The war of humiliation

This Viewpoint is about something called pain. And about something called dignity. And something about loss. A friend of mine, a poet, once told me that he wished he could transform his pain as a human being living with the tragedy of war, the destruction of mankind, into a river of words that naturally formed a poem. He told me, in such times, one attempts to do the impossible -- to create; to create from a situation incomprehensible to the mind and heart, from the absolute anti-thesis of normalcy, while being surrounded by constant destruction. This need to create stems from humankind's endeavor to firmly grasp onto their dignity.

During this 20 something daylong war on Iraq, I have been feeling so much pain. And I wish I were a poet so I can try to create like my friend. The only rivers I have created are those of tears I have shed; I cannot seem to use to grow and nurture anything. I thought to myself, perhaps my tears are my poems. Nizar Qabbani, an Arab poet, once wrote that a tear is a poem.

Why am I writing this? There is a desire in me to share something of my experience with the "liberation" of Iraq -- since I have spent since September on this campus talking about Iraq and her problem. It is my attempt to create something from my pain and from the loss I am feeling.

Unlike the images of "victory" that I saw on the screens all last week, neither I nor any Iraqi I know was happy about what we were seeing on television. To me, it was the epitome of horror. Perhaps words of another Iraqi can express it better than I can. Yasmin, an Iraqi woman in NH, wrote this about the "victory" that struck Baghdad. She writes, "Today is a sad day for all the people of Iraq. Baghdad has been raped. The singing and dancing in the streets is a terrible movie. I cannot put it in a better way than my husband, as he has said, 'the American Army and the Bush administration, have used lots of horrible weapons... but the most lethal weapon of all... is the savage people, that they have unleashed in the streets of Baghdad, calling them 'the people of Iraq!' Those people whom you see dancing, were the very same people who used to appear on TV, clapping for Saddam like crazy, when everyone else was against him. They are opportunists who have no principles at all. Always with the winner... and they sell very cheap. Please... you can believe what ever you want, just don't call a bunch of looters and murderers, 'the people of Iraq.'"

I am opposed to all the actions that took place in Iraq because to me, peace and justice do not come from the simple removal of Saddam Hussein. The real Iraqi people need to have their dignity restored to them. They need to be allowed to own it. They need to speak and tell their own history. Saddam was simply one robber amongst many in the Iraqi story. And right now, sadly, all of my suspicions and fears about the intentions and actions of the US and Britain have been proven correct.

The case of US actions not taken towards the protection of the Iraqi Museum of history serves as a micro-example of the macro approach the US is taking when it comes to the treatment of Iraq and Iraqis. Civilization was ignorantly robbed while the television vomited images of US marines feeding animals at the zoo while hospitals are lacking their protection from looting. Hospitals face more than 100 casualties an hour from the war, all this while people are in need of the restoration of power and electricity, food, and medicine. The message is clear: we care more about the animals.

The Museum of History in Iraq is a building representing so much to Iraqis everywhere -- and it should to mankind as well. The NY Times this weekend had a very moving quote by an archaeologist, Mr. Muhammad, as he was called, that perhaps can illustrate what the significance of this place is: "A country's identity, its value and civilization resides in its history. If a country's civilization is looted, as ours has been here, its history ends. Please tell this to President Bush. Please remind him that he promised to liberate the Iraqi people, but that this is not a liberation, this is a humiliation."

Why is this building especially important? Let me share this: In the midst of the crippling sanctions of 13 years on Iraq, where an entire population was humiliated by the world, I sat crying one day at the al-Rashid hotel in Baghdad after having experienced a day of death and suffering. Two Iraqi journalists approached me and urged me to stop crying about what was happening in Iraq. The woman, whose name was Nada, told me she would like me to enjoy Baghdad and be assured it was okay. She insisted on taking me to that very museum. To her, this was the jewel that would cause me reassurance. To her, it was the symbol of Iraqi dignity that still remained.

My mother always felt that it was in this building that "her heart would open up." This is an Arab expression, "the opening of the heart," the means you feel rejuvenated, relieved, at peace and happy. In a stifling system like Saddam's, such places are rare. Under crippling sanctions, suffocation was even more. But it was here that 7,000 years of my history -- the history of all humans was housed. Here used to be the most precious museums possibly of the whole Middle East!

And the images and stories I read of accounts and pleas for protection of the museum by Iraqis who worked there and from scholars from all over the world that were ignored by the administration and the troops on the ground.

I am not being sentimentalist. It is the responsibility of a body that comes in and dismantles a system, to restore order and treat people and their land in a dignified manner. The US and UK, as the occupying powers, are obligated under the Geneva Conventions to fix what they destroyed and provide people with the basics. Rather, the intentions of the American troops and administration are quite clear. Of all the buildings that they could have monitored, the universities housing library collections, years of research, that very museum -- of all the buildings containing artifacts of people's dignity, the only one heavily guarded and secured was the Oil Ministry -- a building securing only mankind's lust and greed. All this is but an ounce of the loss Iraqis are going to face in their future. All of the human costs paid by Iraqi civilians and unwilling conscripts alike -- death, grievous injury, loss of family members, destruction of property -- are still being paid. We don't have any idea, yet and may never, of the human toll from this war. And because this war is not about dignity, we never will.

Rana Abdul-Aziz is a senior majoring in international relations.