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February 8, 2005
Sanctions and the Health Crisis in Iraq
Compassion, Courage and Consequences
By DAVID SMITH-FERRI

By any measure of meteorological activity, the last two years have been a season of foul weather for US soldiers and their families.  One storm after another, and long-term forecasts for more of the same.  Sent into Afghanistan and Iraq in the emotional wake of 9/11, commissioned to liberate people from tyranny and to protect Americans from terrorist attacks, they find themselves instead fighting a never-ending guerilla war, the moral handholds of which are as difficult to locate and as unreliable as a trail in a sandstorm.  Innocent civilians, including children, are inevitably dying at their hands.  The majority of Iraqis, the people they came to liberate, want them to leave.  A majority of Americans believe the invasion was a mistake, and yet here they are fighting in its aftermath, forced into extended deployments, and risking their lives and their sanity.

They fight for a Commander-in-Chief who fails to attend their funerals, and for an Administration that bans the photographing of their body bags.  They are haunted by a ghastly prisoner abuse scandal, the ghosts of which continue to howl, and by the complete collapse of the Administration's house-of-cards rationale for war.  They work for an organization where a high-ranking official can talk about the joy of killing without being censored or reprimanded.  In increasing numbers, they return home physically injured and/or psychologically traumatized.  And all around them in Iraq, they are faced with irrefutable evidence of the futility of their mission: the unflagging resistance/insurgency and the unbreakable chains of Iraqi enslavement to poverty, unemployment, ill health, and insecurity, an enslavement which utterly discredits any claims of "liberation."  Who can blame them if their time in Iraq becomes little more than an intense game of survival?

Outdated medical libraries

Against this backdrop, enter US Army Lt. Isaac Shields, Army Reserve Captain Dr. Alex Garza, and retired Army Colonel Dr. David Gifford, soldiers extraordinaire.  Shields and Garza have seen, first-hand, how outdated Iraq's medical libraries are.  Independent of each other, they hatched the obvious idea of soliciting donations of medical journals to help update Iraqi resources.  Enlisting the help of doctors, university professors, and medical students, they sparked an effort that has gathered over 100,000 items from donors around the globe.  Thamer Al Hilfi, an Iraqi doctor and professor at the University of Tikrit College of Medicine, which has received some of these donations, was recently quoted in the Washington Times.  This is a really big change.  Everyone here — doctors and students — feel like they are born again.

Shields and Garza deserve accolades for their compassion, courage, and resourcefulness, as do others in the US who have been instrumental in securing and shipping donations.  Hour for hour and dollar for dollar, their efforts have done more to nurture justice, self-sufficiency, and freedom in Iraq than the billions that have been (and continue to be) spent on a degrading war.  Their actions cut through to the heart of Iraqi need.  But as much as their actions bring them credit, they bring shame to this Administration, which has always been far more interested in geopolitical gain than in actually meeting the obvious and ongoing needs of people in Iraq.

International economic embargo

The media might like to make this a simple story of American goodwill and generosity, but it is nonetheless wrapped in irony, thick and layered.  I wonder if Isaac Shields or Alex Garza knows why the Iraqi medical libraries are so antiquated.  In a visit to Iraq in 2002, I met a doctor at a Basra hospital who talked about his facility's most current medical journals.  They dated from the late-1980's, nearly fifteen years out of date.  The reason is simple: the international economic embargo, established on August 6, 1990, prohibited the importation into Iraq of scientific journals and textbooks.  In the intervening years, in every academic discipline, libraries across Iraq fell miserably behind the times.  How many of the people working diligently to secure donations of medical textbooks for shipment to Iraq know that Iraq had the best system of a health care in the Middle East prior to sanctions?   Many Iraqi doctors had trained in the West.  At that time, Iraqi health care boasted a system of primary and tertiary care units not unlike what we find today in the US.

