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Amal recently joined the exile Iraqi community in Amman. We visited her several days ago and she explained: “I left Baghdad last month because there was no hope, no security, no water or electricity. Relatives and friends have been killed or wounded. I was afraid for my children. 
A quick look at the web log (or blog) of Raed Jarrar says much about the complications of Iraqi society right now. Raed provides links to other blogs written by Azzam, “my capitalist dad,” Faiza, “my Shia mother,” and Khalid, “my Sunni brother.” There’s also an email link for “Raed, secular me."
Recently, a friend asked us to accompany him on a visit to a family he knows. We entered a gate next to a small shop and went up some stairs at the back. At the top of the stairs we found a small alcove that held a minuscule kitchen and bathroom. Down a hall was a single room, where we were greeted enthusiastically and with great warmth by Moushe and Shatha and their seven children. The family lives, sleeps, eats, and plays in a space that measures 11 by 16 feet.
In the spring of 2004, Raed and Nofel-students of Babel Theological School in Baghdad-traveled to Mosul to meet with their bishop and discuss their dream community of service to the poor. Near the town of Samara, a U.S. tank jumped the curb and turned in front of their car. Unable to stop, the Iraqis smashed into the tank at a great speed. Their car was crushed.
We enter a small, narrow room with only a couple of windows and a makeshift, dilapidated stage at the front. Plastic chairs sit in rows. With no electricity for fans or air conditioning, the room is stifling hot….It is a far cry from the pomp and circumstance enjoyed by U. S. baccalaureates. However, the young women of the School of Arts in Baghdad, like teenagers everywhere, visit excitedly with each other as 59 of the school’s 300 students prepare to graduate….Teachers smile with pride and joy at their students’ accomplishments. Younger siblings mill around, waiting for the cake and soda. 
Mary Trotochaud writes: "During the past week, I have been engaged in a lively e-mail conversation with Naba Hamid Al Barrak, a professor of education at the University of Baghdad. I met Naba in February 2004, when a friend set up a meeting for me with several Iraqi women from different professions. I have been following up with these women for further discussions and possible future collaborations..Naba sent me an article written by her son, a 26-year-old dentist who lives in Paris. We were so moved by the article, A Question of Responsibility, that we wanted to share it on the web."
When you meet Salam Talib for the first time, his passion and enthusiasm can be overwhelming. His quiet voice belies the assurance of his knowledge and the insistence of his abilities. This young man, with his explosion of ideas, is not to be taken lightly. His history has created a compelling personality.
Political satire is alive and well on the pages of Iraq 's myriad newspapers.
Muayad Neama has been drawing caricatures and political cartoons since 1973.
As an aspiring filmmaker, Muthana has led a life fueled by hopes
and dreams—hopes seemingly unattainable and dreams often
unfulfilled. But with the gritty determination of a survivor
and the passion of an artist, Muthana has steadfastly pushed
his dreams toward reality—an effort helped along by a timely
introduction we made between Muthana and filmmakers from MTV.
God has bestowed on the Iraqi woman beauty, sensibility, intelligence, vigor, and patience. These qualities could be the ones that have kept her going, in spite of all the hardship that has been facing her in this afflicted country.
As much of the world celebrates the Christmas season of hope and peace, we live under periods of sustained bombardment, thanks to "Operation Iron Grip" -- the U.S. military's latest strategy to combat continuing resistance in Iraq. On the eve of Christmas, we joined a special gathering of residents, volunteers, and friends at Bethany House in Baghdad, a home for handicapped women. The evening's festivities -- including carols, decoration of the chapel, and food preparation for needy families around the city -- were frequently interrupted by the sounds of violence outside.
Layla Mohammed has returned to Iraq after nine years in exile and decades of fighting for the rights of Iraqi women. She did not anticipate the grave dangers that have taken hold during “liberation” from Saddam—dangers that keep her separated from her husband and daughter.
In the shadows of the Iraqi Ministries of Oil and Interior—the only government Ministries protected by U.S. troops during and after the invasion—lies the squatter community of Al Huda. It is a sprawling complex of nearly three thousand Muslims, Christians, and Kurds. During our visit to Al Huda, Samir sat beside a young, shell-shocked boy, who sat deaf and dumb alongside a building. Samir gently brushed the flies from the boy’s face while holding him.
Twenty-seven-year-old Firaz has a dream: to become a world class pastry chef. But in the heat of Baghdad, refrigerated pastry cases sit empty and shop hours are cut short. Even the Iraqi fixation with hospitality and sweets cannot help Firaz right now.
These pictures, taken by Rick McDowell and Mary Trotochaud during their stay in Baghdad this summer, capture some scenes of occupation and economic survival in post-war Iraq.
