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29 April 2003 Crowd Control American style
by Caoimhe Butterly in Baghdad
The road to Faluja is strewn with discarded tanks and burned out
cars and
palm groves whose depth of green contrasts strikingly with the parched
earth
leading out of Baghdad.
Its atmosphere, upon entry, is markedly different to that of Baghdad.
The
American military presence is much less pronounced, there is a marked
absence of foreign press. Faluja, it seems, is not bleeding enough
to lead.
Passing by children bathing in a river set aglow by the setting
sun,
families returning home from the fields, groups of old men heading
to
prayer, we make our way to Faluja General Hospital, whose morgue
last night
served as temporary home to the bodies of ten men, a young woman
and a ten
year old boy. The influx of the 37 wounded has ceased, the blood
cleaned
from the floors, the mourning keening woman brought home. The anger,
however
is still here. Its presence cannot be dealt with by the hospital
staff as
efficiently as they patched up, with limited pain killers, surgical
equipment, blood bags, IV lines, the 37 people who were carried
into them
from 10pm onwards last night - all shot with 50mm high caliber bullets
-
blowing off legs, ripping open abdominal cavities, shattering bones,
tearing
through muscles. Searing anger and distrust and pain onto a community's
collective memory.
"They are sick. They are deeply, deeply sick. Tell the Americans
we don't
believe in this freedom" says an elderly man. His comment is
one of the many
of the crowd that surround us yelling their pain and anger - demanding
an
explanation, a response - "why?"
"why do they insist on continuing to massacre our people -
how much more
blood do they want?" "show them, show the world, tell
them the truth."
Later, we move on, to the school occupied by the American military
for the
past week. It is here that - we are told - a non violent orderly
demonstration to the school took place last night. All those interviewed,
all those crowded outside the school now insist that the official
version is
false. They gathered peacefully, and marched peacefully, past the
mosque
through a residential area to the barbed wire coils that surround
the
occupied school.
The American troops as we arrive, are packing up. This is not a
media stunt
- the media have come and gone - a constant traffic, all day, through
the
hospital. Pictures taken, grief and loss encapsulated into palatable
sound
bites. This withdrawal is tactical. The public relations campaign
of a
benign occupation will be difficult to maintain if there is follow-up
to
this particular massacre. If there are charges pressed by the families,
by
the brothers who were hit by stray bullets inside their house. If
there is
investigation into the legitimacy of the official army version of
events. It
will become difficult, if there can be, in Falluja, a focal center
for
people's anger and frustration, an occupied school, snipers pointing
guns at
people entering and exited the mosque. It is easier for everyone,
if the
soldiers slip off into the night, avoiding the scrutiny, the fixed
eye of
accountability, which must be a factor in any "liberated"
"democratic"
country. So they do, slip off into the night - and, not recognizing
us as
their armoured cars and trucks pass our car on a dark highway to
Baghdad,
American soldiers pump their fists into the air for our cameras,
giving us
the victory sign.
Liberation - an ephemeral, passing phenomena has come and gone
in Falluja.
It came, sat uncomfortably for a week - without translators, cultural
or
historical sensibility, brought a temporary horde of journalists
to record
its only lasting impression on a community; that of violence, and
pain, and
loss; and left. Falluja, we are told later via a news report by
a BBC
reporter, has always been "anti American". This should,
and will, nullify or
qualm any murmurings of distrust abroad as to what lies ahead.
Caoimhe Butterly is an Irish human rights activist,
currently living in Baghdad with Voices in the Wilderness. She spent
a year in Jenin, Palestine, and since her deportation in Dec. 2002
has been campaigning full-time, giving over 70 talks in Ireland
and the UK, and engaging in nonviolent resistance to all wars.
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