The health crisis in Iraq brought on by economic sanctions isn't primarily a matter affecting libraries and classrooms.  The absence of current scientific information is only one aspect of a crisis which extends all the way to the most basic medicines and supplies.  At least tens of thousands — by some calculations, hundreds of thousands — of Iraqi children under five died during the 1990's from preventable, curable diseases: primarily water-borne bacteriological infections and acute respiratory infections.  The Iraq of the 1980's had the medicine to treat these sicknesses.  The Iraq of today does not.

I recall walking through a hospital pediatrics ward in Baghdad in 1999 with a fact-finding group from Voices in the Wilderness (www.vitw.org).  On every bed lay a tiny child wasting from diarrhea brought on by an intestinal bacterium, an illness that could have been cured by a course of the proper antibiotic.  But this hospital, in the largest city in the country, couldn't obtain these life-saving medicines in sufficient supply.  As other countries prepared to move into a new millennium, Iraq stood stalled in the 19th century.  As we moved through the ward, the doctor introduced us to each child's mother and translated as we spoke to her.  He diagnosed the child's illness.  Mary Hanrahan, a member of our group, began asking for a prognosis.  At every bed, like a metronome, the doctor said: This child will die.  That child will die.   Mary asked him: What do you say to the parents?   When they look to you for hope, what do you say?   He responded wearily: There is no hope.  They're going to die.  And then very slowly: They're all going to die.

Please take him with you

Two days later, in a hospital pediatrics ward in Amara, a city south of Baghdad on the road to Basra, I held a ten-month old child in my arms.  His mother spoke to me in Arabic, and we had to wait for the doctor to finish a conversation and come from across the room to translate.  The eyes of all the mothers nearby were on us.  I didn't understand why until the doctor translated.  She said, 'If you can save her baby, please take him with you.'  Part of me refused to understand the obvious meaning of her words.  I could think of nothing to say.  I stood there with a small child, dying slowly in my arms, a child who only needed a course of antibiotics.  How many times had my own young daughter been to the doctor and benefited from antibiotics?   For that matter, our pet cat receives antibiotics when he needs them.  Eventually, I handed the child back to his mother, who smiled at me graciously.  And the eyes of the other mothers released their grip.

The irony deepens.  Not only are Shields and Garza responding to a need created by US foreign policy, but their employer, the US government, has taken legal action against Voices in the Wilderness (VitW), seeking to collect over $20,000 in fines from the organization for doing exactly what Shields and Garza have done.  What crime is VitW accused of?   The "exportation of donated goods, including medical supplies and toys, to Iraq absent specific prior authorization by OFAC" (from the Pre-Penalty Notice written by R. Richard Newcomb, Director Office of Foreign Assets Control, 12/3/98).  At the time, the total value of the "donated goods" was estimated at $75,000.

Since 1996, small groups of US citizens have traveled to Iraq on fact-finding delegations organized by VitW.  Delegates have been encouraged to pack light, and transport whatever humanitarian aid they could carry.  This typically included items such as medical textbooks and journals, children's painkillers, coloring books, crayons, and children's clothing.  On some delegations, VitW purchased medicine in Jordan — antibiotics, cancer medicine, surgical supplies — and trucked it into Baghdad.

If the courts didn't support it, and if their support weren't a subtle defense of US foreign policy toward Iraq, an attempt to prosecute US citizens for bringing "medical supplies and toys" to children who are sick and dying would be laughable.  But Judge Bates will soon rule in the case brought against VitW.  Both sides fully expect him to rule in favor of the US Government.

In its legal arguments in this case and in its diligent pursuit over the last two years of VitW, the Department of the Treasury emerges as a bureaucratic machine mindlessly enforcing laws.  For whatever reason, people want to flout embargoes — the bottom line from our perspective is, for us, we enforce the law and we will continue to do so aggressively (Tony Fratto, Director of public affairs, US Treasury Department).  But for any thinking person, VitW's opposition to the sanctions regime cannot be dismissed so out-of-hand.  Its identification with the most vulnerable people in Iraq has been a clear call to conscience.  To attack it while claiming to "liberate" people in Iraq is pathetic and self-serving.

