Nurses are digging graves in front of the Al Mansour Hospital. Baghdad
University is a smoking ruin. Other disasters loom, as the Red Cross warns
that Baghdad's medical system is in complete collapse, and the millions of
Iraqis dependent on the old Oil-for-Food program wait for rations that are
no longer being delivered . "Water first, and then freedom," said one
Iraqi man on a BBC report this morning.
Two musicians, Majid Al-Ghazali and Hisham Sharaf, came to our Hotel four
days ago, hoping to call relatives outside Iraq on a satellite
phone. Hisham's home was badly damaged during the war. "One month ago, I
was the director of the Baghdad Symphony Orchestra," Hisham said with an
ironic smile. "Now, what am I?"
We joked that he could direct the telephone exchange as he tinkered with
our satellite phone's solar powered battery. I told Majid we had some
sheet music and a guitar for him. "What are notes?" he said, "We don't
even remember."
Majid had a particularly rough experience. During the first week of
bombing, a neighbor called the secret police and turned him in for
visiting with foreigners. He was jailed the next day. After the "fall" of
Baghdad, the same neighbor claimed he was actually part of the secret
police. Majid is terrified now. "I think they want my house," he
said. "No place is safe." He put his head in his hands.
I met Hisham at the Baghdad School of Folk Music and Ballet, in January
2002. Hisham and Majid, both graduates of the school, taught there in the
daytime and then rehearsed with the orchestra at night. Knowing how busy
Hisham was, I felt presumptuous about suggesting a project for him and his
students. I told him how meaningful the song "O Finlandia" has been to
many people in the US. At least 150 families who lostloved ones on 9/11
had used this peace anthem as part of memorial services. Sibelius
composed the melody in the late 19th century. Following World War I,
lyrics were created emphasizing the common aspirations and dreams shared
by all humanity.
Hisham chuckled and couldn't resist pointing out the irony that someone
from the US wanted to teach his students a peace song. "O.K.," said he,
"Sing it for me. We can do this." Within two days, an entire class was
singing an Arabic transliteration of the song. Saying goodbye to Majid and
Hisham, that morning, I felt a wave of sadness, wondering if the hopeful,
idealistic verses might embitter them now.
The next morning they returned, shaken and distraught. They had approached
US soldiers the previous evening asking for help to protect their
school. The soldiers said it was not their job and ordered Hisham and
Majid to go away. They went to the entrance of the school hoping they
could somehow protect it alone. Five armed men arrived. Majid, Hisham
and Hisham's brother pled with them not to attack the school. The looters
argued, "We are simple people. Poor people. Soon there will be no food,
no money, and we have no jobs. You are rich people."
"Please," Majid said, "we will give you the instruments, give you the
furniture, but don't destroy
the music, the records, the history." "No," the armed men said. "Baghdad
is finished." They ransacked the school, broke many instruments, burnt
the music and the records.
Why do desperate people commit deplorable acts of mindless destruction? I
don't know. But some truths help offer perspective. Every day, we who
enjoy superfluous, inordinate wealth and comforts, while others live in
abject poverty, are ransacking the precious and irreplaceable resources of
our planet. We hurtle toward the complete consumption of all available
fossil fuels, accumulated through 4 billion years of the planet's
history. Our obscene obsession with weapons technology has cost trillions
of dollars that might have been spent to meet human needs.
Through decades of warfare and sanctions, powerful elites in Iraq, the US,
and the UK ignored millions of Iraq's impoverished people. Hundreds of
thousands of children bore excruciating punishment and then died. Very few
people cared.
"Here," Hisham said, "listen to this. This is all we have left." He
handed me headphones borrowed from a Norwegian television
correspondent. The orchestra was playing "O Finlandia." Listening to
the children craft their music, I softly sang the words: "This is my
song, O God of all the nations. A song of peace for lands afar and
mine. This is my home, the country where my heart is. Here are my
dreams, my hopes, my holy shrine. But other hearts in other lands are
beating, with hopes and dreams as deep and true as mine." Then I
stopped. Hisham had begun to cry.
Kathy Kelly is co-coordinator of Voices in the Wilderness and the Iraq
Peace Team
http://www.iraqpeaceteam.org. She has lived continuously in
Iraq since January 2003. The Iraq
Peace Team can be reached at:
info@vitw.org