The Face and Voice of Civilian Sacrifice In Iraq!
In the hustle of bustle of one’s ideology on what is right and wrong what actually happens is more than often lost in the process. Regardless of one’s view on the war in Iraq what is being lost are the people. Yes the people of Iraq the innocent man, women in children caught up in a clash of ideologies. That’s why the recent article in the NY Times by John F Burns on the Face and Voice of Civilian Sacrifice in Iraq.
The Face and Voice of Civilian Sacrifice in Iraq
By JOHN F. BURNS
IN Iraq, nobody knows, and few in authority seem concerned to count, just how many civilians have been killed and injured. Soon it will be three years since the American-led invasion. The estimates of those killed run into the tens of thousands, the numbers of wounded two or three times the number who lost their lives. Even President Bush, estimating recently that 30,000 civilians may have been killed, acknowledged that was no more than an abstraction from unofficial calculations, not a Pentagon count.
To take his own measure of the war for The New York Times, Adam Nadel broke from the compulsions that dictate the days of many photographers in Baghdad, the suicide bombings and roadside explosions and assassinations that fill the morgues and the hospitals. Over weeks, he went in search of those who had survived attacks, and others whose lives had been upended by the violence. He visited them in their hospital wards, in their neighborhoods, and in their homes, and captured, in images and in words, what the war has meant for them.
Their portraits and their stories compel attention, not because they have endured worse than others, but because their miseries are so commonplace, because they stand for what thousands of Iraqi families have endured, directly or through ties of community and tribe. In his or her own way, each of these survivors is a totem for all, in a war where nobody has an exemption from the bombs and the bullets and the carelessness, or mischance, that determines who lives and who dies.
To these Iraqis, the debate over whether the war has been just or unjust, whether the blame lies with Saddam Hussein, or the Americans, or the insurgents, is a distant thing, carrying no promise of relief from their pain. Their faces, like their words, speak of what they have lost, but also, mutely, of their struggle to find new meaning in their lives, to fill the void that war's impact on noncombatants has always made of hope.
We once lived in a good place, but that was before the war. It got expensive after the war so we moved out. Now everything costs so much. The rents are too high. Food is not cheap. My husband can’t find work, so we live here. This war did little to help us. We are worse now than before. And to make matters worse, I am pregnant again."
- NAHAD JABAR JOUAD, center
Living in an abandoned building with her husband and children
“We received a call from Baghdad. My husband answered. He got off the phone. He was nervous, worried and announced, ‘I am going to Baghdad.’ He was yelling. He never yells. I ask, ‘What’s going on in Baghdad?’ He will not tell me. He says something bad happened to my son. I grabbed him by his clothing and demanded to know what happened to my son. He refused and left the house. I don’t know where he was going. I don’t know what to do. Do I cry, do I slap myself? Do I tell my son’s wife? She is nine months pregnant.”
- FADHILAA HAMZA ABED, right
Mother of a man wounded in a suicide bombing
“I was at home with my sister. She asked me to buy some ice cream. So I thought: ‘Good idea. I’ll get one for you and one for me.’ I remember walking toward the market. Then, an explosion. I woke up at the hospital. Now I am burnt. My ankle is broken. My body is filled with shrapnel.”
- ALI KHALIL THEJEIL, 22
Wounded when a bomb ignited a fuel truck
“He was a very brave boy. Nothing scared him. Nothing can prepare you for the death of your son.”
- FATHER OF BASHIR ADIL KHAMES AL-MAYAKI, left
“My son saw a man. He suspected he was a bomber. He tackled the terrorist, wrapped his arms around him as he detonated. There were many people in the street. He saved so many of them.”
- FATHER OF NASSER ABID MUHSIN, center
“He sacrificed himself for his country. He was 18 years old. He had served for two and a half years. He was our youngest son. We are proud of what he did.”
- FATHER OF ALI MAYID KHALAF, right
The fathers of Iraqi soldiers killed by suicide bombers
“We had just started playing. Then I woke up in the hospital. I heard that Muhammad was also hurt. I do not know if he has burns or open wounds. I am just waiting to get out of the hospital so I can play again. I told my mother to tell my brother not to play outside anymore.”
- HADER REDHA, 11
Wounded when a bomb ignited a fuel truck
“My grandfather and I took down our curtains in our home so we could wrap the dead boys in them. He did not want them to lie exposed, uncovered, in the streets. First, we tore the curtains in half. Then my grandfather and I went into the street. Together we wrapped my dead friends. We used to play soccer 11 on a side. Now there’s only enough for three against three.”
