VOICES FROM IRAQ
By Ginny NiCarthy
I: THE IMPACT OF WAR ON WOMEN
"Think of a mother, living with her child -- a boy, lets say -- dying, day after day in front of her eyes, for forty-three days."
Anisa, External Relations Secretary for the Iraqi Women's Federation, was answering my question about how war and sanctions affect Iraqi women. Our peace team had been in Iraq for nearly ten days, and this was our first opportunity to focus especially on the lives of women, and the impact of war on them.
"Can you imagine a mother," Anisa continued, "unable to do anything for him, because there is no medicine, because every instrument in our hospitals cannot work? There was no water, no electricity, no telephone. And then, afterwards, began other suffering: lack of food."
From the distance of the U.S., I had heard about the greatly increased number of deaths of Iraqis, especially children, after Desert Storm and the ensuing twelve years of Security Council sanctions. Estimates differ, but the most reliable ones, from UNICEF and other sources, say that approximately 50,000 Iraqi children under five continue to die each year. That's 50,000 above the usual mortality rate. The very fact that the number is so large means it is nearly impossible to make the imaginative leap necessary to empathize.
Few people can take in the concept, "six million Jews," or "two million refugees," until, for instance, a TV image shows a close view of a few people, perhaps one family in a concentration camp, or one old man stumbling on weak legs through the mountains. One kidnapped or murdered child, a single adult crying for help under a pile of rubble, even one cat trapped in a tree, can open our hearts or our sense of outrage -- or even our minds. Then we can feel the enormity of the losses and injustices experienced, and if we multiply the image, we might begin to understand what has happened.
But compelling images of individual Iraqi mothers, children and soldiers enduring "Gulf War Syndrome" or what I suppose might be called "Sanctions Syndrome" are notably absent from virtually all U.S. media. When I watch news of the impending escalation of war that shows only Saddam Hussein or generic battle scenes, I want to bang on the television screen and holler at the anchor or reporter, "Where are the Iraqi people? Who are the people the U.S. is planning to bombard? The abstractions of "war torn countries," or "combat losses," or the deliberate euphemism "collateral damage" extinguish the connection between viewers and the real human beings in anguish, or dying, or dead.
When the Korean War began, a World War Two veteran told me he was thrilled at the chance to re-enlist in the air force, to be a bombardier again.
"You're glad you're going to kill people?" I asked, dismayed.
"I don't see the people," he said, and the grin he shot my way made my stomach queasy. "I just get the target in the crosshairs, and wham! There goes the bomb!"
Fifty-some years later those words and the smile of exhilaration haunt me. The escalation of the Iraq war will once again place noncombatant children, women and men in the crosshairs, beyond which we Americans are not able to see. A major purpose of our Iraq peace team was to donate medicine to hospitals. But I also hoped to meet at-risk ordinary people who are usually invisible, beyond U.S. crosshairs that target "Iraq" -- as if that means only Saddam Hussein and his inner circle.
Our group's officially arranged interviews of doctors, Red Crescent and U.N. officials were all with men. On the street, men were eager to have their pictures taken and to exchange a few words of pidgin English with our less-than-pidgin Arabic. It was more of a challenge to meet women, so Sharon and I -- the only women on our team -- were pleased by the opportunity to interview Anisa, Secretary for External Relations of the General Federation of Iraqi Women, in Baghdad. We were joined by team members Tom, a business professor from Washington D.C. and James, a videographer, who graciously left most of the questioning to Sharon, a Baptist minister, and me, a freelance writer and former social worker.
We met in Anisa's office where a desk covered with stacks of papers and an insistently ringing phone gave testimony to her demanding job. Close to sixty years old, Anisa is an energetic, pleasant looking woman with casually combed waves of light brown hair, who spoke with authority on a wide range of women's issues. She wore a print blouse, and the reading glasses hung from her neck gave her a businesslike appearance. When we said we were from Seattle, she said, "Oh. The place that has all the demonstrations." Throughout our interview she took notes on our brief comments, and made a point of being precise about our occupations, associations and our questions.
