Words from Palestine

If we would read the secret history of our enemies, we would find in each man’s life sorrow and suffering enough to disarm all hostility.
Longfellow

Today we went to the Amaryah shelter, which at 4:30AM on Feb.13, 1991 the US mistakenly bombed, killing 408 women and children. The shelter was built for a nuclear attack. It consists of 2 floors. The first bomb blew a gaping hole through the top and killed all but 14 people on the first floor. (those 14 were blew out of the shelter and survived, though seriously injured.) The second bomb was a “smart bomb.” It went into the ventilation system and incinerated those remaining alive on the lower level of the shelter.

I talked with a woman at the shelter who knew many of the people killed. She explained that there were no men in the shelter because they, if not in the army, followed the custom of protecting the family home. Only women and children under the age of 16 were permitted in the shelter. Because of what occurred there, few Iraqi people will go to a shelter if there is more bombing.

I felt an emotional numbness in that place. Bombs are so impersonal. The pilots who dropped those bombs didn’t see what they were doing, who they were killing. Their experience were probably that they bombed a target, a faceless object. So I didn’t really feel the emotional impact from the fact that a US bomb was the cause of this suffering.

What kept going through my mind was mothers telling their frightened children that they were safe now, that they could go to sleep and they were safe. And then the screaming that must have taken place between the first bomb and the second bomb. “mommy, mommy, help. hot, mommy, help…mommy…”

So I was speaking with this woman, our conversation ended and she was walking away. I walked back to her, and I told her I was sorry. At that, the emotional numbness disappeared. I am not “guilty” for what happened, but I share in the responsibility for what happened. The gracious woman embraced. me. When I walked outside, a large group of Iraqi children had gathered. They were happy to get their pictures taken with an “Amereeki.” I was grateful to be surrounded by living Iraqi’s.