My partner remembers, as a child in Baghdad, when they moved mattresses to the roof on hot summer nights to watch the stars, to talk and giggle, and finally sleep in the cooling breeze. It's one of her fondest memories from that long-ago time, a time whose innocence seems almost magical to her now.
Today I read from a Knight-Ridder report by Nancy A. Youssef, September 24, 2004:
At the Baghdad morgue, Dr. Quasis Hassan Salem said he saw a family of eight brought in: three women, three men and two children. They were sleeping on their roof last month because it was hot inside. A military helicopter shot at them and killed them: "I don't know why."
Some will pass this off as an unfortunate byproduct of war, what the manglers of words (the “dissassemblers”) call collateral damage. Some will claim that maybe they deserved it, this sleeping family thankful to escape the heat, that they were surely guilty of something. Some, and this is the most pathetic group, won't bother to know; and if they do, won't care. Such a tragedy will not disturb their beautiful minds.
But if you have a heart or a soul or any measure of compassion you will be appalled, shamed, sickened, and angered. Multiply this tragedy of eight by 1500 and you get the 12,000 Iraqis murdered the past 18 months, according to Interior Minister Bayan Jabr, two-thirds of them directly by the U.S. military.
As Middle East expert and blogger Juan Cole explained today:
The figure of 12,000 killed in guerrilla violence in the past 18 months tracks generally with the figures arrived at by Iraq Body Count, which gives between about 22,000 and 25,000 civilian deaths for the two years since the beginning of the war.These are confirmed deaths and don't include those not dug from the rubble of a bombed house, those sent to their graves unreported except by the grief of the living, those who died a lonely unknown death and simply didn't come home, or the tens of thousands struck down by disease or malnutrition.
Even more telling, Cole goes on to show that the current violent death rate in Iraq under American occupation is comparable to what it was under Saddam and his Baathists. Who's better off with the tyrant gone? Or as a popular saying in Iraq goes, "The student is gone; the master has arrived."
Think of it. A powerful, relentless force invades your country, your town. Your life is turned upside down – food, medical care, clean water, electricity, sanitation – all become uncertain variables. Friends, neighbors, family are indiscriminatly wounded or killed (Saddam's brutality was systematic and predictable compared with the chaotic shock and awe of occupation). Would you welcome these liberators? These crusaders? These purveyors of random violence?
Try to imagine all this tonight, as you enjoy the night breeze, the few stars, maybe a beer on the patio, as you flick lights on and off and brush your teeth and flush your toilet. And as you kiss your kids good night, think of that family on their roof doing the same. Then, imagine the thump of helicopter rotors, in the distance, drawing closer and closer and closer...
|