Words from Palestine

Booksellers Row occurs every Friday morning near the suuk, or central market. At first glance an American visiting the Row might think they have happened upon a flea market for book lovers. Indeed, Booksellers Row has every type of book one would expect to find at a book mart in the West. There are inexpensive novels, classics of the East and West, children’s books, the Holy Qu’ran, college texts, medical journals and professional manuals. Some are displayed on rickety tables, but most are carefully laid out on the ground. If one is attentive to detail, one will notice that these books have been well cared for by their owners.

If one gets hungry while browsing the Row, there is the old man selling fresh baked bread from a huge flat basket balanced on his head, and a young boy who sells olives from a large wooden cart he pushes through the streets. If not hungry, one can still give some business to these food-sellers by purchasing something for the hungry children who daily beg for sustenance on the streets of Baghdad. These people live in the run down buildings surrounding Booksellers Row. And like the books being sold on the street, their lives, their presence, their actions, and their words speak volumes to the paradox of life here in these days.

Contrast the children’s beautiful faces with their ragged clothes. Contrast their shining eyes with their dull matted hair. Contrast the fact that they are hungrier than you or I have ever been with their insistence that you share with them the bread they have begged from you. Contrast the smile these beautiful people bring to your own face while yet the knowledge of their suffering is breaking your heart in two.

The children run off to other adventures, as children will do, and one steals a glance at the place these children call home. Architecture ennobled by skilled craftsmen stands in semi-ruin. Lifeless electrical wires hang bare in dark alcoves. Ragged laundry hangs from crumbling balconies. Fouled water seeps from open sewer pipes. By now the reader might think we are visiting the inner city of a third world nation.

But look again at the books for sale. College texts, encyclopedias, the world’s classics in Arab, French, German, English…not the type of books one would expect to find among the uneducated masses of a third world nation. Indeed, we are not visiting a flea market in a third world nation. We are in Baghdad, Iraq, the country that lead all the Arab nations in social and economic growth until war and sanctions decimated it. These books, being sold so that their highly educated owners can feed their families, represent the poverty and hardship inflicted upon the civilian population by unjust international politics.

At the end of Booksellers Row lies the Literary Café. One enters and, despite the run down appearance of the building, one is reminded of a busy expresso shop on a thriving university campus. Every seat is taken with men and women who share tea and engage in conversation. Intellectuals intellectualize and philosophers philosophize while poets share their rhymes. The latest newspapers are passed around and commented on. There is a jovial camaraderie between everyone. They share a common love for education, a common culture, and a common affliction.

A gentleman who loves American movies is anxious to speak about them and engages an American visitor. His English is excellent and his conversation animated. They discuss James Cagney for a bit, then the American asks him how the sanctions have effected his life. His face darkens and he says simply, “they have destroyed my life.” With some prodding he explains that he is professor of literature but cannot find work of any kind. He has lost everything and his family has been torn apart. It is obvious that he would much rather discuss his happy memories of American movies, but the American presses him: “Can you give me an idea of how the sanctions have effected your everyday life?” He loses his lively smile once again and tells the American to look out on the Row, saying, “Look around. It is plain to see. We have become a people who lay their books on the ground. This is what the sanctions have done to us. Books should be placed upon shelves; books should be honored. Our books are laying on the ground.”