The re-building of Iraq, from the bottom up, continues to be its most pressing need, but it cannot happen under US occupation.  The soldiers and civilians who are shipping donated medical journals to Iraq deserve praise and support.  They in turn need to analyze the causes of Iraqi suffering, and transform their concern for Iraqi people into articulate and willful opposition to the US war and occupation.





David Smith-Ferri is a member of Voices in the Wilderness, a campaign to end U.S. economic and military warfare abroad and at home.  He lives in Ukiah, CA.
















February 08, 2005
Stories from Fallujah


These are the stories that will continue to emerge from the rubble of Fallujah for years.  No, for generations…

Speaking on condition of anonymity, the doctor sits with me in a hotel room in Amman, where he is now a refugee.  He’d spoken about what he saw in Fallujah in the UK, and now is under threat by the US military if he returns to Iraq.

“I started speaking about what happened in Fallujah during both sieges in order to raise awareness, and the Americans raided my house three times,” he says, talking so fast I can barely keep up.  He is driven to tell what he’s witnessed, and as a doctor working inside Fallujah, he has video and photographic proof of all that he tells me.

“I entered Fallujah with a British medical and humanitarian convoy at the end of December, and stayed until the end of January,” he explains.  “But I was in Fallujah before that to work with people and see what their needs were, so I was in there since the beginning of December.”

When I ask him to explain what he saw when he first entered Fallujah in December he says it was like a tsunami struck the city.

“Fallujah is surrounded by refugee camps where people are living in tents and old cars,” he explains.  “It reminded me of Palestinian refugees.  I saw children coughing because of the cold, and there are no medicines.  Most everyone left their houses with nothing, and no money, so how can they live depending only on humanitarian aid?”

The doctors says that in one refugee camp in the northern area of Fallujah there were 1,200 students living in seven tents.

“The disaster caused by this siege is so much worse than the first one, which I witnessed first hand,” he says, and then tells me he’ll use one story as an example.

“One story is of a young girl who is 16 years old,” he says of one of the testimonies he video taped recently.  “She stayed for three days with the bodies of her family who were killed in their home.  When the soldiers entered she was in her home with her father, mother, 12 year-old brother and two sisters.  She watched the soldiers enter and shoot her mother and father directly, without saying anything.”

The girl managed to hide behind the refrigerator with her brother and witnessed the war crimes first-hand.

“They beat her two sisters, then shot them in the head,” he said.  After this her brother was enraged and ran at the soldiers while shouting at them, so they shot him dead.

“She continued hiding after the soldiers left and stayed with her sisters because they were bleeding, but still alive.  She was too afraid to call for help because she feared the soldiers would come back and kill her as well.  She stayed for three days, with no water and no food.  Eventually one of the American snipers saw her and took her to the hospital,” he added before reminding me again that he had all of her testimony documented on film.

He briefly told me of another story he documented of a mother who was in her home during the siege.  “On the fifth day of the siege her home was bombed, and the roof fell on her son, cutting his legs off,” he says while using his hands to make cutting motions on his legs.  “For hours she couldn’t go outside because they announced that anyone going in the street would be shot.  So all she could do was wrap his legs and watch him die before her eyes.”

He pauses for a few deep breaths, then continues.  “All I can say is that Fallujah is like it was struck by a tsunami.  There weren’t many families in there after the siege, but they had absolutely nothing.  The suffering was beyond what you can imagine.  When the Americans finally let us in people were fighting just for a blanket.”

“One of my colleagues, Dr. Saleh Alsawi, he was speaking so angrily about them.  He was in the main hospital when they raided it at the beginning of the seige.  They entered the theater room when they were working on a patient…he was there because he’s an anesthesiologist.  They entered with their boots on, beat the doctors and took them out, leaving the patient on the table to die.”

This story has already been reported in the Arab media.

