| Diaries - February 2003
Emergency Preparedness by Cathy Breen
February 19, 2003
RING THE BELLS THAT STILL CAN RING
FORGET YOUR PERFECT OFFERING
THERE IS A CRACK IN EVERYTHING
THAT'S HOW THE LIGHT GETS IN
With these powerful words from Leonard Cohen's Anthem, I greet you most warmly. I don't have the whole text of this poem/song before me or I'd send it on to you. I find the words wonderfully consoling, liberating and empowering. Not only do I find therein the permission to be flawed, but it is the very crack or cracks that allow the light to come in.
We have a task group here that deals with emergency preparedness. Their input has been indispensable to us as a group in helping us to face the radical uncertainty of our position in the event of war. They also have aided us in our considerations of whether or not to stay on, how we will make decisions and function when the bombs start dropping, etc. Our planning has become very concrete with those who have opted to stay being responsible for having a “crash kit” by their door. This bag can be grabbed at a moments notice and would contain bottled water, dates, peanuts, a flashlight, passport and some money, an ace bandage which could be used as a tourniquet, water purification tablets, etc.
Yesterday during a reflection time I read a poem that I have shared many times with many people since I came upon it in Daniel Berrigan's poetry class about a year ago!
My thanks to the author of IF CHINA, Stanislaw Baranczar, as he helped me to ponder the essentials of life as well as to reduce the size of my own bag. My apologies to you if I've already sent you this poem:
If China
If china, then only the kind
you wouldn't miss under the movers' shoes or the treads of a tank;
if a chair then one that's not too comfortable, or
you'll regret getting up and leaving;
if clothes, then only what will fit in one suitcase;
if books, then those you know by heart;
if plans, then the ones you can give up
when it comes time for the next move,
to another street, another continent or epoch
or world:
Who told you you could settle in”
who told you this or that would last forever?
didn't anyone tell you you'll never
in the world
feel at home here?
The second thing is that a bunch of us are planning within the next couple of days to go to the Kuwait border's demilitarized zone and set up a tent there. We don't want to lose the momentum of Feb. 15th, and we want to take a message to the 90,000 U.S. troops amassed there. We've been brainstorming and meeting to try and come up with a clear and concise message not only to the troops, but one that will urge everyone back home to step out of their comfort zone and take a risk! I think Dan Berrigan has said that one of the reasons we don't have peace is that peacemakers don't take the same risk as soldiers. We think we want to tell the U.S. troops that we're sorry that it's come this far, and that we're committed to bringing them home as soon as possible. But WITHOUT WAR. We believe that most of the troops don't want a war that the world doesn't want.
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Reflection by Kathy Kelly
February 15, 2003
Today's walk in Baghdad would have been exhilerating, --flags waving, internationals walking with arms linked, weather entirely cooperative, --but a pall of sadness, unbearable sadness, permeates every step we take. When I hold a child in my arms now, I can't help but think of the little one's parents trying to comfort the child in perhaps only a few weeks time...some bombs explode so loudly that you feel them in your gut. I've seen children and adults who can't stop trembling. And with the Cruise Missiles, the JDAMs, the Tomahawks, also may come Snipers, Apache helicopters, bulldozers, Armored Personnel Carriers, shuttered windows, houses turned into prisons...
"Suffer ye little ones to come unto me," --Jesus said these words in a time when many little ones were overlooked and uncared for, particularly those born into poverty. Even his disciples wondered what had gotten into him, --why was he beckoning these urchins to get in the way?. Little ones here, these children of Iraq, could be among the most privileged in the world, given the strength of familial commitments and the fierce desire of most parents to protect their children. Yet today, as a nation quite full of Christians plans to aim the world's largest arsenal at a nation where 46 percent of the people are under sixteen years of age, these children are among the most vulnerable, facing the world's largest firing squad and trapped by warmakers in every direction. My friend Amal's words haunt me: "Where is your Christianity? We loved your Christianity."
