Tag: Liberate THIS

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?

 

Crushed to death by a bulldozer (Liberate THIS, Part 6)

Posted on by kathiemm

[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.

Rachel Corrie blocking bulldozer in Gaza
Rachel Corrie attempts to block Israeli bulldozer from destroying Palestinian homes. Photo by Joe Carr, released for public use.

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.

Dr. Dahlia Wasfi

“We should blow up the countries” (Liberate THIS, Part 5)

Posted on by kathiemm

Part 5 in our continuing series by guest author, Dahlia Wasfi

Most medical residencies are abusive, and this one was no different. But the environment became even more hostile following what happened on September 11, 2001.

“I don’t want to operate on any Middle Eastern people,” one attending physician muttered.

“We should blow up the countries of each of the hijackers,” another said vengefully.

Shock and awe cartoon
London graffitti; photo by Michael Reeve. Used under Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 3.0 Unported license.

These were my supervisors—medical professionals who had taken the Hippocratic Oath.  One of the foundations of medical ethics is supposed to be “Primum non nocere”:  First, do no harm.

I wasn’t feeling that sentiment in what these doctors were saying.  And based on the hostility they were directing towards “Middle Eastern people,” I worried about potential backlash against me if they learned what my background was.

I swallowed the lump in the back of my throat, along with my voice, and continued to work under them, business as usual.  Protecting myself within my workplace took priority for me that day over speaking against injustice.  I condemned these physicians for their hypocrisy, but my silence was dishonest as well.

By early 2002, the U.S. had invaded Afghanistan, and the American government was telling lies to build support for invading Iraq. My relatives, from whom I still was separated, had been starving under sanctions for more than 12 years. Now, we were going to shock and awe them. My tax dollars would help foot the bill.

“We should just nuke ’em,” my attending physician proclaimed.

In September 2002, overwhelmed by the hypocrisy without and the painful conflict within, I couldn’t continue business as usual. I burned out. I was hospitalized.

Dr. Dahlia Wasfi