[casi] "that the world is allowing this to happen"

[H Sutter <citext@DELETETHISchebucto.ns.ca>]

Dear All,

People are easily swayed, including you and me.
A few cheerful TV pics, suggesting all is well,
and many respond to the stimulus - like Pavlovian
creatures.

But all is not well, far from it. And if we truly
want to work towards peace, we must not be distracted
by facile propaganda. Peace demos are not be enough.
They help, but I think a peaceful, non-military,
world can only be created through the steady (daily)
work of many individuals. What's needed is a change
of attitude... we must work towards that.

I felt very disheartened since the outbreak of this
aggression, but all of a sudden I feel a great sense
of urgency. It was this 'liberation' spectacle that
shook me up. And I want to shake up the whole world...
don't become complacent - it's only just starting.
And there must be hope...

CASI activists probably don't need shaking up. But
all the same, I am going to post an email letter from
a young woman in Baghdad. She describes what it feels
to live under bombardment. The letter was written in
in late March 2003.

The writer was 12 in 1991 and she still has nightmares
from those bombings - wakes up to the sound of sirens.
Now her youngest brother, also 12, faces the same
nightmares - he may never get rid of, if he survives.
And with him, millions of Iraqi children face the same
fate. So do millions and millions of children in
war-torn regions all over the world.

For the children of the world, our future, please let
us work towards peace, think towards peace...

Elga


<START FWD>
letter from Nihal
late March 2003

Dear Mr. __

The bombing has truly started. The first two nights were
terrible, but last night was beyond awful. I don't know if
I can find the words to describe what was happening. The
air-raid began at around 8:15 pm. The bombing wasn't
particularly heavy until around 9:00. Suddenly, the night
sky was lit with white and red -- a combination of
American missiles and Iraqi anti-aircraft. The first
explosion I heard was huge and it felt like it had fallen
particularly close. We were more or less prepared, but
found ourselves rushing to the make-shift `shelter' we had
arranged inside a closet on the first floor.

The children were herded inside and pillows and blankets
arranged to provide maximum protection and we followed
after. Everyone was silent, except for murmured prayers
and stifled tears. The children were told to cover their
ears and keep their mouths open -- in case a missile
explode close by so that the pressure wouldn't damage
their hearing.

It felt like the explosions were coming from everywhere at
once. There were one or two that were so powerful that two
of the windows on the second floor cracked. Luckily, no
one was hurt. People in other places weren't so fortunate.

I stayed up all night Mr. __, because I refuse to fall
asleep and wake up to the sound of explosions. I'd rather
be awake and aware -- the shock is less. I spent the night
staring up at the sky and trying to determine what was
being damaged. It seems all of Baghdad was being bombed
simultaneously.

When people ask me what being bombed is like, I always
compare it to thunder... I realized yesterday that it's
not comparable to anything. The walls shudder, the windows
rattle, and lights flicker... and through it all you see
the faces of the people you love apprehensive, frightened,
angry...

The faces of the children are the most difficult to see.
We're staying with my aunt and she has children of her
own. They are silent throughout, stoic in a heart-breaking
way. We all find our strength in the belief that
everything is written -- we will face whatever we have to
face.

I held my youngest brother throughout the bombing. We were
each saying our own prayers. I was praying that we would
come out of this alive, safe, and unhurt and he was
praying that, should we die, we'd all end up in heaven
together. It wrenched my heart to hear him, but the
thought was giving him comfort.

He's 12, the same age I was in 1991 -- but there are so
many differences in our outlook. I was shocked by the war,
shocked that America could do what it was doing. He has
been expecting it, in his mind America is associated with
livid skies, angry explosions and violence. For him, the
bombing has become an expected way of life. To him, the
sound of an airplane overhead can only mean death
somewhere else.

Mr. __, it's unfair. It's unjust -- children shouldn't
have to pray for their lives, they shouldn't have to pray
for a peaceful, painless death. I've been dreading this
war not because of the way it will affect me personally,
but because of the fact that it will imprint itself in the
minds of millions of children all over Iraq, the same way
it imprinted itself in mine in 1991.

We heard about the locations that were demolished only
this morning. It is amazing, compared to the news on the
internet. CNN and the rest make it sound so neat and
precise -- they don't mention the fact that one of the
palaces that was bombed contained the royal family's
museum or that 19 missiles fell on a residential area
killing dozens and wounding others. No one talks about the
hundreds wounded by shrapnel from missiles or the
resulting fires. No one talks about the moments of awesome
fear while wondering if your friends and family all over
Baghdad, all over Iraq, in fact, are still alive.

My heart feels like it's breaking... When I think about
all the damage being done by each one of those missiles,
it tears me apart. To think of Baghdad being demolished,
of so many people dying and hurt; it is beyond my
comprehension. I don't think I'll ever be able to
understand it.

Now you look out at Baghdad and the streets are almost
empty, the sky, which is normally blue this time of year,
is a dull gray -- it's the color of smoke from the several
fires lighting up different parts of the city.

With all the sadness and anxiety there's anger. It's the
only thing that keeps me sane -- that keeps us all sane.
This war will never be justified and there are going to be
so many lives lost on both sides. It's frightening that
the world is allowing this to happen -- what has the world
come to? What's going to happen next?

I still have nightmares from 1991. I wake up in the middle
of the night to the sound of sirens in my head, images of
people buried under debris, burned beyond recognition.
Over the years I wondered when I would ever stop seeing
those images, now it feels like they're going to remain
with me forever. My youngest brother will also carry them
with him from now on. Will we ever be allowed to forget?

Even as I write this, I can hear the sound of the
explosions -- not too distant and I'm wondering who it's
going to fall on next.

Nihal
<END>




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