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Joy and Solidarity by Anna Bachman
February 14, 2003
I just want to relate an incident that happened on my last day in Baghdad. To understand it, you need to know that Iraqi drivers (or maybe Middle East drivers in general), follow a pretty loose interpretation of what constitutes a roadway lane. Driving in Baghdad is like running through a crowded room, weaving and dodging the people around you in an almost random way. Several people on the team had experienced the occasional drawbacks of such a system of driving.
On my last day in Baghdad, we had just completed a wonderful action of laying a banner that red "Bombing this Site is a War Crime" across one of the many bridges that span the Tigris River (almost all of which had been destroyed in the Gulf War). It was the only day of rain that we had had and our spirits were high from a vigil earlier in the morning at the UN Inspectors Compound, in which our singing had illicited an imprompu dance performance from the Iraqi guards at the gate. We continued some of our songs on the bridge, the press as thick as flies around us and seagulls wheeling in the sky above us. An Iraqi man crossing the bridge came upon this scene and, with a big smile on his face, passed out all of the oranges he had just bought to everyone on the Peace Team.
As we completed the action we boarded taxi's to make our way back home. In the taxi ride home, Faruk, one of our regular drivers who had come with us to the action, taught us how to sing "We Shall Overcome" in Arabic. He was having such a grand time singing and teaching us that he was barely watching the road and kept taking his hands off the wheel to conduct us ...which illicited screams of protest and nervous laughter as we careened (fortunately without incident) through the bustling streets of Baghdad. None of us in that car will ever forget this moment of celebration, joy and solidarity with this wonderful man. It was the perfect ending for my trip to Iraq.
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To End the Scourge of War by Elias Amidon
February, 12 2003
A wonderful thing happened this morning at our vigil in a field across from U.N. headquarters here in Baghdad. We’ve made an encampment there with an open-sided tent and several large banners that read LET THE INSPECTIONS CONTINUE and INSPECTIONS YES, INVASION NO and LET THERE BE PEACE ON EARTH. There are TV and newspaper crews from around the world who interview us each day.
This morning while we were standing silently I read aloud the preamble to the U.N. Charter. “We the peoples of the United Nations determined to save succeeding generations from the scourge of war…” When I finished we stood silently again. After a few minutes a man came out of the U.N. compound and crossed the road. He was a U.N. inspector. He approached us, rather shyly, and called out, “We, over there, just want to thank you all. You are a real encouragement to us. Your being here has greatly helped our morale. Well, that’s all…thank you.” And he turned and crossed back over the road. We applauded as he left.
There was something so human and generous about that particular encounter in a dusty field in Baghdad, with the tensions of the entire world bearing down on it. On each side of the road the people of the United Nations worked to end the scourge of war. We helped their morale, and they in turn helped ours. Even Hans Blix took part. At his news conference the other day he was asked if there was much support here for the continuation of the inspections. He said he believed there was, and described the “large demonstration at the airport” (ours) he saw upon his arrival. He said, “They had a banner saying ‘Inspections Yes, Invasion No.’ This is just what we want.”
But like Rabia in her last letter, I begin to wonder what’s the use of all these actions and appeals for peace. “Bush will have his war.” It may come very soon. We are scheduled to leave in a week and the idea of leaving, as well as the idea of staying, fills us with dread. How can we save our own skins while the Iraqi people around us, and our fellow Peace Team members, remain facing such peril?
Of the 50 of us here, about 18 members of the Peace Team intend to stay. I’ve been asking them why they are staying. Their answers suggest they are moved by a force more powerful than fear and violence. Here are a few examples.
Lisa, a 32 year-old woman from Rwanda, now living in Toronto, told me, “My people in the refugee camps in Rwanda – we have to go home and get what’s ours. We have to get what belongs to us. And what is that? That’s the question. Here, in Baghdad, I’ve found what it is. It is the power I have. The power I have to say ‘this is unacceptable.’ It’s like people say ‘landmines are unacceptable.’ How can you unaccept something that is there? You can. This is the power I have here. I won’t stand for this war. I stand for something else. You have to position yourself in one way or another.”
Mike, a Vietnam vet, said something similar: “You know, most things in life are defined for us. We fit into somebody else’s definitions. The reason for my staying here is something I can define myself. If I say my intention is for peace, it is. No one can say otherwise. I’m here to put my life where my truth is.”
