violachic

Today we went to see the civilian bomb shelter that was hit by U.S.
"smart" bombs. The Ameriyah bomb shelter in suburban, middle class
Baghdad, made of walls of reinforced concrete six feet thick, built in
1984. On February 13, 1991 it was hit by two U.S. "smart" bombs. The
first bomb blew a huge hole in the shelter, at 4:30 a.m., with 480 or so
people, largely women and children, inside, asleep. The second bomb
followed four minutes later and carried a chemical that turned the shelter
into an incinerator, burning or boiling to death everyone inside.(Broken
water pipes had flooded the basement) "Collateral damage" the Pentagon
called it. The U.S. war machine killed about 100,000 civilians in 1991.
This was one example of how.
We began the day with a trip to the Iraq Museum, which holds regional
artifacts from the dawn of civilization, from the ancient, pre-historic
Sumerian City-states. The first human civilizations in the west began right
here in Iraq, and in Egypt. In a way, this land is our mother. Then we saw
the huge bas-relief sculptures of the Assyrians. The Assyrians were a
warlike people, who conquered with violence. No one mourned the fall of
their capital Nineveh, in 612 B.C. because they brought the world so little
and took so much. Sound familiar? President Bush would make us the modern
Assyrians. "We shall prevail!" he said last week on television, as if we
were going to fight a mighty empire. His words and our government's actions
have shown a lack of restraint, and of course a lack of mercy. Iraq is
beaten, but the U.S. must attack a nation which, at the height of its
power could not beat Iran. "We will prevail!" Bush says. History is not
kind to such hypocrisy.
There is little relaxing here in Baghdad. The people are poor,
struggling to survive. We have involved ourselves in their struggle. We
tip cabdrivers. They want more. We must say, "La, la!" (No, no!) A little
girl follows me down the street with her hand out. I pat her on the head.
Then I buy a box of matches from an old lady sitting in the middle of the
sidewalk, selling matches and cigarettes. We all overpay her. I buy
cigarettes from a vendor, not because I smoke them but to use them as an
entre to talk with Iraqi men who smoke a lot. One man asks, "Are you
Ruski?" I say, "Ana Amrica." I am American. He takes my hand and smiles. He
puts a hand over his heart, and I do the same. "We are connected," that
means. I walk on. Pray to God the bombs never fall here again.

From Baghdad,

Jon Rice
Anek el hissar, salaam lil Iraq.

best regards,

Jon F. Rice , PhD
14 October, 2002

(many thanks to