Wanting to give Umm Zainab some quiet time, I took her two toddlers,
Zainab and Miladh, outside to enjoy the sunshine and fresh air.
Several soldiers stood guard not far from me and the children. I
wanted to bring the children over to them, to let them behold these
tiny beauties. But, no, too much of a risk - what if it would add
to Umm Zaineb's pain?
Your message about remaining here rings true, and we agree. We're
staying put. Quite literally. Eun Ha Yoo, our Korean Peace Team
friend, unrolled a huge artwork created by a Korean artist, (Chae
Pyong Doh?) and sweetly laid it out in the intersection just outside
the Al Fanar. As I write, Neville Watson and Cathy Breen are taking
their turns sitting in the
middle of it.
A map of the world covers the top third; grieving victims of war
fill the middle third; piles of ugly weapons with various flags
scattered over them bulge out of the bottom third. Neville has set
up his prayer stool and a small wooden cross where he sits. Cathy
is wearing her "War Is Not The Answer" t-shirt.
At least a dozen soldiers have stopped to talk with us since we
began the vigil at 3:00 this afternoon. "OK, can you tell us
your side of the story?" asked one young man. "Can I sit
there with you for awhile?" asked another. Each of them has
assured us that they didn't want to kill anyone. One young man said
he was desperate for financial aid to care for his wife and child
while struggling to complete college studies and work full time.
He felt he could gain some respect in this world and also help his
family by joining the Marines. He's relieved that he was stationed
at the rear of a line coming up from the south. His role was to
guard prisoners. He didn't shoot anyone. But he saw US soldiers
shoot at a civilian car with three passengers as it approached.
The child in the car survived - both of his parents were immediately
killed. "They could have shot the tires," said the soldier.
"Some just want to kill." One soldier offered earnest
concern for us, saying "You're sitting in a dangerous place."
We smiled. "Thanks," I said, "But we've been in a
dangerous place for the past three weeks." He was puzzled.
"What they mean," said a soldier standing next to him,
"is that they've been here all through three weeks of bombing."
"Do you try to put yourselves in our shoes?" asked one
soldier after he'd respectfully listened to me explain major contradictions
between US rhetoric and practice regarding Iraq. "Well, yes,"
I said, "We try. We're taking the same risk as you by being
here, and perhaps an even greater risk since we're unarmed and unprotected.
Actually, just now we're lucky not to be burdened by all that heavy
gear."
"Yeah," said the soldier, "It's really hot. I don't
have much of an appetite. I just give away most of my rations, -
give 'em to these people." Hassan, one of the shoeshine boys,
came over to join us, carrying a ration packet. He opened it, came
across processed apple spread, and a few other curious items, then
decided to donate it to us. Now the flies have
discovered it.
It looks like we're on "lock-down" for a while longer.
Iraqi minders are gone, --US soldiers are here. They're uncoiling
barbed wire at the intersection. Anyone wanting to walk across the
street must is stopped, questioned and searched. Since I began this
letter, there have been four huge explosions nearby. Looting and
burning continue, here in Baghdad. I'm
sick of war?disgusted to the point of nausea. I think all of us
at this intersection, residents of the Al Fanar, journalists in
the Palestine Hotel next door, and soldiers on patrol, share the
same queasy ill feeling. The line, "War is the health of the
state" makes no sense whatsoever here.
With love,
Kathy
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