Stop the Next War Now (17 page)

Photo by Gael Murphy

Israel, through long and cruel occupation, is making it very easy for young Palestinians to turn to the path of terrorism. But terrorism dominates both forces. An organized army that terrorizes a whole population is even more criminal than any guerrilla group. An “enlightened” first-world government that ordains the killing of the innocent is just as evil as any third-world guerrilla leader who is hardly known and never seen. For me, Saddam Hussein, Ariel Sharon, and George Bush, father and son, are the same, for all have inflicted pain and death upon innocent populations. If we don’t tell our children that these people are unscrupulous murderers, we shall never have leaders who rule out killing as a solution to social and political problems.

Today, when there is no meaningful opposition in Israel, the political distinctions between “left” and “right” don’t matter, for everyone consents to the atrocities. That’s why I believe that world condemnation of those deeds and their doers is critically important. It’s time to make it clear that the death of one child, any child, be it Serbian, Albanian, Iraqi, or Jewish, is the death of the whole world, its past and its future.

This is the cry that has never, never been heard by politicians and generals, especially not in Jerusalem, which everybody thinks is made of gold but which is really made of stones and iron and lead. It is time for this cry to be heard above all others, for after the violence this is the only voice that really understands the meaning of the end of all things, including war. This is the voice that understands what’s well known in the underground kingdom of our murdered children, namely, that all blood is equal, and that it takes so little to kill a child and so much to keep her alive. It understands that ending a war means supporting negotiations that are true dialogues, conversations in which both sides come to terms, not bring each other to their knees. Ending a war means that I don’t care what flag is put on which mountain, that I don’t care who looks where when they pray, that nothing is more important than securing a little girl’s way to her dance class.

I call on all parents who have not yet lost their children and all who are about to: if we don’t stand up to the politicians by teaching our children not to follow their murderous ways, if we don’t listen to the voice of peace coming from underneath, very soon there will be nothing left to say, nothing left to write or read or listen to except the perpetual cry of mourning and the muted voices of dead children.

Therefore I have come here to ask you: please help us save the children that are left to us. Help us make the world stop for a moment to look at the small body of Iman, pierced by twenty bullets, and at the twenty-first hole at her smooth temple and ask with us, Why does that streak of blood rip the petal of her cheek?

I am no longer intimidated by experts, critics, and the name callers.

After all, my daughter stood in front of a bulldozer to protect a

Palestinian home. I have a responsibility as a mother to demand that the

experts, the policymakers, Congress and the White House reflect

our beliefs in the sanctity of each life, in the equality of

each human being, and in justice and the rule of law.

—Cindy Corrie, mother of Rachel Corrie

PILGRIMAGE

FOR PEACE

RABIA ROBERTS

Rabia Elizabeth Roberts is the codirector, with her husband, Elias Amidon, of the Boulder Institute for Nature and the Human Spirit. Several years ago, they quit their jobs and sold their home to become full-time “pilgrims of peace,” traveling around the world to conflict areas such as Iraq and Palestine.

In America, the idea of us Syrians is that we eat foreigners,” joked Mahat El-Khoury, a seventy-one-year-old human-rights worker and recent Damascus “Woman of the Year.” “We Syrians feel misunderstood by the West. You don’t understand our religions, our family ways, our history, or our politics. You think we’re terrorists. We like American people, but we feel poorly treated by your government and its policies.” Mahat’s feelings were echoed by many people my husband and I spoke with during our pilgrimage to Syria.

On this pilgrimage, fifteen people from six Western countries joined us to bear witness to Muslim-Christian relations in this ancient land, to Arab-Western relations in general, and to the realities facing the Syrian people at this time of tension and distrust between the United States and Syria. Above all else, we came to make friends and to listen. While these “pilgrimages of peace” are modest gestures, we hope that others who hear of this kind of spiritual “citizen diplomacy” might be inspired to do something similar. Magnified a hundredfold, these encounters could heal a city; by a hundred thousand, a nation; by a few million, a world.

