by Cathy Breen

WE HAVE COME SO FAR…are the words on one of the banners we are holding at a 2-week vigil and fast in front of the U.N. headquarters in Geneva, Switzerland. The United Nations Compensation Commission (UNCC) will be meeting here in the end of June to determine how much of a remaining $65 billion in war reparations claims will be imposed against Iraq. We have come to ask the Commission, at what point will innocent Iraqis no longer be penalized for the unjust acts of Saddam Hussein’s regime?

As I was handing out statements with the intentions of our vigil to passersby, he came towards me, and our eyes met in joyful recognition. Raad, our friend and “stargazer,” who looked from his rooftop in Baghdad at the constellations and planets between the bombings. When we left Iraq after the horror of “Shock and Awe,” we took his words with us, “We must continue to celebrate the universe.”

How long has it been since we’ve seen one another, a year and a half perhaps? How much has transpired in that time? Together with two Italian women and another Iraqi woman colleague, Raad had been kidnapped in early September of 2004 in the offices of Bridges to Baghdad. At one point during their 3-week captivity, we had received the news that they had most likely been killed. I remember how we grieved on that day. You can imagine then our relief and jubilation, and that of his family, upon their release.

In the first days after the kidnapping I remember living so strongly with the sense that this exceptional man had a purpose to fulfill. So often when I tried to pray for him I would imagine the exchange that must be taking place between him and his kidnappers. We’d had contact with him since his release and knew that he and his family had found refuge in Switzerland. He’d not been able to tell us his story, nor had I wanted to pressure him precipitously. But now, after greeting us, Raad’s words came spilling out.

First, he reminded Kathy Kelly of the film she had given to him in Baghdad in the Fall of 2003, A Force More Powerful in Arabic which tells of various modern non-violent movements. He felt that somehow his experience was similar; that non-violence had won out over violence.

As we stood on the sidewalk in front of the U.N., his words were fragmented at times, occasionally accompanied by nervous laughter.

“…For 5 days my eyes were covered… I wanted to affect them [the kidnappers]…. the first night one held a machine gun to my head….’You are liars’ he said. ‘In 5 seconds you have to say that you are working for the troops or for the church!’ “I just smiled. They laughed and the atmosphere changed. One tapped me lightly on the head and said ‘You make jokes for us!’

…I was handcuffed, hands behind me in the back of a vehicle. My head was covered with a cloth, and the wind began to blow the cloth, uncovering my head. I told the man in the front seat. He was grateful to me…put the cloth back over my head…Violence is not the answer. Gradually they began to speak gently.

…The second day one of them sneezed. I said “Al Hamdulilah” as is our custom (like God bless you). He responded. I asked him if he could loosen the handcuffs and he did.” Raad still has numbness in his left hand despite a recent operation in Switzerland of his left elbow to repair nerve damage.

Deciding to find a quieter place where we could sit and visit, we walked across the street to the International Museum of the Red Cross where we understood there was a little cafe. As we entered the courtyard our attention was immediately drawn to a striking work of sculpture called “The Petrified Ones” by artist Carl Bucher from Zurich.

A plaque on the wall reads, “This group of figures denounces the violation of human rights and appeals for tolerance.” A day or so later I found the words of Erwin Leiser in a photo book of Bucker’s works in the museum bookstore. Writing about the robed and hooded sculptured figures, Leiser says “…I am reminded of the fact that neither the hangman nor the victim of persecution have ever shown their faces. The individual remains anonymous in the crowd. In our age, acts of violence are often carried out in such a manner that neither the murderer nor the murdered person becomes visible. They do not show themselves and they do not know each other.”

With Raad’s words still in our ears, the figures seemed to beckon us to them, and Raad took his place among the hooded. He sat together with those handcuffed.

After we were seated with our teas, Raad continued. He wanted us to understand his kidnapping in a larger context, what he had learned through it.

“When I realized I was kidnapped there was something beyond fear; It was, ‘how to talk, how to understand, and how to touch the human in each other?’ …The kidnapping experience was without talking. For example as they took me from the room with the two Simonas behind me, I didn’t feel fear. I decided to behave in a dignified way. I knew that they had weapons, could torture us, behead us, do anything. So it was a challenge for me to challenge them, to get them to respect me.

We didn’t have guns, but we can affect other people. I think we succeeded.”

This brief and initial account of Raad’s experience is far from complete. But it shows us that it is indeed possible to step out of anonymity and to come to know each other. We are all human. It is people who matter.

As we stand before the U.N. complex here in Geneva, we are aware that 60 years ago this institution was created to eliminate the scourge of warfare. We did not come to tour the lovely city of Geneva. We came because we felt we had no choice.

We feel we must give faces to the hooded, and names to the victims and to the crimes. Acts of violence, military as well as economic, ought to become visible.

One act of violence that is indisputable is that innocent Iraqis were slowly being bled to death for 13 years by crushing economic sanctions. Another was the illegal, and immoral invasion and brutality of “Shock and Awe.” Since the U.S. occupation, sanctioned by the U.N., this proud and ancient country and people have only known suffering, violence, and death. The theft of Iraq’s oil revenues to pay war reparations claims imposed against them is in itself an act of violence that must be recognized. People are not aware of this crime. We feel we must tell them.

We ask the Compensation Commission which will meet here next week to decide war reparations against Iraq, one question, “What is their crime?” What crime have they committed that they would be subjected to pay either war reparations or any debt incurred under Saddam Hussein’s regime?

Let us remove the hoods, let us show our faces, and let us know one another.

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Cathy Breen is a health and human rights worker. With the Iraq Peace Team, Cathy remained in Iraq throughout the most recent invasion and during the first ten days of US Coalition Force occupation.