[Engaging Peace continues the serialization of Dahlia Wasfi’s book, Liberate THIS.]
After reading the headline, “Crushed to death by a bulldozer,” I thought about someone other than myself for the first time in quite a while. Also for the first time in a while, I felt an emotion other than depression. I felt anger.
Having been completely immersed in news of the imminent attack on Iraq, I felt blindsided by this report that seemed to come out of nowhere. What the hell is going on here? What happened? From the article:
In a matter of months, Rachel Corrie went from the orderly peace movement of this small liberal city [Olympia, Washington] to a deadly world of gunfire, violent political conflict and the bulldozer that crushed her to death.
Crushed to death by a bulldozer? I felt my stomach turn and I tasted nausea. What kind of horrific torture did she endure? My God. What the hell is going on in this miserable, Godforsaken world? Who was she?
Corrie, 23, a student at The Evergreen State College in Olympia, died Sunday in Gaza while trying to stop the bulldozer from tearing down a Palestinian physician’s home.
I sat staring at the monitor, the words of the USA Today article blurring as I tried to make sense of the news. She was so much younger than I. She had no apparent ties to the Arab World. Why was she there? Why was she halfway around the world in Palestine, while I sat in the comforts of the U.S.A.?
Then the crux of the mystery hit me like a slap in the face: Why was SHE dead when I—who wanted to die—was alive and kicking and reading about her passing? The horror was unjust; it was nonsensical; it was illogical. The loss of Corrie, someone I’d never known of until that morning, was just stupid.
I became indignant. I knew I had to do something.