Altruism and caring for the extended community did not cease under Saddam Hussein. Numerous independent programs were established and flourished with the permission (though not the support) of the regime. Iraqi society found a way to care for orphans, the sick and infirm, children, people with disabilities, and abused or neglected girls and women. Even in today’s desperate circumstances, human goodness continues in Iraq, in places like Bethany House.
As the recent U.S.-led war ended, Palestinians in Iraq were left particularly vulnerable, given their uncertain status and the fall of the government that had provided them with housing concessions. More than one thousand Palestinian families in Baghdad have been expelled or threatened with expulsion, and that number grows daily.
Since 1978, Professor Husan has been an Assistant Professor of Architecture at the University of Baghdad’s Department of Architecture in the College of Engineering. On April 16, 2003, by order of Paul Bremer, Administrator of the Coalition Provision Authority (CPA), Husan was summarily dismissed, as were nearly 2,000 professors and technical staff from Iraq’s institutions of higher education. His crime: having joined the Baath Party at the age of 15. “We are fighting illiteracy and they (the CPA) have thrown out the most literate,” Husan observes.
Mustafa, a recent graduate of the Al Mustaniraya College for the Arts in Baghdad, surveyed 200 students from the college’s morning and evening classes. He conducted the survey because he “wanted to know what today’s students were thinking.” Some of Mustafa’s results may surprise you.
Courage can be defined in many ways and can take many shapes. On Friday, June 27, 2003, the Iraqi National Symphony Orchestra exemplified courage as they took the stage for their first performance since the war. Poised and dignified, they waited as their conductor, Abdul Razzak Alazzawi, raised his baton. Then the music of an old Iraqi song—My Country—flowed over the audience. As the Iraqis in the audience solemnly stood, it was a moment of triumph.
Iraqi hospitality is legendary. Even sitting in the ruins of the heavily looted Mosul General Hospital, Dr. Emad Kahlim brought us cold sodas and tea before he sat down to talk with us. That is why it was so surprising when—halfway through our interview—he suddenly asked, “Why are you here?”
Rami, is an articulate, passionate man. At 36, he’s lived an extraordinary life. His nine years of higher education, including four in France, were interrupted by four years of mandatory military service, which ended shortly after the first Gulf War. He hopes to be ordained as a priest next year. Rami spoke to AFSC’s Rick McDowell in Baghdad. Some excerpts from his thoughts appear below.
Baghdad holds many secrets. From the street, you would not know that this home, in the Jadrea district, had been affected by the war. It’s a house of some means, elegant but simple. As you enter, however, the physical signs—deep cracks in the ceilings, walls, and floors—begin to tell the story of what happened. When you reach the back of the house, you can go no further. Where a second house once stood, there is only rubble.
AFSC correspondent Mary Trotochaud found hopelessness and
destruction at Iraq’s only psychiatric hospital, where
a few months earlier AFSC had installed a water purification
chlorinator:
With bitter disappointment,
the hospital’s director spoke of the night the looting
began, and how he and other staff members tried desperately
to defend the hospital and its patients against a small band
of criminals. The war had just ended and the Iraqi police force
was nowhere to be found. The occupying forces failed to respond
to the hospital’s urgent request for security. “What
could a handful of unarmed doctors do against armed and angry
looters?” asked Dr. Heelo.
I’m a physician working in Al-Noor hospital (Arabic for “the
Light”) in the al-Sho’la neighborhood in Baghdad.
This neighborhood is a place crowded with ordinary people, poor
people, living ordinary lives.
It was March 27th, and I was in the hospital’s emergency room, and like
other days of the war, we were listening to the American missiles bombing Baghdad
and praying that none of our relatives or friends get hurt. Suddenly, around
6:30PM, we heard a huge explosion near the hospital, accompanied by great vibrations
which shattered almost all of the hospital’s windows.
About 500,000 Iraqis now live in Jordan, most of them illegally. Iraqis with business connections can get Jordanian work visas, or even Jordanian residency permits. But for the vast majority of Iraqis with a valid passport, a six-month Jordanian tourist visa is the only option available.
Most of the half million Iraqis in Jordan entered many months or years ago on six-month visas, and then stayed on illegally. I spoke with Ammar (one such thirty-year-old Iraqi in Jordan, who asked that his last name not be used), just before he set out for the Austrian Embassy to file for political asylum.
Samir Al-Ewidal comes from a poor family in Al Shouyykh, a small Palestinian village about five kilometers north of Hebron. Samir had excellent grades in high school and received a full scholarship to study political science at the University of Baghdad. He left his village for Iraq in November 2001 and has been studying in Baghdad since then. Travel home for vacations or breaks would have been both difficult and expensive.
