One of my co-delegates wrote the following piece and i felt it was so moving and summed up my experience so well that i asked him if i could share it so here it is:
In the USA, the numbers "9/11" represent a "terrorist attack on American soul".
In Iraqi Kurdistan the date "March 16, 1988" also calls to mind a terrorist attack. Chemical weapons were used against the town of Halabja not far from the Iranian border. Saddam Hussein claimed that Iran was behind the attack. In fact, Saddam's cousin, "Chemical Ali" was behind the attack. Between 3,200 and 5,000 people died in the attack, mostly civilians.
Many had expected to be shelled by conventional bombs and hid in their basements. But the basement is the worst place to be during a chemical attack. There is an iconic scene that represents the horror. A man has fallen, and is covering a child, as they die together
From September 10-24, I participated in a Christian Peacemaker Team delegation to Iraqi Kurdistan. September 17 was the day the delegation traveled from Sulaimania to Halabja to visit the memorial and the cemetery and the mass graves. I was expecting a heavy, sober day.
But, on the bus ride to Halabja, Joshua "with a beard" from Ohio was playing a guitar that was missing a string and singing a song. Despite where we were going, there was clapping and dancing and celebrating among the delegates from the USA, Canada, Poland, Australia, Norway, Kurdistan, and Baghdad. I experienced exuberance. And I wanted to "capture the moment"
I take Josh's photo, singing and playing the guitar
Then, I ask my friend Ann, an American living in Sulaimania and who works for an NGO, to tap our friend Latif from on the shoulder so I can take his picture and "capture the moment" when he turned around. My "perfect plan" worked better than I had dreamed. Not only did I capture Latif's "beautiful soul face," but he spontaneously said to me, "I love you, Tim." It just came out with any plotting or planning. Ann whispered to me and touched her heart, "Did you hear that? What an incredible moment, oh!"
An hour later, after this moment of humanity, we are in Halabja, the site of atrocity. Our tour guide, himself a survivor of the attack, describes the day, leads us through a photo gallery (including objects from the day). He answers our questions. We drive to the mass graves. I am numbed by the scenes and the statistics. Latif's words were a gift, carrying me through. And I face the Truth: horror and humanity side by side. Life is never all one or the other
On the bus ride home it was quiet. No songs. No guitar. No dancing. I was thinking about both "September 11" and "March 16". And I was haunted by the words I heard prior to my going on the delegation from family and friends and faith community:
"Keep your head down" and...
"Be safe" and...
"Watch your back" and...
"Bring a gun" and...
"We will be praying for you."
And I realize that Latif has interpreted these words for me. What folks at home had really been saying to me was, "We love you, Tim"
A few days later, we are in the town of Amedy. They have a castle. It was near sunset. Once again, I "capture the moment" with my camera. But then, the other delegates begin to sit on the edge of the ledge, looking down into the gorgeous valley below. Now, I hate this! It's dangerous. Someone might fall. My anxiety skyrockets. So I walk back to the street. I sit on a curb by the bus. And children are playing in the street-- chasing each other, laughing, running, shrieking with delight. And I "capture the moment" in my memory. I cannot understand their language or their game, but I treasure their humanity
Meanwhile, I am haunted again-- this time with American voices that I've heard since "9/11":
"We should turn Iraq into a Parking Lot" bomb the entire land into rubble) and...
"We must carpet bomb them, even their families" and...
"Those people have been fighting each other for thousands of years" (=they are not human like us) and...
"The Quran is a violent book portraying a violent God who orders to faithful to execute infidels...so Islam is not a religion of peace" (hello! have these folks ever read the Bible or studied church history? Do I not hear people from my religion depict God as having an anger management problem requiring a prescription of blood to dissipate the wrath and rage?!?)
So I begin to think about •these kids• being bombed. And I know the words spoken in my homeland come from fear. Yes, there is ISIS. Yes, evil is real and must be resisted. And, yet I keep thinking of Mohammad and Julie and Latif and Rosemary and Rezhjar, the CPT team in Iraqi Kurdistan, all the amazing peacemakers they have introduced to us, all the love we have experienced, the dances we have danced.
What I experienced in Iraqi Kurdistan was love. Villages after describing cross border bombings by Turkey, treated us to feasts. I gained five pounds in two weeks! What was my impression of Kurdistan? Certainly, I saw plenty of guns and passed through more checkpoints in ten days than I had my previous 57 years. And...
I saw the Face of God in the people I met here. Even those who did not share either my piety or religion, I experienced divine love through them. My other friend, Josh from Alabama with the shorter beard gave this benediction-- for the road before us and behind us, the friends beside us, and the holy love between us, we give thanks! Amen!
P.S. Loved people, love people. So I love you Kurdistan! I love you delegation! I miss you all! Thanks for loving "that delegate" named Tim!
