Tag: Dahlia Wasfi

To follow my heart and find my voice (Liberate THIS, Part 16)

Posted on by kathiemm

[The final installment in a continuing series by guest author Dr. Dahlia Wasfi.]

Rachel Corrie peace vigil
Rachel Corrie peace vigil. Image used under CC Attribution-Share Alike 3.0 Unported license.

Rachel Corrie literally stood up for what she believed on March 16, 2003. She stood before the Israeli military who came to Rafah in armored bulldozers to level homes.

With her courageous stand, she equated her Western life with the lives of the Palestinian families behind her. Perhaps her actions were an affront to the occupation soldiers staring down from their sixty ton vehicle. Perhaps her actions inspired them to crush her to death.

Her actions inspired me to follow my heart and find my voice. To me, her courage showed hope and strength.

With Rachel’s example before me, my life has directed me to know my family. I traveled thousands of miles to go see them and know them.

But my work as an activist has also taught me that I don’t only have family in Iraq. My relatives are everywhere:  in Afghanistan; in Pakistan; in Kashmir; in Vietnam; in Walter Reed Army Medical Center; in Arlington Cemetery; in every village and city around the globe.

You have relatives there, too.

My medical career is on hold so that I can focus on calling for the immediate, unconditional end of war and occupation on behalf of all of my family.

What would you do for your family?

What will you do?

To reach one another (Liberate THIS, Part 15)

Posted on by kathiemm

[A continuing series by guest author Dr. Dahlia Wasfi]

Iraqi girl
Iraqi girl. Image in public domain (from Wikimedia Commons)

Iraqis are still suffering today under the brutal grip of American-led occupation. Life goes on in the hope that one day, circumstances will improve.

For now, however, as it has been for decades, they struggle. Electricity, water, and jobs remain scarce. The destruction of Iraq’s healthcare system has contributed to the deaths of one aunt and one uncle since my 2006 trip.

In August 2007, one of my cousins was killed in the violence we brought to his country. He left behind a wife; a 2 year old son who keeps asking ”Where’s Daddy?”; a heart-broken mother and brother; and an entire family devastated by grief for whom life will never be the same.

These precious souls are only three of the more than 1,000,000 lives (and counting) taken by the illegal invasion and occupation of Iraq.[1]

Every country around the world is made up of families. It is those families who either reap the benefits of their government’s actions, or pay the price.

Our victims in Iraq (and elsewhere around the world) are dehumanized to us.  Through media stereotypes, we have been programmed to dismiss the humanity of the “other.”[2]  That disconnection from humankind is why my college classmates could celebrate the 1991 Gulf War. That disconnection from humankind is why I focused on my personal gain while my taxes brought suffering to millions.

It was Rachel Corrie’s generous spirit—and the shocking loss of her life—that reconnected me to what is truly important.

If there are political differences between states, then whatever they may be, no resolution comes from targeting the innocent families of their respective societies.

We should respect the humanity of women and children, who are the majority of any population. And if we respect their humanity in Iraq, can we respect their grief as they lose their brothers, fathers, husbands and sons, the same way we mourn with and share the pain of American military families?

From Rachel, I learned that the answer is yes. Our human connection is all that we need to reach one another.

Dr. Dahlia Wasfi

“I think tomorrow, we lose air” (Liberate THIS, Part 14)

Posted on by kathiemm

[A continuing series by guest author Dr. Dahlia Wasfi]

I stepped off of the rickety bus at the Iraqi border along with my fellow passengers making the difficult journey into occupied land. I was so tired, both from the long trip and my recent crying. My eyes alternated between staring vaguely into the distance in a sleep-deprived daze and darting toward my belongings to make sure nothing got stolen.

U.S. government providing clothing to Iraqi people
U.S. government providing clothing to Iraqi people. Photo by ThinkpadR50 at en.wikipedia; used under CC Attribution-Share Alike 30.0 unported license.

I was trying to put my thoughts together to decide what to do next when I believe I witnessed a divine intervention. My gaze moved up from my cart of belongings to find Ahmed standing right before me. I felt an unbelievable rush of relief and joy.

The harrowing part of the journey was over.  I believed then that everything would be all right.

Ahmed did all the paperwork for me; he had to since it was in Arabic. We meandered over to a car where another cousin and their friend were waiting. All that I’d brought was loaded into the trunk, and I relaxed into the back seat, feeling safe for the first time in what felt like days.

When we arrived at my uncle’s house, I got the same beautifully warm welcome from my family as I had before. It was early afternoon, which was early morning for me back home, and I was utterly exhausted. Though it was rude of me, while the family sat down to the big midday meal made in my honor, I curled up in my cousin’s bed and slipped into a deep, serene sleep.

On my first full day back in Basra, we lost electricity completely. On the second day, we ran out of water.  On the third day, we lost telephone service. When we realized the phone lines were dead, Ahmed jokingly predicted, “I think tomorrow, we lose air!” We all laughed.

Despite suffering the hardships of war, sanctions, and occupation for their entire lives, my cousins showed resilience and tenacity. I was amazed by their intact sense of humor in unpredictable and dangerous conditions.

But this spoiled American accustomed to the luxuries of electricity and running water thought worriedly, “What the hell did I get myself into for the next three months?”

There was no turning back (Liberate THIS, Part 13)

Posted on by kathiemm

[A continuing series by guest author Dr. Dahlia Wasfi]

Finally, on Christmas Eve, I got a seat on a red-eye flight out of London and landed in Kuwait City on Christmas morning. Though I was tired, my excitement prevented me from getting any sleep.  Exhausted and jet-lagged, I struggled through airport customs and the Kuwait border emigration process to get to Kuwait’s northern border.

Security post on Iraqi border
Security post on Iraqi border. Image in public domain.

It was raining, and my kind taxi driver waited so I could have shelter until the bus arrived to carry passengers across the several-kilometer no-man’s land between Kuwait and Iraq.

I peered out my rain-streaked window to see a soldier (whom I remember to be British), standing over what looked like an oil barrel and brushing his teeth using a small hand-held mirror.

It was a bizarre sight, and I started to ask myself where the hell I was and what was I doing.

Finally, after what felt like a long wait, the shuttle bus creaked into the make-shift parking area.  Upon its arrival, numerous travelers emerged from the cars parked nearby, moving hurriedly with their boxes and bags to climb aboard and escape the desert rain.

The bus was old and weather-battered, and in my sleep-deprived fog, I wondered if it was the same bus my parents rode when they made the commute in the early 1970s.  There I was that day, alone, isolated, physically and emotionally drained, and unsure of what was coming next.

Somewhere along that anonymous road, in the sands of a nameless desert, I burst into tears. I thought, “This was the stupidest plan I have ever come up with…why didn’t anyone try to stop me?!”  Of course, many friends and family had tried to alert me to the dangers and difficulties of this trip.  I had ignored them.

Now, there was no turning back.