LOUISVILLE'S OWN HEART & VOICE IN IRAQ:

DOUG JOHNSON
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Doug at a Amal's birthday party

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Pictures taken by IPT including some of the children

 

 

 

 

 

 

The War Prayer by Mark Twain

 

 

Mark Twain more cynical: Satan on War

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Saturday, March 22, 2003---Day 30

6:35 PM

A rumor has been confirmed as true tonight.  Reports were that the Iraqi military dug a trench around the city and filled it with oil which they planned on burning at an opportune time to confuse incoming missiles or jets.  A thick, turbid smokescreen is now billowing from the city's perimeter, and as the sun goes down the smoke is blending into the darkness it's helping to create.  Already I hear explosions far away.  Tonight could be hell.  I've already moved my crash kit and valuables to the second floor.

8:25

The bombs have ceased for two hours.  Except for occasional cars racing down the parkway to get home, all is quiet around the Al Fanar.  Wade just radioed me saying that Sehira was missing.  I called the Al Wathba water plant and found her at the encampment
there.

9:15

The smell of burning oil is seeping into my room from the open balcony door.  A dirty haze is settling over roads and softening the glare from the street lights. I just heard a few bombs, but otherwise things are quiet.  I'm wondering if the smoke is deterring the bombers.

Sunday, March 23, 2003---Day 31

Zade called a meeting today.  From now on each of us from the IPT must make daily visits to either the encampment at the Al Wathba water-treatment plant, one of the various hospitals, or visit civilian sites that have been bombed.  The al Fanar will now be our
headquarters where daily schedules will be planned and where Zade will receive daily reports from our visits.  This development coincides exactly with what the IPT has been seeking.  We will be provided drivers and minders who will make our witnessing possible from nearly anywhere in the city.
     After the meeting, several of us went immediately to the Al Yarmook Public Hospital, Baghdad's largest, to visit and interview Iraqi civilians injured in recent US bombings.  I met Rafah Widad Muhammed, age 25, who was injured inside her home from a cruise missile that tore her abdomen open.  I met Iman, also injured while in her home.  Dhohah Shiel, age 6, received spinal cord injuries from a cruise missile. Rusel Salim Abbas, age 10, received chest wounds from a bomb while closing the door of her house.  Salah Mandi, age 33, was outside in the Amaria district when a missile landed near him.  Two other children, Saad Hassen and Omar Ali, cousins, are two of 12 family members all injured in a blast while in their home.  Starting tomorrow I will be the point person for teams that will visit civilian sites that have been bombed.  Our purpose is to report war-crimes.
     I was told by the hospital doctor that 66 civilians were killed in Basra, but I have no way to confirm it.
     On the way to the hospital we passed three buildings that have been destroyed by US bombs: The Ministry of Planning, the old Prime Minister's house, and a new palace.  The buildings are now nothing more than burned out rubble.  I saw many broken windows in
houses and stores in the vicinity of these bombings, and I wonder how many civilians were injured by shattered glass but who can't afford hospital treatment.
     Later in the afternoon we did something remarkable.  We had a birthday party for Amal, a 13 year old girl we know from the neighborhood.  Her family and friends came, plus many from the Al Fanar, and we met in a grassy court across the parkway from the hotel.  It turned into a celebration of life.  We had chicken and potato salad, followed by cake.  We danced, sang songs, and watched Shane do flips and juggle for the kids (he went to circus school).  At one point we were knocking balloons back and forth when a cruise missile landed just on the other side of the Tigris.  The blast rustled my clothes and went
right through me.  The children seemed startled for a second but then went right on playing with the balloons.  I draw my strength from the Iraqis. 
     Afterwards I learned that the palace had been bombed.