Building peace in this way offers us a powerful gift: a breakthrough in our fears of the “other.” On this trip, tension was high for the pilgrims and their families back home. Many reported the long talks they had had with their children or parents about the wisdom of going to Syria. One man told his mother he was only going to London (a far riskier place!), and another woman told us later that during the first day she was convinced we were going to be kidnapped or stoned. Nothing could have been further from the welcome each one of us received throughout our time in Damascus. In the scores of encounters we had with a variety of people—men and women, young and old, Muslim and Christian—we were met with kindness, generosity, hospitality, dignity, humor, and a genuine appreciation of our intentions.

On the second morning, we asked our fellow pilgrims to wander in Damascus alone or in small groups of two and three to initiate conversations with ordinary Syrians, and to ask them ever-deeper questions about their feelings and beliefs. The idea of this experience always causes much consternation at the outset, but afterward people speak of it as a watershed event, one that has shifted their experiences of the world from those of a tourist to those of a pilgrim. It’s a crash course in human trust.

In subsequent days we met with all kinds of people: students from Damascus University, young architects, teachers, businesspeople, Christian priests, Muslim sheikhs, social workers, and others. We visited churches, mosques, shrines, schools, offices, homes, and monasteries. As word of our presence spread, more and more invitations to meet and talk came to us. People were eager to have their stories heard. Though we did not always agree with what we were told, our task was not to persuade anyone of our opinions, but to try to understand. What have these people been taught? What are their fears? What are their dreams for their children?

Like a small stone dropped in a vast lake, our effort produced ever-widening ripples. My husband, Elias, and Shabda Kahn, a guest teacher on the pilgrimage, were interviewed on Syria’s leading TV news commentary program. A pilgrimage participant who is a state representative for the international Sister Cities project met with Syrian officials in the Ministry of Urban Affairs and received assurances of cooperation in setting up American-Syrian sister-city partnerships. The Abu Nour Islamic Foundation, the largest Muslim nongovernmental organization in Syria, agreed to join the Nonviolent Peaceforce as a member organization.

Our presence provided an opportunity for Sheikh Nabil Hilbawi, one of Syria’s most respected Shi’ite clerics, to meet with Christian leaders and discuss projects of mutual concern. Because we were there, a special interfaith concert was performed in our honor at the new opera house; a Mevlevi Sufi choir with whirling dervishes and a seventy-five-member Christian choir shared the same stage, singing anthems of peace together in the finale.

In a particularly stirring moment, we were welcomed as guests at Friday prayers in the largest mosque in Damascus, the seat of the grand mufti, Syria’s leading Islamic cleric. The men of our group were seated in the front of the mosque beside the raised dais of the mufti, with the women looking down from the balcony above. When the mufti’s sermon was finished, my husband was asked to speak to the several thousand people present. Elias spoke of the humiliation that so many Muslims feel in our times, both as a result of Western policies and as a result of self-betrayal.

The mirror he held up for them reflected their long and sophisticated culture, their religious integrity and commitment to family life, their spontaneous kindness and expressions of generosity. He thanked them for welcoming us so warmly and apologized for the lack of fairness and understanding in America’s recent policies toward Syria. He concluded with these words: “The policies and politicians of the world are failing us. To protect our children, we all must do everything we can to break through the masks that are being painted on our faces. When we truly meet each other, we will have peace. Let nothing stop our getting to know each other.”

The mosque was quiet, and when we all stood to leave we were swarmed by men below and women above. With tears in their eyes, they wanted to thank us, to wish us well, to invite us to their homes. The talk at the mosque, along with the entire service, was broadcast on TV and radio throughout the country. An Orthodox priest congratulated us that evening: “You give us hope, you feel with us, you show there are Americans who care.” Another seed of understanding was planted in this rocky soil.

