CPTnet
4 May 2005
IRAQ REFLECTION: The perspective of love
by Sheila Provencher
Lately I feel so tired. There's always a part of me that wants just to
sleep; sleep and make all of THIS-- the war, my government's policies and
actions, the counter-violence of the insurgency, all the greed and sin in
the world --just go away for awhile. I can identify with the apathy of
citizens who give in to violence: yes, just make the evil go away, press
the button, fire the missile, send the young ones off to war. Take any way
out.
There is no way out. But there is a way through. I tasted it the other
day, when I was tired and wanted to hide, but instead went down the street
to visit an Iraqi family who are going through a troubled time. On the way,
a shopkeeper was hollering "Aiya! Aiya!" because Aiya, one of the children,
had forgotten the bag of bread she'd just bought. I told him I knew her and
would bring her the bread. And then I met her little sister Huda in the
street, got a kiss, gave her the bread, and she gave me a piece of candy.
Simple relationships, simple human connections: that's the way through.
That night I sat next to seven-year-old Huda as she colored in her notebook
on the floor. Her parents are splitting up, and her mother will soon be
forced to move to a new place. Sitting with Huda that night, watching her
color even in her pain, I knew that I loved her and wanted more than
anything to protect her from hurt.
"When Mama is sad, you're sad too, aren't you?" I whispered. She nodded,
and smiled with tears close behind. Little Huda, who does imitations so
well (she sometimes dresses up as her uncle, complete with unlit cigarette
dangling from her lips), who dances like an Iraqi pop star, who also recites
the Qur'an and never forgets the table blessing . . . this little one I want
to protect from pain.
And there are so many other Little Ones, in their own uniqueness, who have
not been protected, and will not be, and for whom it is too late. Beyond
political analysis, beyond policies, there is this reality I experienced
when I sat with Huda that night: all of the Iraqi children who have died in
this war, who have lost parents in this war, and all the children of U.S.
soldiers who have lost parents in this war, are just as precious as she is
to me.
What would happen if we made policies and political analysis that put these
Little Ones and their uniqueness as the highest priority? What would happen
if we recognized that all people, even the most vilified -- like Saddam
Hussein, Osama Bin Laden, or for some, George Bush, has such a Little One
inside them? How might we develop a different way of being and acting in
this world?
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