Monday, March 24, 2003---Day 32

Full schedule today.  After a morning meeting, Zade took Juneed, Jo, Julia and I to see a house that was hit by a cruise missile.  The house was cut in half.  The second story was demolished and the ceiling of the first was caving in.  Although the family living there was traumatized, miraculously nobody was seriously hurt.
     I then accompanied April, an M.D., to the emergency room of the Al Kindi Hospital.  Very few journalists, even the seasoned ones, are permitted to see bombed homes and enter emergency rooms, and the pictures I took today are some of the very few that
exist in the world.  Shortly after we arrived, April and I found ourselves surrounded by severely injured bombing victims being rushed to surgery.  April may be used to this, but I am not.  It was a sea of blood.
     The first victim I saw was Mohammed, a little boy with a bandaged head and lacerations of the face.  He was scared and obviously in pain.  I received permission from the doctors to take his picture, and when his mother saw the flash she became irate and lit into me.  When April tried to intervene, she got the brunt of his mother's ire.  We didn't understand a
word of her Arabic, but we felt her grief and despair.   Once the doctors explained who we were, she eventually cooled off and later apologized.  It turned out that her littlest child had just been killed and everyone else in her family injured by a US bomb.  The only one that should be apologizing is George Bush.
     There were dozens more severely injured women and children.  Nada Adman, Mohammed's 14 year old sister, had head, face, and leg injuries, and she kept asking  in Arabic, why did they do this to me?  What did I do?  All I could do was shrug and try to keep from crying.
     This evening I read The War Prayer by Mark Twain.  It takes about 15 minutes to read and I recommend it to everyone.  The story takes place in a mid-sized US town during a time of war.  As the citizens prepare to send their young men off to fight, they march, sing
patriotic songs and they congregate in a church to pray.  A minister, standing in front of his
congregation, prays that God give strength to their young soldiers, that He protect them, and that their nation be granted victory, honor, glory, etc. - the standard stuff.  Suddenly a messenger from God appears from the back of the church and approaches the pulpit.
 He interrupts the minister's prayer and nudges him aside.  Speaking to his stunned audience, the messenger explains that he was sent from God to let them know that their prayer has two parts: the spoken and the unspoken, and that their spoken prayer has
many unmentioned results.  He warns:

                    If you would beseech
                    A blessing upon yourself, beware!
                    lest without intent
                    you invoke a curse upon a neighbor
                    at the same time.

The messenger goes on to deliver the unspoken half of their prayer. 
     I invite George Bush, as he's praying for victory and re-election, to look into the eyes of Nada Adman and her brother Mohammed and see the unmentioned results of his policy toward Iraq.  These beautiful Iraqis are part of us.  They're our "other half."  To
wage this war in the name of God is blasphemy. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Wednesday, March 26, 2003 - Day 34
A fierce dust-storm is raging.  I've never seen anything like it.  Looking out my sliding glass-door, I see trees nearly bent in half by the wind and a quarter inch accumulation of white powder on the pavement.  Wind is howling through my door seam, threatening to break the window while depositing a thin film of dust on all my belongings.  I thought surely this storm would ground the jets or the cruise missiles, yet two hours ago there was extensive bombing near the hotel, and only moments ago I heard the siren go off.
     I can't help but think this storm plays into the Iraqi's hands and that the US military has walked into a quagmire.  I'm hearing reports that the US campaign is not going as well as planned, and the Iraqi resistance has been stiffer than expected.  I hear that US POW's captured inside Iraq are being shown on television.  I hear US casualties are already mounting, and I know first hand that Iraqis are being hard-hit too.  I'm neutral towards both militaries because I'm against this war.  I want the US servicemen to go home where they belong and where they'll be safe.  I want the needless killing to stop.  I'm hearing rumors everyday, but this morning I heard one that's particularly interesting.  Word here is that Dick Cheney's daughter has flown to Amman Jordan with plans to enter Iraq as a human shield.
[He]has supposedly headed to Amman to intercept her.  This sounds too good to be true, but Rumzi will check it out tonight through a reliable source. I spent the morning at the Al Kindi Hospital and April and I were supposed to be taken to the Al Yarmook Hospital this afternoon.  But no minders were available so we stayed around the hotel.  Just as well since I was pretty worn out.  Tomorrow she and I plan on sleeping overnight at the Al Kindi so that we will be on hand when new bombing victims are brought in.  Bombing is usually much heavier at night.     

There's a black and white cat that I've seen in the neighborhood since I arrived.  I started feeding her left over chicken in front of the hotel, and now she feels emboldened to wander into the lobby and hang out.  Also in the lobby are two caged parrots and a caged monkey.  The cat fits right in.  I'm not sure what to name her.     