Or Cathy, a 50-year old Catholic Worker: “I don’t want to be in the country that’s dropping the bombs. And if I’m here and am killed under those bombs, what difference does it make if it’s me or the Iraqis?” As she talks I feel her echo an early Christian ideal of self-sacrifice. I ask her if this is not her own “imitation of Christ.” She answers plainly, “I try to live a surrendered life.”
Or Cynthia, a 73-year old librarian from upstate New York: “I will stay because it’s the place for me to be. You know, we are one family on earth, no matter what. The Iraqi part of my family is in danger now. I must be with them. If you ask anybody in the world what they would do if their family was in danger, they would say they’d want to go be with them. That’s all I’m doing. I’m here to be with my family in their hour of danger. It’s simple. You act because your conscience tells you to act. Anyway, I’ve already had my three score years and ten. Every day now is a bonus for me.”
A full day has now passed since writing the last paragraph. Things have gotten very intense and busy. The press is paying a lot of attention to our actions and vigils – we’ve held dozens of interviews. Everyone awaits the inspectors’ report to the U.N. tonight. Some say the bombing could start in two days, others say not for another week, and a very few still say the war will be called off. There are more prayers, and deeper ones.
Last night Cardinal Roger Etchegaray, the special envoy from Pope John Paul II, celebrated Mass in St. Joseph’s Cathedral here in Baghdad. During his homily he said the following:
Peace? Who doesn’t talk about it today everywhere in the world without thinking about the huge threats that weigh on Iraq? Who does not desire peace? But how many among them think that peace is still possible? How many truly want it with all their weal? How many see in prayer something other than a refuge during hours of panic? Something other than a simple alibi from human engagement?
Today, tonight, here, we pray for peace in Iraq and in the entire Middle East. It is most certainly a test of faith and the harder for those of us who take seriously both prayer and peace. They go hand in hand.
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Dark Night of the Soul by Elizabeth Roberts
February 11, 2003
But we, like sentries, are obliged to stand
In starless nights, and wait the ‘pointed hours.
John Dryden
Elias has been busy for the past days making banners, getting tents and setting up sites for a series of actions the Iraq Peace Team will initiate during the coming week. In contrast to his energy, I am paralyzed by a deep dread. I feel the war’s shadow over my shoulder. And at the moment its darkness has me in its grip. I don’t want to meet new people or have new experiences. What’s the point, I think? This place is over! When I do talk with some old friends from my previous visit to Baghdad in November-December, we cry together. The future approaches and millions must stand silently through the coming night.
Those Iraqis who can afford it have already left Baghdad. United Nations officials are taking their vacations and humanitarian groups are being sent home. Businessmen have relocated their families. Foreigners are returning to their homelands. Journalists are surveying hotels for their structural soundness. People are selling their cars, their possessions, anything they have to help them get out of the city.
But the vast majority have nowhere to go. Five million men, women and children must stay here and endure the rain of bombs, the lack of electricity, clean water, food supplies and medicines. Schools and hospitals will close; so will shops and businesses. No one knows when and where the shells made with depleted uranium or other chemical, biological or nuclear weapons will be used. Rumors are that marshal law will be enforced.
Hassan is an out of work electrician. He tells me that he and his wife have put extra food by, but they worry that if the war lasts too long, looters will come for their supplies. He is a mild man. He tries not to discuss the war in front of his four children “but they hear it in school and from their friends. Yesterday Alla (his 9 year old son) asked if we are going to die. This is their great fear, not their own death, but the loss of their mother and father.”
Why? Why? Why? This is the one question every person I talk with asks. “Will you destroy so much just for the oil? Do Americans know what a catastrophe this will be? Nothing will be good between the Arabs and the Americans again—not for 100 years.” I can only bear witness to this pain. I have no answers.
Every day in the hotel, in small groups, the Peace Team people discuss the countdown to war. How many more days before the invasion? When should we leave? Will those who choose to stay through the war be safe? What can we do to prevent the coming disaster? Will anything stop it? The U.N. Security Council? France and Germany? The American public? Saudi Arabia? Most of us have given up hope for a last minute reprieve. Bush will have his war. And we will stand in solidarity with the Iraqi people as long as each of us can.