But all was not love and light. If you listen and question long enough, the Syrians’ anger and suspicion emerge. For millennia, empires have come to rule this land and these people. With an American occupation of Iraq on their eastern border and Israel’s occupation of the West Bank and Gaza to their southwest, most Syrians fear that foreign interests might set out to expand their territories and take over Syrian land. Many Syrians quoted to us an inscription written over Israel’s Knesset, to the effect that the true land of Zion extends from the Euphrates to the Nile. This proves, they said, that Israel wants to conquer Syria. Part of our witness was to hear this anger, this distrust, and (in some cases) a desire for justice that bordered on vengeance.

Sheikh Salah Kuftaro, head of the largest Muslim social service organization in Syria and a liberal proponent of a just peace in the Middle East, summed up our thinking when he stated, “There will not be peace in our world until there is peace among the religions. And there will not be peace among the religions until the adherents come to understand one another. Muslims, Christians, and Jews all want peace and harmony. But we have been taught different things. It is important to listen to one another. There is a great future for this part of the world if the religious traditions learn to cooperate to achieve these expressed goals. But this process is not an easy one. It may be easy to dream about or talk about, but what we need today is people who are prepared to commit themselves in very practical ways to achieving this goal.”

Citizens reaching across borders in acts of spiritual diplomacy are some of these “practical ways.” Our own pilgrimage is not just about the journey of the two of us, or the five or ten of us, or however many people join each trip. We are the visible aspect of a much larger community of people, many of whom have never met but who share a commitment to changing how the story of our time is being told and who contribute to making these things happen.

We have a dream of communities of people coming together to send pilgrims or emissaries like us to places of conflict to extend friendship, humility, and openhearted listening. Once we declare our intentions, doors open, opportunities appear, and networks of friends emerge. We have been on the road for over four years now in different parts of the world and have not been disappointed yet in the willingness of people everywhere to make friends.

P.S. by Rabia’s husband, Elias Amidon
: There’s one more lesson, or gift, of this journey I’d like to mention: it has expanded my notion of family. I remember telling stories to wide-eyed tribal kids—and adults—in bamboo huts in remote villages in northern Thailand. I remember a long session of singing
dhikr
with a group of young Muslim men in Morocco. I remember taking
jukaiv
, Zen Buddhist initiation, with a group of ten women in New Mexico, sewing together in silence for hours and hours as we made the intricate apron that signifies the robe of the Buddha. In each case, and in hundreds of others, I have come away with a new idea of who my family is and who my people are. The “other” is my family. We are all brothers and sisters, fathers and mothers, sons and daughters, to each other.

“That’s all nonviolence is—organized love.”

—Joan Baez

A LETTER TO MY IMAGINARY

AMERICAN FRIEND

JASMINA TESANOVIC

Jasmina Tesanovic is a renowned Serbian writer, editor, publisher, and filmmaker and an active member of Women in Black. She is the author of
The Diary of a Political Idiot
and the coeditor of
The Suitcase
, a collection of memoirs from refugees fleeing Bosnia and Croatia. She is also a founding editor of 94, the first feminist publisher in Serbia.

Belgrade, November 22, 2004

Four years ago, I wrote in my first letter to my virtual friend from Baghdad, Nuha al Radi: “We should be enemies. You are a Muslim, I am a Christian. You are dark, I am white. But we both are
women, we both write diaries, we both are pacifists….” Unfortunately, Nuha died and we never managed to meet. Our love and understanding was virtual, transnational, and global, yet far more valuable than our relationships with most of our “natural” allies in our own communities. We shared two hundred pages of questions, emotions, and insights, unveiling the universality of militarism and patriarchy
.

Our common enemy should have been the United States. Nuha wrote, “I could never live in the USA,” and I said, “I could never, ever fall in love with an American.” We both had to eat our words: Nuha received medical treatment in the United States, and I now love Americans. Ever since Bush won for the second time, ever since the American economy went to pieces and threatened global disorder, ever since the U.S. government’s raving antiterrorism measures have turned the whole world into an internment camp, I have had a feeling that the “decent people” from the United States who have raised their voices against the enemy within their own country need the world’s support in order to set us all free
.