- MUHAMMAD SATTAR, 11, second from left
Twin brother was killed in a bombing
Photos by Adam Nadel
The Face and Voice of Civilian Sacrifice in Iraq
By JOHN F. BURNS
IN Iraq, nobody knows, and few in authority seem concerned to count, just how many civilians have been killed and injured. Soon it will be three years since the American-led invasion. The estimates of those killed run into the tens of thousands, the numbers of wounded two or three times the number who lost their lives. Even President Bush, estimating recently that 30,000 civilians may have been killed, acknowledged that was no more than an abstraction from unofficial calculations, not a Pentagon count.
To take his own measure of the war for The New York Times, Adam Nadel broke from the compulsions that dictate the days of many photographers in Baghdad, the suicide bombings and roadside explosions and assassinations that fill the morgues and the hospitals. Over weeks, he went in search of those who had survived attacks, and others whose lives had been upended by the violence. He visited them in their hospital wards, in their neighborhoods, and in their homes, and captured, in images and in words, what the war has meant for them.
Their portraits and their stories compel attention, not because they have endured worse than others, but because their miseries are so commonplace, because they stand for what thousands of Iraqi families have endured, directly or through ties of community and tribe. In his or her own way, each of these survivors is a totem for all, in a war where nobody has an exemption from the bombs and the bullets and the carelessness, or mischance, that determines who lives and who dies.
To these Iraqis, the debate over whether the war has been just or unjust, whether the blame lies with Saddam Hussein, or the Americans, or the insurgents, is a distant thing, carrying no promise of relief from their pain. Their faces, like their words, speak of what they have lost, but also, mutely, of their struggle to find new meaning in their lives, to fill the void that war's impact on noncombatants has always made of hope.
We once lived in a good place, but that was before the war. It got expensive after the war so we moved out. Now everything costs so much. The rents are too high. Food is not cheap. My husband can’t find work, so we live here. This war did little to help us. We are worse now than before. And to make matters worse, I am pregnant again."
- NAHAD JABAR JOUAD, center
Living in an abandoned building with her husband and children
“We received a call from Baghdad. My husband answered. He got off the phone. He was nervous, worried and announced, ‘I am going to Baghdad.’ He was yelling. He never yells. I ask, ‘What’s going on in Baghdad?’ He will not tell me. He says something bad happened to my son. I grabbed him by his clothing and demanded to know what happened to my son. He refused and left the house. I don’t know where he was going. I don’t know what to do. Do I cry, do I slap myself? Do I tell my son’s wife? She is nine months pregnant.”- FADHILAA HAMZA ABED, right
Mother of a man wounded in a suicide bombing
“I was at home with my sister. She asked me to buy some ice cream. So I thought: ‘Good idea. I’ll get one for you and one for me.’ I remember walking toward the market. Then, an explosion. I woke up at the hospital. Now I am burnt. My ankle is broken. My body is filled with shrapnel.”- ALI KHALIL THEJEIL, 22
Wounded when a bomb ignited a fuel truck
“He was a very brave boy. Nothing scared him. Nothing can prepare you for the death of your son.”- FATHER OF BASHIR ADIL KHAMES AL-MAYAKI, left
“My son saw a man. He suspected he was a bomber. He tackled the terrorist, wrapped his arms around him as he detonated. There were many people in the street. He saved so many of them.”
- FATHER OF NASSER ABID MUHSIN, center
“He sacrificed himself for his country. He was 18 years old. He had served for two and a half years. He was our youngest son. We are proud of what he did.”
- FATHER OF ALI MAYID KHALAF, right
The fathers of Iraqi soldiers killed by suicide bombers
“We had just started playing. Then I woke up in the hospital. I heard that Muhammad was also hurt. I do not know if he has burns or open wounds. I am just waiting to get out of the hospital so I can play again. I told my mother to tell my brother not to play outside anymore.”- HADER REDHA, 11
Wounded when a bomb ignited a fuel truck
“My grandfather and I took down our curtains in our home so we could wrap the dead boys in them. He did not want them to lie exposed, uncovered, in the streets. First, we tore the curtains in half. Then my grandfather and I went into the street. Together we wrapped my dead friends. We used to play soccer 11 on a side. Now there’s only enough for three against three.”- MUHAMMAD SATTAR, 11, second from left
Twin brother was killed in a bombing
Photos by Adam Nadel
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