Khaled, our Yemeni graduate student friend looks at me and says I have “the fear sickness.” He says he is seeing it a lot. He says I should leave Iraq. It’s true I have a little fever, no appetite and sleep a lot. I do feel despair. Today a memo was slipped under my door. It had 14 questions. The first one: “In the event of your death, do you agree to your body not being returned to your own country but being disposed of in the most convenient way?” With decisions like this how does one not have the “fear sickness?”
Elias and I do have an exit date that we believe is safe, but of course it is not fool-proof. And the very fact that we can exit only heightens my despair for those we leave behind. Perhaps staying through the war with the Iraqi people would be easier on the soul. But not on the body – some people here say the survival odds given to the American peaceworkers staying through the invasion is about 30%. I am simply not ready (yet) to face the end of my life or to answer the second question: “Have you written a letter that can be sent to your loved ones in the event of your death?”
While I puzzle about how to avoid death, life goes on all around me. The shoeshine boys still play in front of our hotel, hoping for spare change. Amal, my friend with the art studio, opens her shop every morning, offers tea, weeps quietly and then shows me the new fabrics from Kurdistan. Kamel, the Imam’s assistant from a nearby mosque still comes to work every day, tall and dignified, serving coffee to us and teaching us a few words of Arabic. Last night seven wedding parades, complete with ribbons and music, drove down our street – seven! Across the street the Palestine Hotel has begun to tape its large glass windows to try and prevent them from shattering or imploding when the bombing starts. And on the grounds right below these windows there are two Iraqi men still tending to the few green plants and small garden that are in front of the hotel. Preparing for death, tending life. The truth of this lesson breaks my heart. A small green shoot pushes through the ruins. Surely the very least I owe these beautiful people is the energy of my smile and good cheer. What right do I have to despair when everywhere life continues. I pray that with the help of grace this “fear sickness” will pass. Insh’allah!
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Military Motives by Trish Schuh
February 10, 2003
Last night I dreamt an Apache helicopter was hovering outside my window. It didn't fire, it just watched me. When I tried to hide on one side of the room it moved laterally to follow. It became a cat & mouse game. Back and forth- it knew where I was. I could hear the thump-thump chopper sound and smell heavy diesel.
I woke up then (the heavy diesel fumes were real) and went to the patio doors where I could see flames shoot up in the distance nonstop. It looks like a volcano erupting in the middle of Baghdad. It is one of many oil wells Bush wants to liberate, and the one where a group of American women "Code Pinks" (a play on Bushs' Code Red Alert) were here last week giving 'Blood for Oil' near the oil rig. I got the group to do an action for the press after Colin Powell's "Smoking Gun" speech to the UN. I wrangled up a few gasoline nozzels w/ hoses from the Ministry of Oil to be held up with a sign that said "We found the 'Smoking Gun!'". Some US journalist approached us truly puzzled because he couldn't understand what we were getting at!!??
Specks of petroleum soot sift into your skin and flakes off clothes and hair. A shower is of doubtful benefit. The water runs cloudy brown because the filtration system has never been fully repaired after Gulf War 1. Sanctions on maintenance equipment parts mean broken down machinery, so many tons of raw sewage dump into the Tigris Euphrates untreated. We were warned not to let it touch our eyes, get in our ears and not to shave before showering- even using antiseptic soaps. The poor- most Iraqis- can't afford to purchase bottled water like us privileged Americans. Once the military bombs the already crippled power grid, it will be difficult to find any water- even the poisonous kind.
This coming so-called 'Shock & Awe A-Day Campaign' the US plans "to rival the destruction wrought by the atomic bomb" is incomprehensible. This is a society that has made NO civilian war preparations as there is nothing spare to stock up on. $170 per year is spent per person for food, less than half the amount ($400) annually spent by the UN for dog food to feed the animals used in Iraqi demining operations. 12 million of the 22 million people here are under the age of 16, and many of these are infants. (That didn't stop the US military from bombing a baby food factory in 1991, with Colin Powell claiming it was a biological weapons plant.)