Here ends the article, Tim
In the USA, the numbers "9/11" represent a "terrorist attack on American soul".
In Iraqi Kurdistan the date "March 16, 1988" also calls to mind a terrorist attack. Chemical weapons were used against the town of Halabja not far from the Iranian border. Saddam Hussein claimed that Iran was behind the attack. In fact, Saddam's cousin, "Chemical Ali" was behind the attack. Between 3,200 and 5,000 people died in the attack, mostly civilians.
Many had expected to be shelled by conventional bombs and hid in their basements. But the basement is the worst place to be during a chemical attack. There is an iconic scene that represents the horror. A man has fallen, and is covering a child, as they die together
From September 10-24, I participated in a Christian Peacemaker Team delegation to Iraqi Kurdistan. September 17 was the day the delegation traveled from Sulaimania to Halabja to visit the memorial and the cemetery and the mass graves. I was expecting a heavy, sober day.
But, on the bus ride to Halabja, Joshua "with a beard" from Ohio was playing a guitar that was missing a string and singing a song. Despite where we were going, there was clapping and dancing and celebrating among the delegates from the USA, Canada, Poland, Australia, Norway, Kurdistan, and Baghdad. I experienced exuberance. And I wanted to "capture the moment"
I take Josh's photo, singing and playing the guitar
Then, I ask my friend Ann, an American living in Sulaimania and who works for an NGO, to tap our friend Latif from on the shoulder so I can take his picture and "capture the moment" when he turned around. My "perfect plan" worked better than I had dreamed. Not only did I capture Latif's "beautiful soul face," but he spontaneously said to me, "I love you, Tim." It just came out with any plotting or planning. Ann whispered to me and touched her heart, "Did you hear that? What an incredible moment, oh!"
An hour later, after this moment of humanity, we are in Halabja, the site of atrocity. Our tour guide, himself a survivor of the attack, describes the day, leads us through a photo gallery (including objects from the day). He answers our questions. We drive to the mass graves. I am numbed by the scenes and the statistics. Latif's words were a gift, carrying me through. And I face the Truth: horror and humanity side by side. Life is never all one or the other
On the bus ride home it was quiet. No songs. No guitar. No dancing. I was thinking about both "September 11" and "March 16". And I was haunted by the words I heard prior to my going on the delegation from family and friends and faith community:
"Keep your head down" and...
"Be safe" and...
"Watch your back" and...
"Bring a gun" and...
"We will be praying for you."
And I realize that Latif has interpreted these words for me. What folks at home had really been saying to me was, "We love you, Tim"
A few days later, we are in the town of Amedy. They have a castle. It was near sunset. Once again, I "capture the moment" with my camera. But then, the other delegates begin to sit on the edge of the ledge, looking down into the gorgeous valley below. Now, I hate this! It's dangerous. Someone might fall. My anxiety skyrockets. So I walk back to the street. I sit on a curb by the bus. And children are playing in the street-- chasing each other, laughing, running, shrieking with delight. And I "capture the moment" in my memory. I cannot understand their language or their game, but I treasure their humanity
Meanwhile, I am haunted again-- this time with American voices that I've heard since "9/11":
"We should turn Iraq into a Parking Lot" bomb the entire land into rubble) and...
"We must carpet bomb them, even their families" and...
"Those people have been fighting each other for thousands of years" (=they are not human like us) and...
"The Quran is a violent book portraying a violent God who orders to faithful to execute infidels...so Islam is not a religion of peace" (hello! have these folks ever read the Bible or studied church history? Do I not hear people from my religion depict God as having an anger management problem requiring a prescription of blood to dissipate the wrath and rage?!?)
So I begin to think about •these kids• being bombed. And I know the words spoken in my homeland come from fear. Yes, there is ISIS. Yes, evil is real and must be resisted. And, yet I keep thinking of Mohammad and Julie and Latif and Rosemary and Rezhjar, the CPT team in Iraqi Kurdistan, all the amazing peacemakers they have introduced to us, all the love we have experienced, the dances we have danced.
What I experienced in Iraqi Kurdistan was love. Villages after describing cross border bombings by Turkey, treated us to feasts. I gained five pounds in two weeks! What was my impression of Kurdistan? Certainly, I saw plenty of guns and passed through more checkpoints in ten days than I had my previous 57 years. And...
I saw the Face of God in the people I met here. Even those who did not share either my piety or religion, I experienced divine love through them. My other friend, Josh from Alabama with the shorter beard gave this benediction-- for the road before us and behind us, the friends beside us, and the holy love between us, we give thanks! Amen!
P.S. Loved people, love people. So I love you Kurdistan! I love you delegation! I miss you all! Thanks for loving "that delegate" named Tim!
Here ends the article, Tim