The
dark tragedy of Iraq's 'silent'
bombs By Ramzy
Baroud
Somewhere in my home I have a set of
photo albums I rarely go near. I fear the flood of
cruel memories that might be evoked from looking
at the countless photos I took during a trip to
Iraq. Many of the pictures are of children who
developed rare forms of cancer as a result of
exposure to Depleted Uranium (DU), which was used
in the US-led war against Iraq over two decades
ago.
I visited a hospital that was
attached to Al-Mustansiriya University in Baghdad.
The odor that filled its corridors was not the
stench of medicine, but the aroma of death. At a
time of oppressive siege, the hospital lacked even
basic anesthetic equipment and drugs. Children sat
and stared at their visitors. Some wailed in
inconceivable pain. Parents teetered between hope
and the futility
of hope, and at prayer
times they duly prayed.
A young doctor
gave a sweeping diagnosis: "No child that ever
enters this place ever leaves alive." Being the
young reporter I was at the time, I diligently
made a note of his words before asking more
questions. I didn't quite grasp the finality of
death.
Several years later, Iraq's
desolation continues. On August 16, 90 people were
killed and more were wounded in attacks across the
country. Media sources reported on the bloodbath
(nearly 200 Iraqis were killed this month alone),
but without much context. Are we meant to believe
that violence in Iraq has transcended any level of
reason? That Iraqis get blown up simply because it
is their fate to live in perpetual fear and
misery?
But the dead, before they were
killed, were people with names and faces. They
were fascinating individuals in their own right,
deserving of life, rights and dignity. Many are
children, who knew nothing of Iraq's political
disputes, invited by US wars and occupation and
fomented by those who feed on sectarianism.
We often forget this. Those who refuse to
fall into the trap of political extremes still
tend to process and accept violence in one way or
another. We co-exist with tragedy, with the belief
that bombs just go off randomly and that surviving
victims cannot be helped. We somehow accept the
idea that refugees cannot be repatriated and the
hungry cannot be fed.
This strange wisdom
is most apparent in Sudan. In the Upper Nile
state, people are dying from sheer exhaustion
before they reach refugee camps in Batil. Some
walk for weeks between South Kordofan and the Blue
Nile, seeking respite and any chance of survival.
Those who endure the journey - compelled by
fighting between the Sudanese army and rebels
groups - might not survive the harshness of life
awaiting them at Batil. The BBC News reported on
August 17, citing a warning by Medecins Sans
Frontieres, that "[p]eople are dying in large
numbers in a refugee camp in South Sudan".
I almost stumbled on the "humanitarian
catastrophe" in Batil (as described by MSF's
medical co-ordinator, Helen Patterson) while
reviewing reports of the deteriorating situation
in some Darfur refugee camps. Batil now hosts
nearly 100,000 of the estimated 170,000 refugees
who recently fled their homes. According to the
medical charity, 28% of the children are
malnourished, and the mortality rate is twice that
of the accepted emergency threshold.
Darfur is, of course, a festering wound.
Many of the internally displaced refugees often
find themselves in a constant state of
displacement, as was the case earlier this month.
UN officials say that 'all' 25,000 people in a
single refugee camp, Kassab, went on the run again
after armed groups clashed with government forces.
They settled in another "shelter" nearby, the town
of Kutum. According to the African Union-United
Nations Mission in Darfur (UNAMID), the supposed
new shelter "lacks water, food and sanitation"
(CNN, August 9).
Since then, the story has
somewhat subsided. Not because the fleeing
refugees are in a good standing, but because this
is all the attention that 25,000 refugees can
expect from a media awash with news of two-faced
politicians and celebrity scandals. It might take
a "peacemaking" celebrity to place Batil or Kassab
on the media map for another day or two, and
surely nothing less than a sizable number of
deaths to make the refugees a relevant news item
once again.
That said, no
attention-seeking VIP is likely to venture out to
Mali anytime soon. While the humanitarian crisis
in West Africa is reaching frightening levels, the
media continues to address the conflict in Mali in
terms of the logic of Western interests being
threatened by rebels, coups and jihadists. Aside
from the fact that few ask of Western complicity
in the chaos, 435,000 refugees are flooding
neighboring countries. This was the most recent
estimate by the UN Office for the Coordination of
Humanitarian Affairs on August 16, but the fact is
ignored by most media.
The World Food
Program says that the food crisis is devastating -
not only for distraught refugees, but also for
millions within the country. Malian children are,
of course, outnumbering all other victims. They
are helplessly dragged around through endless
deserts. When they die, they merely leave a mark
as yet another statistic, estimated without much
certainty, and, sadly, without value.
However, here may lay the moral to the
story. Every Malian, Sudanese, Iraqi, Syrian,
Palestinian, Yemeni or Rohingya child matters
immensely to those around him. His or her life -
or death - might conveniently serve to fortify a
political argument, make a good National
Geographic reportage, or a Facebook photo with
many "shares" and "likes".
But for
parents, families, friends and neighbors, their
children are the center of their universe, however
poor and seemingly wretched. Thus, when UNICEF or
UNRWA complains about a shortage of funds, it
actually means that thousands of innocent people
will needlessly suffer, and that centers of many
universes will dramatically implode, replacing
hope with bottomless despair, and often rage.
It may be convenient to assign
conventional political wisdom to explain complex
political issues and violent conflicts. But
protracted conflicts don't make life any less
precious, or children any less innocent.
It is a tragedy when Iraqis seem to be on
a constant parade of burying their loved ones, or
when the Sudanese seem to be on a constant quest
to save their lives. It's a greater tragedy,
however, when we get so used to the unfolding
drama of human violence that we can accept as
destined the reality of children crossing the
Sahara in search of a sip of water.
Ramzy Baroud
(www.ramzybaroud.net) is an
internationally-syndicated columnist and the
editor of PalestineChronicle.com. His latest book
is My Father Was a Freedom Fighter: Gaza's
Untold Story.
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