A witness to war

Progressive, The, Jan, 2003 by Kathy Kelly

I've been in Baghdad with my colleagues from Voices in the Wilderness since October 24. We are members of what we call the Iraq Peace Team, and we are intent on staying here even if George Bush dispatches the bombers and the tanks and the troops. A few days ago, I traveled from Baghdad to Amman to meet three new members of our team. Our kind driver, Sattar, knew the road so well that he could warn me when we were approaching a bump. "Kathy, don't spill your coffee," he said.

During the drive, I told Sattar about the various news reports we'd heard following the U.N. decision to approve Resolution 1441 and the drastic disarmament terms set out by the U.N. Security Council. I was surprised that he knew so little about such an important development. He told me that he and most people he knows aren't following the news very closely. They feel responsible to maintain a semblance of ordinary life, to keep busy, so that they won't succumb to panic and the overwhelming frustrations caused by evolving news reports. "Kathy, really," he suddenly blurted, "I am so scared."

While in Amman, I watched incredulously as CNN aired a U.S. military tape showing a three-dimensional simulation of urban areas in Baghdad. Suddenly, I was seeing an accurate rendering of Abu Nuwas Street, and then the Al Fanar hotel, our home in Baghdad. The tape precisely depicts our immediate neighborhood, detailing the main intersection, walkways, buildings, and alleys. It didn't show any people. Military planners can prepare for war with precision, confidence, and an eerie certainty about "the neighborhood." But residents endure agonizing uncertainty with not a single realistic plan for survival should an attack occur.

Back in Baghdad, Lamia, an English professor at Baghdad University, didn't want to talk about impending war. She seemed relieved when I quickly changed the subject to shop talk about teaching English as a second language. We compared notes about methods, assignments that work well, predictable problems in course work. I could have been talking with any co-worker at the community college where I last taught E.S.L. courses--except that Lamia's classes may be suspended before the semester ends, disrupted by war.

Amal, on the other hand, doesn't hesitate to tell me what she has heard through the grapevine about U.S. war plans against Iraq. Amal has also been an English teacher at a secondary school, but she couldn't support her family on the meager salary. Now she tries futilely to dig her way out of debt by selling the paintings she creates after the children go to bed. She stays up through much of the night, depicting traditional scenes with dwindling supplies of oil paint. I timidly asked her what she anticipates if an attack comes. She is very definite. She will hire a taxi, pack what belongings she can, and flee to the north where she hopes to rent a home in the countryside, away from the many targets she believes the United States will bomb in her neighborhood.

What are the odds that an empty home awaits her, somewhere in the country? How many boxes of provisions can she load onto a taxi? How will she find water and fuel? It would be cruel and pointless to pummel her with these questions. Her imaginative drawings have sustained her family for over a year. Maybe, just maybe, her bold hopes will help them survive the coming months.

I wish some of Amal's determination could spark hope for Umm Zainab, a mother of nine living in an impoverished area of Iraq's southern port city, Basra. I've known Umm Zainab since the summer of 2000 when I lived near her home for seven weeks. Umm Zainab weeps readily, clinging to me as she trembles. "Where can we run?" she whispers. "How can we hide?" She and her neighbors fear being on the front lines of a future war.

One street to the east of Umm Zainab's home, I spotted an improvement since I'd last visited the neighborhood this June. Curbs are being built on both sides of the unpaved road. Almost every other aspect of Jumurriyah's infrastructure is in disrepair, but the curbs will help keep raw sewage from flowing into homes--a welcome change.

Not so far from Basra, on U.S. carriers and in U.S. bases under construction in nearby countries, the United States invests enormous sums building the infrastructures to support U.S. troop deployments in the region. Troops must be housed, fed, supplied with clean water and electricity, and equipped with state-of-the-art military gear. Sewage and sanitation systems must function properly to prevent outbreaks of disease amongst the troops.

We are building our team slowly, persuaded by a stubborn belief that where you stand determines what you see. We try to distance ourselves from both President Bush and President Hussein, believing that neither side is blameless. And we are encouraged--we feel blessed by--those who have joined us and by the steady flow of inquiries and applications, now exceeding 100, that have come into our Chicago office.

It's a challenge to orient new team members to the multiple uncertainties we face in Iraq. How long will the Iraqis allow our team members to remain in Iraq? How many new people can we bring into the country? If the United States launches an attack, if the government here is toppled, if U.S. troops invade and occupy city streets here or elsewhere in the country, how can we best accompany ordinary Iraqis whom we've met here? How can we communicate to the U.S. public the effects of warfare, should it occur?