The doctor tells me of the bombing of the Hay Nazal clinic during the first week of the siege.

“This contained all the foreign aid and medical instruments we had.  All the US military commanders knew this, because we told them about it so they wouldn’t bomb it.  But this was one of the clinics bombed, and in the first week of the siege they bombed it two times.”

He then adds, “Of course they targeted all our ambulances and doctors.  Everyone knows this.”

Trying to sue the US military for the following incident

The doctor tells me he and some other doctors are trying to sue the US military for the following incident, for which he has the testimonial evidence on tape.

It is a story I was told by several refugees in Baghdad as well…at the end of last November while the siege was still in progress.

“During the second week of the siege they entered and announced that all the families have to leave their homes and meet at an intersection in the street while carrying a white flag.  They gave them 72 hours to leave and after that they would be considered an enemy,” he says.

“We documented this story with video-a family of 12, including a relative and his oldest child who was 7 years old.  They heard this instruction, so they left with all their food and money they could carry, and white flags.  When they reached the intersection where the families were accumulating, they heard someone shouting ‘Now!’ in English, and shooting started everywhere.”

The family was all carrying white flags, as instructed, according to the young man who gave his testimony.  Yet he watched his mother and father shot by snipers — his mother in the head and his father shot in the heart.  His two aunts were shot, then his brother was shot in the neck.  The man stated that when he raised himself from the ground to shout for help, he was shot in the side.

“After some hours he raised his arm for help and they shot his arm,” continues the doctor, “So after awhile he raised his hand and they shot his hand.”

A six year-old boy of the family was standing over the bodies of his parents, crying, and he too was then shot.

“Anyone who raised up was shot,” adds the doctor, then added again that he had photographs of the dead as well as photos of the gunshot wounds of the survivors.

“Once it grew dark some of them along with this man who spoke with me, with his child and sister-in-law and sister managed to crawl away after it got dark.  They crawled to a building and stayed for 8 days.  They had one cup of water and gave it to the child.  They used cooking oil to put on their wounds which were of course infected, and found some roots and dates to eat.”

He stops here.  His eyes look around the room as cars pass by outside on wet streets…water hissing under their tires.

He left Fallujah at the end of January, so I ask him what it was like when he left recently.

“Now maybe 25% of the people have returned, but there are still no doctors.  The hatred now of Fallujans against every American is incredible, and you cannot blame them.  The humiliation at the checkpoints is only making people even angrier,” he tells me.

“I’ve been there, and I saw that anyone who even turns their head is threatened and hit by both American and Iraqi soldiers alike…one man did this, and when the Iraqi soldier tried to humiliate him, the man took a gun of a nearby soldier and killed two ING, so then of course he was shot.”

The doctor tells me they are keeping people in the line for several hours at a time, in addition to the US military making propaganda films of the situation.

“And I’ve seen them use the media-and on January 2nd at the north checkpoint in the north part of Fallujah, they were giving people $200 per family to return to Fallujah so they can film them in the line…when actually, at that time, nobody was returning to Fallujah,” he says.  It reminds me of the story my colleague told me of what he saw in January.  At that time a CNN crew was escorted in by the military to film street cleaners that were brought in as props, and soldiers handing out candy to children.

“You must understand the hatred that has been caused…it has gotten more difficult for Iraqis, including myself, to make the distinction between the American government and the American people,” he tells me.

His story is like countless others.

“My cousin was a poor man in Fallujah,” he explains, “He walked from his house to work and back, while living with his wife and five daughters.  In July of 2003, American soldiers entered his house and woke them all up.  They dragged them into the main room of the house, and executed my cousin in front of his family.  Then they simply left.”

He pauses then holds up his hands and asks, “Now, how are these people going to feel about Americans?”






Posted by Dahr_Jamail at February 8, 2005


































































































































































































































































 






























 
For archive purposes, this article is being stored on TheWE.cc website.
The purpose is to advance understandings of environmental, political,
human rights, economic, democracy, scientific, and social justice issues.