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As I See It
Why Don’t They Hate Me?
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| A boy who lost his arm to cancer is held up so he can see his visitors at Baghdad’s Al Mansour Children’s Hospital. Cancer treatment in Iraq is hampered by sanctions which prohibit the importation of certain medications and of radiation therapy machines. Photo by Craig Spaulding |
December,
2002
By
John Worrell
Through eyes narrowed by constant pain, the five year-old girl forced a smile at my faulty Arabic and antics by her bedside in Baghdad’s Al Mansour Children’s Hospital — once considered to be among the best such facilities in the world.
The eyes of the emaciated little boy in the next bed had lost all of the brilliant black sparkle so characteristic of Arab children, but he managed to thank me sincerely for the balloon I had brought him.
A tiny one-year old nearby also managed a smile as he extended his one remaining hand to clasp mine.
These friendly little people only saw me as a friendly big person who cared about them. They were unaware that the principal reason they were denied the common medication and treatments that could save their health, limbs, and lives was the policy of my government. But their mothers knew, their doctors knew, their entire society knew, and yet they all treated me warmly, as a friend. And I knew, making the pain of my shame all the harder for me to contain.
Why don’t they hate me? One reason is certainly the legendary friendliness, even toward strangers, that is a hallmark of Arab culture. Another is that the people I met categorically separate American people and our culture from the U.S. government and its policies. Perhaps their relationship with their own government has caused them to relieve American citizens from blame and responsibility for the harmful actions of our government.
Yet another reason was the reputation and objectives of the groups with which I was affiliated. Ours was the 50th delegation to Iraq under the auspices of Voices in the Wilderness — a peace and justice organization advocating nonviolence as the means to social and political change. The group is committed to working for an end to the sanctions on Iraq. Our delegation was co-sponsored by Christian Peacemaker Teams, which maintains violence reduction teams in trouble spots such as Columbia, Afghanistan and the West Bank.
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| John
Worrell, a member of the First Congregational Church in Brimfield,
leads a vigil outside a sanitation plant in Basra. Photo by Craig
Spaulding |
I thought I was prepared for this experience. I have been involved in similar efforts most of my adult life, including activities with these two organizations. My wife and I have spent several years in the region. I conduct an informal human rights email information service concentrating on that part of the world, which forces me to keep abreast of information resources not commonly found in mainstream media. All this proved invaluable for intellectually evaluating the barrage of new experiences— but it was quite inadequate to ready me emotionally for all that I encountered.
During the trip I led a vigil for our group at a sanitation plant in Basra. All that surrounded us — filling our noses, eyes, and ears — provided deeply personal punctuation to the story told us by the chief engineer. Before the Gulf War, the entire city of Basra – Iraq’s second largest with nearly 1.5 million people — was served by this state of the art facility. Even throughout the expense and devastation of its war with Iran, Iraq had maintained the highest level of sanitation and potable drinking water in the Middle East. Today there is no water considered safe for drinking in all the country. The targeted destruction of the Iraqi infrastructure during the 1991 Gulf War left not one such facility operable. On top of that, sanctions continue to prohibit water and sanitation plants from obtaining all the parts essential to perform satisfactorily. The Basra plant, for example, was finally rebuilt by European nations in 1996. But it has never been able to get clearance for a few replacement parts needed to allow it to again service most of the city. Meanwhile, the sewage canals stand full, and the rapidly approaching rainy season will surely flood the city’s streets and yards with their poisonous effluent.
UNICEF, the World Health Organization, and numerous other UN and international health agencies all agree that more than 500,000 children and elderly have died unnecessarily due to the embargo. The majority of these deaths are attributable to problems of sanitation and clean drinking water, exacerbated by lack of simple medicines.
| More @ • Conference Resource page on Iraq, includes Conference Minister & President's message, a letter signed by 56 MBA delegates, available speakers and recommended reading • Visions for Peace, Voices of Faith, an effort to provide alternative voices and perspectives on war by Action by Churches Together, the Ecumenical Advocacy Alliance, and the World Council of Churches. |
There are many chapters in this woeful tragedy. Before the Gulf War and the ensuing embargoes Iraq provided its citizens with ample electricity, modernized agriculture, housing and food for the needy, nearly total health care coverage, and free education from kindergarten through post-graduate. Those things are still on the books, but all suffer beyond recognition from broken infrastructure and the inability to get basic supplies, materials, and current training.
Kindergarten teachers and students in their overcrowded classroom deluged us with gratitude for the handful of ordinary pencils we passed out to them. While they could eagerly recite nursery rhymes and sing children’s songs to us in English, they could not write for us even in their own language because pencils are sanctioned items.
One of my objectives in going to Iraq was to demonstrate some of the virtues of America—that our vital strength is not bombs and dollars, but liberty and justice for all. But they knew all that. They lectured me on American values. One professor said he and his peers had always regarded us as a beacon for all peoples leading to such values as self-determination, anti-colonialism, prosperity, democracy. “But you are a beacon no more,” he said. “You have become the leader of colonialism.”
Whenever such earnest criticism was leveled, it was always surrounded by smiling reassurances that it was not personal –they did not mean Americans, they meant our governmental policies. They freely affirmed that we have many ideals that they want to emulate – but they also asserted that we needed to understand them as well, because they have much in their culture that would benefit us to learn. It is embarrassing that they understand so much about us, while we Americans know virtually nothing about them—the real Iraq.
Why don’t they hate us? Why do so many of us hate them?
John
Worrell is a member of the First Congregational Church in Brimfield.