Thursday, March 27, 2003 --- Day 35

I’m overwhelmed and tired.  For three days now I’ve concentrated on visiting injured civilians in hospitals and seeing bombed sites.  This morning I accompanied April to the Al Kindy Hospital where we interviewed an extended family of 25 that had been living in six houses together on one farm just outside of Baghdad.  At 6:00 PM yesterday, B-52s dropped cluster bombs on their farm, destroying all six houses, killing four and severely injuring many others.  Even the farm animals were killed.  We were told that yellow cylinders landed in their yard, and when they and the animals crept closer to investigate,
the bombs detonated.  The father of one of these families, Saaed Shalish, age 36 – a farmer, lost two sons but he has not yet been told.  Doctors tell me that he’s in critical condition.
     I also met Ali Jasem, age 8, whose farm house was destroyed by a missile and whose father was killed from decapitation.  Ali received surgery to remove shrapnel from his head.
     Later, April and I met Ishmel Shakir Kareem, age 60, who is a low income day worker who was a passenger in a car that was knocked over while driving through the Shallal Market area of the Al Sha’ab District of Baghdad.  The bombing occurred at 1:30 PM yesterday, and I have just returned from the bombing site.  This is an impoverished area of houses and small shops far removed from any military targets.  The bomb struck the median between the parkway, breaking nearly every window on the street, demolishing and burning a ramshackle auto repair shop, gutting a small diner and destroying the apartments above it.  Sitting next to the bomb’s crater in the median are a number of car remains.  Crunched, mangled, and scorched car frames give testimony to the bomb’s indiscriminate destruction.  At the hospital April and I were told that 5 people died in that attack.  On the street,
however, people insist the deaths reach 15 or 16.      I also met Hasem Hamid Shakir, age 26, who was injured in another bombing in the same district of Al Sha’ab.  He sustained injuries to his left leg from quarter-size shrapnel that penetrated his car as he was driving.  He claimed to have witnessed a whole family burn to death inside their car, and claimed
that a school had been damaged by bombs.  Today I witnessed that site as well, and I can verify Hasem’s story as true.  A bomb was apparently detonated above a residential home next to a school, tearing apart the house’s top floor with shrapnel and breaking most of the school’s windows.  I’m told that the US media is claiming that Iraq is bombing their own people to frame the US, but I don’t buy it.  Bombs are dropping on Baghdad as I write this, and I’m willing to wager they’re not Iraqi bombs.  Let’s get this straight. The US is waging war on Iraq and has been for the last 12 and a half years.  US bombs are dropping
everywhere.  They have even broken windows in my hotel.  These bombs are not that “smart.”     

     Earlier today I also met a number of Syrians who claimed to have been bombed by Apache helicopters while riding in a caravan of three busses from Syria to Baghdad.  The attack, they say, occurred at the “160 K Station” next to a bridge.  Allegedly a helicopter bombed the bridge, causing the vehicles to stop suddenly and collide with one another.  As they scrambled to exit the vehicles, the buses were bombed.  As they waited to be rescued, their buses were bombed again.  According to Abdul Malik Tutangi, age 45, 16 civilians were killed and 19 injured in the attack.
     Yesterday I visited another home destroyed by a US bomb in a residential area.  The home was a half block from a school and about three blocks from the hospital.  Because of the weather, visiting this site was like walking on another planet.  After the intense
sand storm the day before, white powder seemed to linger in the air and settle in places almost like snow.  Breathing became difficult.  Visibility became null.  My clothes stained from white specks. Windshields became blurry and smeared.  The sky took on colors I’ve never seen before in my 43 years. Every Iraqi I’ve talked to says they’ve never seen
anything like it.  The sky was yellow on one horizon and orange on the other.  Street lights radiated a fuzzy, phosphorescent green.  I kept looking around, thinking “what is this?  What’s going on?”  April and I speculated that the US may be experimenting with a
new weapon or messing with the atmosphere, and although this may sound outlandish, after enduring US bombing for a week and then seeing surreal colors in the sky, it’s easy to imagine the two are connected.
     Now that the sky is clear, bombing has intensified.  Several large explosions have just
shaken the building.  It’s funny, but you actually get used to it.  The only affect it has on the Iraqis is that it pisses them off and they can’t wait for the US soldiers to arrive on the ground so that they can put up the fight of their lives.

 

Peace Team Update  Tuesday, April 1, 2003
      Doug Johnson has left Baghdad early this morning with 12 other members of Voices in the Wilderness Iraq Peace Team, arriving in Jordan at midday.  I have just spoken with him in Amman this evening, and he is exhausted and strained by the experience of wartime Iraq, but alive and well.  It was decided by the group that a smaller team could better carry out their mission at this point in the war.  Fourteen members of the team remain in Baghdad, continuing their work of witnessing this horrible war from the standpoint of the Iraqi people. 
       Doug will continue working with the Iraq Peace Team in Amman for the next week or so.  He sends his greetings to all family, friends, and members of the Louisville Peace Community.  We are all greatly relieved that he is unhurt.

Home in Louisville---Sunday, April 6, 2003

Welcome home, Doug.  Our thanks for the example you gave---giving your body to your beliefs.  Thanks too for recording your experiences so we could share them. Article in CJ