Samir’s scholarship covered his academic expenses, including books, and he was only responsible for living expenses. With about $100 a month, Samir managed to buy food and pay his part of the rent on a shared student apartment in Baghdad He worked hard and received good grades during his first year and a half, and had recently begun the second semester of his sophomore year.
Christian Peacemaker Teams had a full-time presence in Iraq from Oct 25, 2002 until the last team left on April 1, 2003. CPT delegations visited facilities such as hospitals, schools and markets and some camped near the water purification plant, hoping to discourage coalition forces from destroying a resource that was essential to the life of the community.
When the war began, the team visited areas hit by bombs the night before, expressing their sorrow to the survivors and taking pictures and notes to document the extent of civilian suffering. The pictures below were taken by the last delegation to remain in Baghdad.
The photos on this page were taken by David Havard of Sheffield, England, who was with a Christian Peacemaker Team delegation in Iraq from March 25 to April 1. During this time CPT visited ten different Baghdad neighborhoods where bombing had occurred. These photos depict some of the people they met and places they observed.
Several
convoys of Christian Peacekeeper Teams (CPT) and Voices in
the Wilderness volunteers and staff have left
Baghdad in the past week. They’ve
all taken the main road that leads
from Baghdad to Amman, Jordan.
The pictures on this page show
images of war and destruction encountered
by one CPT group along that road.
A three-vehicle convoy from Baghdad started out early Saturday morning (3/29/03), heading for Amman, Jordan. They followed the road that runs through the western Iraqi desert to the Jordanian border. The group included an Iraqi driver for each vehicle, eight Americans and an Irishman from Christian Peacemakers Teams (CPT) and Voices in the Wilderness, two Japanese reporters, and a Korean peace activist.
We had dinner this evening with Um Heider, her son Mustafa, and a few friends. Um Heider was optimistic that she and her son would soon get their visas, but the U.S. Embassy had not completed her security clearance. When I asked about her family, she said that she had information from Basra, although she had not been able to speak directly to her husband. However, she talked to her mother in Baghdad by phone every day until yesterday, when the telecommunications building in Baghdad was hit.
Father Zawada entered Iraq on February 3, 2003, with Voices in the Wilderness about three weeks after being released from prison in the United States for committing civil disobedience at the School of the Americas in the fall of 2002....In Baghdad, Father Zawada ended up living in the Al-Dar Hotel, a small hotel located in a residential neighborhood. When the U.S.-led bombing campaign began on March 19 the Iraqi government strongly suggested that Father Zawada leave the Al-Dar, because the back of the hotel was near a communication tower. During the ’91 Gulf War, such towers were considered primary targets by U.S. military commanders.
Father Zawada is a Franciscan priest from Cedar Lake, Indiana, who had been with Voices in the Wilderness. He returned to Amman from Baghdad on Monday morning (March 24). Father Zawada had been in Baghdad for six weeks, spending most of his time at an orphanage for children with disabilities. Since his health was on the decline, he volunteered to travel back with Thorn Anderson, a journalist who had worked closely with Voices in the Wilderness in Baghdad, and whose Iraqi visa had expired. Everyone recommended that no one try to take the trip to the border alone.
The Jordanian YWCA issued the call for Monday, March 24, to be a “Day of Prayer for Peace.” Ms. Leila Diab, the General Secretary of the YWCA in Jordan, invited people of all faith communities to join the YWCA at the Church of the Virgin Mary of Nazareth (in the Amman neighborhood of Sweifieh) for a program of prayer and a candlelight vigil for peace in Iraq.
Senior Correspondent Doug Hostetter met Um Heider and her son Mustafa over dinner in Amman, Jordan, on the fourth day of the U.S.-led bombardment of Iraq. During the last few years, several hundred thousand Iraqis moved to Amman and other parts of Jordan as a result of the economic sanctions and other problems within their home country.
A first-hand account from the last Gulf War shows how bombs cannot discriminate between civilian and military targets.
In January 1992, one year after the end of the Persian Gulf War, I traveled to Iraq with Medicine for Peace and the Fellowship of Reconciliation, to assess medical implications of that war for the civilian population. It was hard to comprehend the enormous public health consequences of war. Perhaps the story of one child from Baghdad at that time will help to explain what may lie ahead for hundreds of thousands of Iraqis, as the current war against Iraq unfolds.
Doug reflects on Iraqi civilians' past experience with what the United States military now calls its "exemplary destruction." During the 1991 Persian Gulf War, American TV astounded the world with our graphic images of smart bombs and cruise missiles that sent our explosive ordnance down the chimneys of Iraqi military headquarters. The stories I heard directly from Iraqis on the ground in Baghdad in 1992 were quite different.
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