Last week some folks went up to Tikrit for the annual Revolution Military Parade to watch military preparations. A ragtag militia of 70 year old grandpas, 12 year old boys and mothers with children marched alongside limping one-armed veterans to defend their town against the world's heaviest fleet of warships, tactical nukes, cluster bombs, state of the art technology and heat seeking missiles. This is the terrorist rank and file 'Axis of Evil' that Bush harangues is going to destroy the USA and burn our streets down. I read in the news that hysterical citizens are even running out to buy hard hats against the threat. (Could someone send us some?)
It reminds me of the first Gulf War when US troops confronted those "fierce Elite Republican Guards" dug into miles of trenches on the Saudi border. It was filled with surrendering old men begging for water and crying little kids wanting food. The order came down from above for road graders to be fitted onto tanks, which then dug into the sand and buried them all alive.
US Brigadier General William Looney(who lives up to his name) gives a special thought on Iraq; "They know we own their country. We own their airspace... We dictate the way they live and talk. And that's what's great about America right now. It's a good thing, especially when there's alot of oil out there we need."
I guess this is what the hardcore flag wavers mean by patriotism.
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The Miracle of Peace Is in Our Hands by Scott Wright
February 9, 2003
Each morning I wake up and look out from the window of our sixth floor hotel
room over the city and marvel: The city is still here. Baghdad is a beautiful city, one through which the Tigris River flows and over which numerous bridges are built. Each time we pass over a bridge in a taxi I wonder, how much longer will this bridge be here? Bridges will be the first to be destroyed by the bombs and missiles. But the bombs did not fall last night. The cruise missiles were not launched. People say you can hear the whistling of the bombs dropping, and seek cover. But the cruise missiles attack without warning.
Today we attended a celebration of the Christian churches in Iraq, which make up less than 10 per cent of the population. It is the week of Christian unity, and the Orthodox Church, as well as the Chaldean and Latin rites of the Catholic Church, have gathered to celebrate. Many of the prayers and songs are in Aramaic, the language of Jesus. Many families still speak Aramaic. Iraq is the cradle, not only of civilization, but also of the three Abrahamic faiths - Judaism, Christianity and Islam - all descendants of Abraham and Sarah who were natives of this land.
After the evening Mass, we ask to meet with Fr. Yousif, an Iraqi Dominican priest, who graciously invites us to speak with him. He describes the rich cultural diversity of the people of Iraq, tracing his own origins to three cultural traditions in the north: Kurd, Aramaic and Arabic. He is intensely involved in Christian - Muslim dialogue, and praises the tolerance and respect for one another of the two religious traditions. "When I dialogue with my Muslim brothers and sisters, I tell them, Jesus is a Muslim among Muslims."
When we ask him about the impending war, he asks us in return, "Why here? There are so many dictatorships throughout the world. Why us? We think the reason is economic." We ask him to elaborate, and he mentions a French journal which had recently interviewed him. "There is an enormous gap between East and West. It is very dangerous to speak, as your President has done, of an evil axis. Globalization is very dangerous. It is like an elephant in a china shop. All civilizations and cultures are in danger of death. What happened to your native cultures could happen to all cultures throughout the world."
We ask what message we can take back to our people. "I think your people need a call to wake up. I know your people, because I have traveled to your country to give lectures to the Iraqi people in exile there. We are a good people, an educated people. But if you persecute and throw bombs on a people, they will never love you. There is no just war. I hope a miracle will come. We need a miracle of peace, but we have to construct that miracle with our own hands."
As we say our goodbyes, the impending war weighs heavily upon our hearts. Already the State Department has issued a travel advisory to U.S. citizens in the Middle East to be prepared to evacuate at any moment. I think of Martin Luther King, once again, and his words about "the fierce urgency of now." Surely we are at a crossroads, and more than the fate of the Iraqi nation is at stake. Potentially, the entire Middle East, the clash of civilizations, and the peace of future generations are at risk.
