Tag: Dahlia Wasfi

She’s inspiring our youth

Posted on by kathiemm

by guest author San’aa Sultan


If you are looking for a role model, then look no further because we have Dahlia Wasfi.

The first time I met Dahlia, she called herself “Offkey” in comparison to the British lyricist Lowke, but I can tell you quite proudly that she was not in any way “Offkey.” In fact she inspired more people in that one room that one day than I can count, because I watched those people blossom once she left the UK for home.

If you are reading this, then you are actively searching for something, peace I’d guess. Dahlia is definitely an activist, but  like Rachel Corrie, she is more than an activist: she is a model  human being. The woman behind the saying “No justice, no peace” does all that she does through a love for her people and an anger created by the world’s silence while oppressors massacred human beings all over the world.

My own struggle began around about the time that I found out about Dahlia’s existence and since that day I have been hugely influenced by her because of her humanity and courage.

Dahlia told me what her vision of the redefinition of “Ladylike” was going to be and I fashioned her ideas into two poems, Lady Like and Ladylike Part Two.

Her vision inspired me to act. As a young person, I sincerely believe that we need more people like Dahlia to lead and influence our youth. Most needed are female leaders in our struggle for justice;  whilst I have come across many, none has matched Dahlia’s sincerity and humility.

 

Street sewage in new “democratic” Iraq (Liberate THIS, Part 9)

Posted on by kathiemm

A continuing series by guest author Dr. Dahlia Wasfi

In February and March 2004, I made a 19-day journey to Iraq. The first memories of my life were from my early years in Iraq. My life would start over again there, too.

Sign: What have you done today for the Iraqi people?
Photo by Peter Rimar, in public domain

With Baghdad International Airport controlled by American occupation forces (as was true for years to come), I flew to Jordan and made the 10-hour car ride to Baghdad.

In Iraq’s capital, a year after the invasion, damage from bombing raids was omnipresent. Iraq had been liberated, alright—from sovereignty, security, electricity, and potable water. The new “democratic” Iraq modeled sewage in the streets, rolling blackouts, shootings, and explosions.

After several days spent visiting my Baghdadi relatives, I needed to reach my father’s immediate family in the south. Ahmed[i], one of my cousins from Basra, drove 12 hours round trip with a friend to pick me up and bring me to visit the rest of the family. With numerous checkpoints and no security, their efforts were Herculean.

To my naïve foreign eyes, Basra’s condition appeared to be much the same as Baghdad’s, except that the damage seemed more extensive. This city had been destroyed during the Iran-Iraq War of the 1980s, the 1991 Gulf War, and the 2003 Shock and Awe invasion.  Throughout that time, sanctions and neglect had thwarted the city’s—and her people’s—recovery.

I expected to encounter resentment during my visit.  After all, my immediate family had left Iraq for America during the good days of the 1970s.  So much destruction had been wrought against the Iraqi people by my government since then.

Every destroyed building we passed, every sewage-flooded street, every child suffering in poverty, I despairingly thought to myself, “You’re welcome, Iraq. I helped do this to you.”  I held resentment towards myself and deep shame as an American in this occupied land.

[i] Name changed.

Something about Rachel (Liberate THIS, Part 8)

Posted on by kathiemm

A continuing series by guest author Dr. Dahlia Wasfi

I knew that Palestinians—and many other indigenous peoples for that matter—were dying every day in their struggles for justice.  I didn’t want to be racist and mark Rachel Corrie’s death because she was American, while ignoring others who died because they were the “wrong” nationality.

There was actually another young man shot and killed by the Israeli Army that day in Gaza, within hours of Rachel’s murder.  No news of the loss of his life broke in the papers of USA Today.


But there was something about Rachel and her story that mystified me and captured my attention the way no one else had before.  The journey of the next few years would help me decipher why her courage, her life, and her death were so powerful to me.  It would take a while for me to understand enough about myself to be able to comprehend why she touched my heart so.

In the short term, however, I considered the bizarre contrast of that day.  The headline could have read, “23-year-old, all-American woman visited—and was murdered in—Rafah in Gaza, Palestine, while 31-year-old failed physician surfs the Internet at home.”

The incongruity made me wonder: if Rachel could travel thousands of miles to learn about people she didn’t even know, then maybe I should go see my family whom I hadn’t seen in almost 27 years.

 

 

What kind of courage? (Liberate THIS, Part 7)

Posted on by kathiemm

A continuing series by guest author Dr. Dahlia Wasfi

Israeli bulldozer
Israel Defense Forces armored bulldozer. Image used under Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 3.0 Unported license.

I searched the Internet for everything that I could find out about Rachel Corrie—who she was, where she came from, what brought her to challenge bulldozers in Gaza.

(And I wondered, my God, what kind of courage does that take?  I couldn’t even muster the strength to stand up to bigoted doctors in my workplace.)

I found a picture of her.  She was so beautiful:  all-American-looking, blonde, blue-eyed young woman.  She was thin and beautiful, like a dancer.  She even looked natural and confident in the standard over-the-shoulder shot which every high school portrait photographer makes you pose.  Most of us look awkward.  Rachel’s picture looked elegant.

The outlines of most human beings are dwarfed by the hulking form of a D-9 Caterpillar bulldozer, armored and used by the Israeli army for the destruction of land and homes[1].  Rachel’s frame, in particular, appeared so delicate in the pictures I could find.

She was someone who would never experience racial discrimination based on her looks, the way I felt that I had.

What was she doing in Palestine? Like everything I else I looked at, none of this made any sense whatsoever.  This tragedy must be some horrible, horrible mistake.

In the midst of my indignation, I suddenly was struck by self-loathing at what I then perceived to be more internal hypocrisy.  Why was I so moved by Rachel Corrie’s death?