When I asked about the impact of sanctions on women, Anisa looked away for a moment and, as if posing the question to herself, she asked, "How can I describe the hardship of those twelve years?" She heaved a deep sigh.
"First of all we face the forty three days of continuous savage bombing. Not a kilometer was saved from that bombing. You find children, elderly people, men and women, facing that catastrophe. Of the bombing -- of the desolate years, let's say -- it was difficult for an injured person to be carried from his house to the hospital, because there was no means for the person to go from one place to another, due to the destruction done to the roads. Due to the damage done to the bridges. There was no electricity. Petrol stations were damaged also. There were fires everywhere; death everywhere. This is for forty three days." Anisa paused and it seemed clear that she was seeing clearly those horror filled days.
But when the topic switched to her work, her voice took on a tone of pride, as she told us the Federation boasts eighty branches, and one million, two thousand and twenty-seven individual members of all ages from every part of Iraq. The all-volunteer organization is designed "to train, empower and educate women, through health, economic, social and political activities," she said. It offers occupational skills, and guidance in how to start a small business.
"Through sub-branches, and even sub-sub branches for streets, it is easy to connect with virtually all women throughout the country," Anisa said, "and communication is facilitated by the organization's TV program, monthly and weekly newspapers, a magazine, lectures, forums and meetings. So we have a net distributed all over the country...directed to every Iraqi woman, in fact, to all Iraqi families."
Our interview of Anisa was the only official visit with an Iraqi for which we weren't required to be accompanied by a government minder, and we never learned why that was so. Virtually all of Anisa's comments might have come from an official government handbook, so perhaps she was trusted never to say anything that might have differed from the official Baath party line.
Sharon asked about an unemployed widow we had met, a mother of eight. "How can a woman in those circumstances manage," she asked. "Or even exist?"
"First, it's faith, and love for the country, and love for the cause that Iraqis are still determined to continue -- to continue until America admits to being wrong. Second, traditionally, if I have something that is more than I need, or more than sufficient for my family, and I find someone who is in need, it is my duty -- and my religion -- to help this family. So Iraqi woman, for instance, even if they have jobs in the government or private sectors, have done their best to face their challenge. For instance, we are not accustomed to bake bread, because it's already available, but now because of the rations, because of high prices, nearly every Iraqi woman has learned to bake bread at home.
"Most of the ladies who have the desire to train themselves on certain jobs -- professions, for instance, like sewing, knitting, typing, making flowers -- are trying these activities, and begin small projects to earn where they may help their husband or father. This is the way women face the situation."
I asked whether I had heard correctly, when I thought she had used the word feminist. "Is there a word for feminist, in Arabic," I asked.
"Feminist means works for the rights of women, as I understand it."
I agreed, and she continued, "We are also feminists, because we are concerned about the needs and conditions of women."
"And this, then, is a feminist organization?" I asked, and she readily agreed.
In the U.S., the word is considered too radical for many women to use in reference to themselves or their work, and I would not have expected it to be in the official Iraqi lexicon. Anisa attended the 1995 U.N. forum for women in Beijing, and gave us a copy of a report analyzing successes and failures to implement recommendations of that meeting.
The cover of that report, published in 2000 by the NGO General Federation of Iraqi Women, prominently features the message "The Embargo Imposed on Iraq: A Defeat to Equality Development and Peace. The report, "Beijing -- 25," gives examples of recommendations made at the Beijing U.N. conference, and explains why they have not, for the most part, been carried out. The translation from Arabic into English is poor and not always easy to comprehend. However, the thrust is that, though the government and the Federation had the will to improve the human rights of women, wars and sanctions made implementation impossible.
"But the outbreak of two subsequent wars," the Report says, the "Iraq-Iran dispute in 1980 which lasted for eight years, and the continuous military aggression and embargo for 10 years, pushed the political volition in Iraq to change its priorities of the political programs at the levels of legislation and practice. In order to defend its sovereignty, Iraq was obliged to suspend the programs that aimed to abolish the exceptional legislation issued during the two-armed disputes.
