By Cliff Kindy
Christian Peacemaker Teams

Recently world media carried the story about the U.S. shooting of an Italian kidnap victim and her security guard. At the same time, a Bulgarian soldier died as U.S. forces opened fire from a checkpoint. These stories made the news, but the regular incidents of Iraqis injured in similar circumstances often remain unpublicized.

An Iraqi friend asked me to visit his cousin. Lafta Rahim, 39, who has four children, was at home in his bed. Immediately his smile drew me as we met. Then I noticed contraptions on his body. His upper left arm had an 8-inch rod parallel to the bone, attached with six pins and two clamps. His lower right leg had a similar rod, this one with five pins and five clamps. Bullets had shattered both bones.

Lafta told his story.

This article contains recent photos from inside Fallujah taken by CPT

With little option for a second sight, girls in Fallujah have to attend class in a building damaged in the U.S. lead raid on Fallujah. Fallujah, Iraq (photo: CPT)

By Sheila Provencher
Christian Peacemaker Teams
March 21, 2005

As we approached the cluster of tents in the Gebeil section of Fallujah on March 14, we didn’t know what to expect. We had been amazed that we even got inside the city through the tight security of three U.S. military checkpoints. We were also warned that if the word got around that there were Americans in the city, our lives could be in danger.

We had seen sections of Fallujah where the buildings were destroyed but still standing. But now our group of five CPTers and six Iraqis, several of them Shia, witnessed a vast area of the predominantly Sunni city where it looked like an earthquake had struck. There were piles of rubble where there had once been homes. Members of one of the displaced families greeted us warmly and invited us into their tent.

Children stand in front of their ruined home in the Iraqi city of Fallujah. (photo: CPT)

This article contains recent photos from inside Fallujah taken by CPT

By Cliff Kindy
Christian Peacemaker Teams
March 16, 2005

Mohammad told the CPTers on their way to Fallujah, “You have a 99% chance that you will be refused entry into Fallujah today.” Five CPTers, two persons from Muslim Peacemaker Team, two local human rights activists, and two Iraqi friends were at a factory outside of Fallujah, ready to enter the city. The prospects of entry were dim, as US soldiers had turned back representatives of the Ministry of Religion earlier that same day.

One Iraqi in the visiting group brought wheelchairs and medical supplies to the hospital and the one clinic still operating in Fallujah. The devastating assault on the city by the US last November had started with an attack on the hospital and its clinics, reportedly because those centers were the sources of reports on civilian casualties in the April 2004 attack on Fallujah, reports that turned public opinion against the attack.

The visitors entered without incident, perhaps because they brought medical supplies. The team pushed five wheelchairs from the city center across the Euphrates River Bridge, where only foot traffic is allowed to pass to the hospital. Next they visited the lone clinic left in the city that has a population of over 200,000 people.

By Sheila Provencher
Christian Peacemaker Teams

March 7, 2005

Our new 23-year-old, Metallica-T-Shirt-wearing translator is fun to be around. I tease him by saying that he is more American than me, since he knows so much of the pop culture. But he possesses a seriousness beneath the pop-culture exterior: a year ago, he spent 11 months in Bucca prison camp in southern Iraq. After all that time he still does not know what his charges were.

He told me about his experience: “Sometimes, we became friends with the soldiers. They were more like friends than guards. They would tell us, ‘You know, it’s like we’re in prison too.’ They didn’t want to be there. They would come into our tent and play cards.

By Sheila Provencher
Christian Peacemaker Teams

Being in Iraq is so different from reading about it or watching TV. In Amman the week before I left, I felt scared and uncertain. All of my friends, understandably, warned me about going back to Baghdad: It is too dangerous, people kidnapped on the roads, foreigners could put Iraqi lives in danger.

But in Iraq­-even hearing occasional distant “booms” or gunfire a neighborhood away­-this place is most basically Home, home to millions of people. In my neighborhood, the same kids run down the street to shake my hand, my shopkeeper friends test out my new Arabic and give me a thumbs-up. My host family, once threatened, wants me to sleep over again. Iraqi human-rights colleagues are glad that CPT is still here, and they want us to stay even if there is risk.

Last week, I found out one of the reasons why. Horrible things are happening, and too many people feel that there is no one left to tell the story. In the last week, I have seen the outskirts of Fallujah, talked with refugees, and heard several first-person testimonies of countless civilian deaths. The stories are hard to read and to hear.

I also have been reading more about PTSD and returning soldiers who cannot adapt to regular life again after they have killed other human beings in Iraq and/or seen their friends killed.

The following reflection is longer than usual. I am sorry, there was no other way to convey what happened.

Peace and blessings to you…
Sheila