As I return to the United States, I think now of Dr. King's words. As I arrive in New York City, and wait for a connecting flight, I come across his memoirs and page through the chapters to his reflections on the eve of his "Declaration of Independence from the War in Vietnam," when he declared: "A time comes when silence is betrayal. That time has come for us in relation to Vietnam," and I silently substitute Iraq for Vietnam. But most of all, I am touched by the description of his own struggle to come to clarity and to take a stand, and of what made the difference: the children. He writes:
Something said to me, 'Martin, you have got to stand up on this. No matter what it means...' As I went through this period one night, I picked up an article entitled, 'The Children of Vietnam,' and I read it. And after reading that article I said to myself, 'Never again will I be silent on an issue that is destroying the soul of our nation and destroying thousands and thousands of little children in Vietnam.' I came to the conclusion that there is a moment in your life when you must decide to speak for yourself. Nobody else can speak for you."
What will it take for people in our country to see what those of us who have been privileged to travel to Iraq have seen - the faces of the children of Iraq, the faces of their grieving mothers, the faces of their anxious fathers who have lived through one too many wars - and to decide to stand up and speak out? I think of Rana, I think of Noor, I think of Imani, and ask how many more children must die from the effects of depleted uranium used by our military? How many more children must die from the impact of the sanctions that is depriving an entire generation of clean water and
essential medicines?
As the countdown for war continues, let us stand with the children, let us pray for one another, let us help construct with our hands, and voices and feet this miracle of peace. I conclude with these words from Kristina Olsen, a relative of one of the victims of September 11, who recently returned from a visit to Iraq. Standing before the Al Amariyah shelter, where we had stood, she spoke these words:
"My heart has been ripped open and healing has taken place within me today. I hope that sort of healing is taking place for some other people, the Iraqi people who have shared their stories with us and who have received our love and compassion."
Let us make our own, the words of the prophets: "Nations shall not lift up sword against nation, neither shall they learn war anymore" (Isaiah 2:4).
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Contradictions and Speculation by Anna Bachman
February 8, 2003
Contradictions abound in Iraq today. All around us, we see evidence that life continues, despite the looming threat of war. Almost everyday, for example, there are weddings happening at the Palestine Hotel nearby. As the celebrants leave the hotel they board cars and buses filled to the brim (which usually include a band in the back) and make a raucous racket of tooting car horns and trumpets. But we also hear that many people are trying to come up with the money to get out of Iraq. One family we know, that lived through the 1991 Gulf War and the 12 years of embargo, are trying to raise the money to get to Syria. For many this would be an impossible dream.
There is a lot of speculation about who is pulling out when and what that will mean. The Polish Embassy which was representing US interests in Iraq has now withdrawn. Some of the press are leaving as well. I guess they don't think the story is worth getting killed over. We just lost Jooneed today (though he says he will try to return in a few weeks. I will miss him.). When the UN pulls out, we're near the end.
We all talk about watching the Iraqi's around us ... the hotel workers, the shoeshine boys, the taxi drivers ... they go about their business as always trying to get by. In some ways they seem unconcerned. Even when we were sitting around the short wave radio in the hotel restaurant, the Iraqi's we knew who could speak a little English would come by and listen for a moment but they never tarried long. It was no longer interesting to them, I guess. They know where the American government stands, and nothing Powell said was anything different from what they had heard before. "It's all lies," said one as he walked away.
We Americans, who stayed through the static to listen to Powell's talk, tended to agree, but as I listened to it, the thought occurred to me, 'OK, assuming for a moment that everything Powell says is true, isn't the current US policy of aggression tailor made to force Iraq into using such weapons?" And to view things from the Iraqi perspective, of what use is full disarmament when you are facing eminent annihilation by a hyperpower marshalling a bristling assortment of weapons of mass destruction on your very border? It's a question that should at least be considered.
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In Iraq with Colin Powell - by Elias Amidon and Elizabeth Roberts
February 6, 2003
We arrived in Baghdad three days ago. It is good to be back, though it seems strange to say that. There is something about being here now that is extraordinarily heartfelt.