"The continuity of imposed embargo has also led the state to concentrate on the rights of survival and endurance... to secure food and medicine at the least level...."
Though our group had seen plenty of evidence of poverty and disease suffered by women and children, all of that seemed distant from the offices in the Federation's attractive modern building. It is several stories high, and the front façade displays a large dramatic tile design of women's profiles. It is a relatively grand building, at least in contrast to substandard buildings or modest offices that house most independent women's programs in the U.S. So I asked whether I was correct that the organization is supported by the government.
"How do you define 'supported by the government'?" Anisa asked, frowning.
"Well, the building to start with, and the salaries...."
"Oh, no," Anisa said. "We are all volunteers. Her strong chin lifted a bit, and her voice took on a note of pride. "It is completely self-dependent. It is supported by our magazine, newspapers, investments in land, and small fees for classes." When I said she should come to the United States and teach us how to raise money, she laughed, delighted, and with enthusiasm, said, "Willingly. Willingly."
"But," she added, shaking a finger, "It is not easy. Do not think that it is easy."
Sharon said, "You are a women of great responsibility. What is your history, and how did you get to this position?"
Anisa responded in her usual clearly articulated English and, in her usual emphatic tone, which gave an impression that she would not easily brook contradiction or qualifications. "First, I am Iraqi. Second I am Arab. Third, I'm connected to the fate of my country. What harms my country injures me so much. I love my people and try all the way through...to help everybody, not only women.
"I'm a university graduate." I studied English, graduating in 1963, a long time ago. I have six sisters [and] three brothers. I am married, and have only one son. So this is the history of Iraq: from ten children to only one. All [my brothers and sisters] finished college, two with PhDs, and my brothers are MDs. My sisters are teachers, journalists and a biologist -- all high levels of education. Even now, education is free for all families, from primary, even kindergarten, through higher education."
When Anisa began college, there were not many women on campuses. It is difficult, Anisa admitted, "for a family to ensure the full needs of the student at school, whether primary or higher education." Even so, she said, there are more women than men in higher education, a ratio that has not changed in the past twelve years. Yet more girls stay at home to care for younger siblings now, while their mothers go out to work. Since those girls are missing out on lower level education, when they reach college age, that ratio of women to men may change again at higher levels.
Anisa must have begun college about 1959, a year after Iraqi independence was finally wrested from England. Already, a young Hussein was making his way up the political ladder, though periodically halted by participation in failed coup attempts, and time in prison. Throughout the interview, Anisa conveyed a strong impression of patriotism and loyalty to her organization and to the regime. And why not? From the early sixties we in the United States had lived under numerous presidents, from Kennedy to Johnson, Carter to Nixon to Ford, then Reagan to Bush, Clinton and the present Bush. But during most of those same years, Hussein had been the dominant figure in Iraqi government, either under another dictator or in direct charge himself. He was almost the only leader Anisa had ever known.
Asked if she had a message for American women, Anisa answered at length:
"As women we share many things. We are all really responsible for taking care of our families.... We have a saying, that if your neighbor is in good condition, it means that you are also in good condition.... If American women and Iraqi women are well, this means that women all over the world are in good conditions. So what we need to do, whenever there is a chance to work for peace or goodness, fight evil, challenge war or fight aggression, we are requested to do it, wherever we are.... What we need is your support for human rights, for good causes. And our cause is one of them."
That brought us full circle, to what she had said about the bombing in Baghdad, the part we knew from numerous other sources to be accurate, and which may soon dramatically escalate again: "...imagine a mother...no medicine...no water... no electricity, no telephone. And then, lack of food."
Beyond the cultural crosshairs new clouds appeared here and there, obscuring clarity, but a few of the clouds were thinning.
[2,490 words]
Posted on February 2, 2003.