Report from Iraq: Lessons Unlearned : 26 April 03

Friday May 02, 2003 13:16

by vitw

4/26/03 Lessons Unlearned by Caoimhe Butterly

“Traveling now…to Iraq? But the war is over – hallas – they’ve won,” responds
an Egyptian friend when she learns of my plans. My explanations, of which
she’s very aware, of the need for the continuation of independent witnessing to
give voice to the unspoken narratives, of the fact that there has never been a
benign occupation, that advocacy for Iraqi human rights – the right to live –
does not end with the ending of the sanctions or the bombing, of the need for
long-term accompaniment, of representing some sort of alternative face of the
West, fail to sway her skepticism of the possible efficacy of a continued
presence in Iraq.

Nawal’s resignation, reflected in many other conversations with other friends
and with people on the street, was heavy, but masks a corrosive sense of pain,
regret and anger – another violation, another occupation – which was evident in
the face of every demonstrator who took to the streets of Egypt, Syria,
Palestine, Lebanon, Yemen and Jordan. There was no equivalent in the images of
demonstrations in Europe and the United States. The bombing, the immediacy of
it, the images of warm, throbbing flesh, of life, shredded by shrapnel, of
grief, cut to the very marrow of Nawal’s bones. The pain, which she felt – the
anger, love, helplessness, has subsided somewhat. But scratch the surface and
it’s there. The reeling, shaking feeling of physical bombardment she describes
she felt while watching the news transcends empathy. It is something – almost
long-distance torture – that people all over the Middle East have suffered and
continue to suffer.

The steady cheapening of Arab blood by the West, the blatant racism, the
attempts to nullify the crime of war and continual violations of a people, a
culture, with token gestures of humanitarian aid – all expressed in a language
hijacked from the peace and social justice movement – and subsequently
bastardized. The re-writing of history – cloaking it in the palatable language
of emancipation; all of this is blatantly evident to a child here.

So, too, however, is the awareness of the deep ignorance of the Middle East –
of its past, present and future, its culture, its sophistication, its politics,
its complexities, its strength – present in the anti-war movement in the
West. There is recognition of the good will, of the courageous acts of
resistance, that many Westerner activists undertook. There is awareness of the
unprecedented numbers, of the fact that many people marched who had never
marched before; out of a vague sense that this war was wrong. And for these
demonstrations of solidarity, many friends here express gratitude. But there
is also awareness that the critical mass nearly reached - a fraction of a
second too late for Iraq – will not be sustained. And that it lacks the
cohesion, sophistication, strategy and real politicization to be able to
sustain the demoralization and doubt following the “liberation” of Iraq.

This war (which never really ended – and perhaps has no solidly fixed
beginnings – as is the ephemeral nature of slow-drip genocide) has shattered
communities and served as a grand example of a massive setback for humanity.
It has also highlighted a whole plethora of issues that the West tries to
ignore as we rush into condemnation of the more blatantly visible players. We –
the alternative – in our finger pointing, our doling out of blame to the
figureheads, the passing array of politicians “responsible” for how far astray
the human race has gone, have somehow missed one of the lessons so blatantly
obvious in all of this: That introspection and reflection, and admission of
our own complicity within this, is vitally important if we are to move forward
with any sort of cohesion as a movement. That in the “shaming,” in the blaming
of the other (who really aren’t like us at all, because we care), perhaps we
should be saying shame, too, on us – for twelve years of not managing to break
the sound barrier; shame for the suffocating silence surrounding genocidal
sanctions; shame for every victim of Israeli apartheid in occupied Palestine;
shame for the slow and painful or quick deaths and the lives never given voice,
never fought for, never honored; shame for every victim of state-sponsored
terrorism; and shame for the memory of every Iraqi man, woman and child who
lived with a virtual gun to their heads for far too long.

It is time – perhaps it has always been and always will be – to reclaim our
language, the silenced narratives, to re-inhabit the
words “dignity,” “solidarity,” “courage,” and “liberation.” It is time to take
the anti-war movement past the mantras; the absent and sterile reasoning
of “success” or “failure.” It is time to channel that passion into something
intensely more politicized and something able to accompany Iraqis and
Palestinians and Timorese and Chiapas with a commitment that runs deeper than
sympathy. With something that recognizes their tremendous strength and beauty
and capability and existence before our governments decisions to attempt to
annihilate them. We must, as a community, do this now – because if we fail to,
we die a collective death.