"Baghdad is a realistic city," said Khaled, the Yemeni doctoral student we visited yesterday. "It is a city of real sadness. I will miss it. I don't want to leave." Khaled was packing his family's belongings to leave next week for Syria, and then back to Yemen. He doesn't want his four young children to experience the trauma of bombing and an American attack. Khaled is writing his doctoral thesis on the American writer William Faulkner. He has no savings. On Saturday he will sell his old car to try to raise enough cash for the trip.
Indeed it is a city of real sadness. Between the policies of our president and theirs, the people here are trapped and their lives robbed of the dreams of their youth. But as Khaled says, at least the sadness is real, "not like the unreal smiles of the Emirates and Saudi Arabia." How is it that tragedy has this effect?
Last night several of us from the Peace Team huddled around our short-wave radio to listen to Colin Powell's speech to the U.N. Security Council. It was an effective presentation, especially effective in stimulating fear in the U.S. public of being the target of weapons of mass destruction. We can identify with that fear from our vantage point in Baghdad, a city and country surrounded by a massive U.S. arsenal of weaponry ready to inflict, by U.N. estimates, up to 500,000 Iraqi civilian casualties. Today "mass destruction" is not a very discriminating term.
As you can imagine, the conversations here over late night glasses of Iraqi tea and early morning cups of coffee are busy responding to Powell's accusations and the assumptions they rest upon. Here is a brief summary ofsome of those conversations:
- Mr. Powell did not demonstrate the government of Iraq has a clear intent to use any weapons it may possess against the United States. A war against Iraq would be aggression, not self-defense.
- Yes, the government of Iraq has missed opportunities to show complete compliance with the weapons inspection process. However, the inspections are wide scale and definitely force Iraq into ever greater compliance. They are in no position to continue producing or to use any weapons they might still have. The policy of containment works.
- An Iraqi told us, "Any third-rate intelligence agency could fabricate the recorded phone conversations Powell used as 'evidence.' You have to understand, Iraqis would never discuss such things on the telephone. We are used to being listened to."
- Mr. Powell neglected to mention that many countries possess weapons of mass destruction, including countries in the Middle East, and that the U.S. has actively helped these countries obtain such weapons. Indeed, the U.S., along with Germany and Britain, helped design and equip chemical weapons plants for Iraq during the 1980's. As for biological weapons, a 1994 investigation of the Senate Banking Committee turned up dozens of biological agents shipped to Iraq under license of the Commerce Department, including various strains of anthrax.
- The point is, the U.S. is not really serious about eradicating weapons of mass destruction since it actively engages in their sale. The U.S. is using this cause as a pretext for establishing a central and stable "police station" and "gas station" in the region.
- The links to al-Qaeda are flimsy. The area in northern Iraq where the terrorist group Ansar al-Islam has camps and purportedly interacts with al-Qaeda is outside of the government of Iraq's control in the Kurdish autonomous region. In any case, Saddam Hussein would be loath to give such dangerous weapons to a group who could turn these weapons against him. In addition, if the U.S. is so concerned about keeping nuclear weapons out of al-Qaeda's hands, why did Congress stop funding the program to decommission nuclear weapons and weapons-grade material held by former states of the Soviet Union, forcing Ted Turner and others to try to fund these efforts privately?
As we engage in conversations such as these filled with historical references and stories of intrigue and deception, we realize how difficult it is to surface the truth. The current confrontation with Iraq is a "signifier" that, if we look deeply, implicates all sides and many generations in conflict.
Mr. Powell and the U.S. administration appeal to a moral code that is commendable a revulsion against the making and use of terrible weapons, and the call for nonviolent and truthful behavior on the part of a nation state. Yes, by all means, let us stand for this moral code. And let us be consistent. Let us insist on this code in all the dealings of the U.S.Departments of State and Defense and in all our trade practices. How can we expect the world to exhibit nonviolent and truthful behavior if we continue to flood it with weapons of all kinds while we pose as the moral "good guys"?
This world of politics, accusations and counter-accusations has a strange unreality to it, as if we are walking on foam. No wonder there is something reassuring about being here in Baghdad, in the streets, in the eye of the storm, where we can at least take refuge in something real, like sadness.
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