[The final installment in a continuing series by guest author Dr. Dahlia Wasfi.]
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.
"Vista of Peace" sculpture by Ursula Malbin. Photo by Guillaume Paumier / Wikimedia Commons, CC-by-3.0.
For the second Valentine’s day in the life of Engaging Peace, we want to re-share some posts that have been among the wonderful gifts our readers have given us. The following selection focuses on messages of peace and love.
(1) A few years ago I joined “Checkpoint Watch,” an Israeli human rights organization of women who monitor and report human rights violations towards Palestinians who move from the occupied territories of Palestine to Israel. Continue reading → (Dalit Yassour-Borochowitz, October 21, 2010)
(2) It has been a privilege for the Paraclete Foundation to bring the Benebikira Sisters to Boston and to tell their story of courage and love during the 1994 Rwandan Genocide that claimed over 800,000 lives in 100 days. Continue reading → (Sister Ann Fox , November 8, 2010)
(3) In a way that only being physically present in this country could convey, I’ve realized that the genocide is a very difficult thing for Rwandans to talk about. If people do speak about the horrors they have encountered, it is only under very hushed circumstances or around people they trust. Continue reading → (Andrew Potter, June 23, 2011)
(4) The framework for my reflections is constructed from Dr. Martin Luther King’s Speech delivered at Riverside Church in April, 1967 (a year before his assassination). Continue reading → (Dean Hammer, July 21, 2011)
(5) My father was born and raised in Basra, Iraq. Graduating from Baghdad University, he earned a government scholarship to study in the United States. He completed his graduate studies at Georgetown University. While in DC, he met and married my mom, a nice Jewish girl from New York. Her parents had fled their homeland … Continue reading → (Dahlia Wasfi, September 19, 2011)
(6) I have just returned from the demonstration to support Occupy Boston (10-10-11) and can happily report that it was a successful march of probably two or more thousand people. Continue reading → (John Hess, October 17, 2011)
(7) Over the past few weeks we have heard stories of bravery, courage, hope, happiness, and grief from Palestine. The stories accompanied the news that just over 1,000 Palestinian prisoners would be freed in exchange for … Continue reading → (San’aa Sultan, November 3, 2011)
(8) Eva Mozes Kor, a “Mengele Twin” who survived the genetic experiments at Auschwitz, chose the non-standard route to recovery: forgiveness. Continue reading → (Elina Tochilnikova, December 26, 2011)
(9) From the time of… Moses, who helped guide the Israelis out of slavery and oppression to freedom, to Jesus, who preached equality and love and changed the whole human understanding of power structures, to … Continue reading → (Majed Ashy, January 12, 2012)
Kathie Malley-Morrison, Professor of Psychology, and Pat Daniel, Managing Editor of Engaging Peace
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.
A continuing series by guest author Dr. Dahlia Wasfi
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?
