A Visit To Iraq
 by Raed Battah

 In late June, 1999 my dreams came true. After routinely scanning the headlines and making the usual
 stops at the popular antiwar sites on the Internet, I found a hit. I made a desperate attempt to reach a
 Chicago-based organization called Voices in the Wilderness. Voices in the Wilderness is a nonviolent
 activist group that is leading a campaign to end economic sanctions against Iraq. Since 1996, Voices in
 the Wilderness (VITW) has sent nearly 30 delegations to Iraq, including a group of US Congressional
 aides, the first government representatives to visit Iraq since the Gulf War. VITW organizes teach-ins,
 marches, fasts, vigils, and meetings with government officials. VITW provides its delegates an invaluable
 tool for gaining information related to sanctions and for witnessing first hand the effects of sanctions at
 the most personal levels.

 Normally there is a little down time in receiving responses from VITW. Many more people these days
 are learning about the situation in Iraq, and they want to get involved. VITW is one of the most effective
 ways to get involved. Because delegations are usually kept to relatively small numbers (my delegation
 would have seven members) there can be a little bit of a wait to be accepted to a delegation. However,
 with a little luck and a highly impassioned letter, I received, remarkably, a response just a few hours
 after submitting my e-mailed letter.

 Kathy Kelly, co-founder of VITW, phoned me shortly after I returned home from the computer lab where I
 sent her my e-mail. She told me that two spots were open but seven people were ahead of me with their
 requests. However, due to my sincere letter, Kathy told me she felt that I deserved to go. Kathy
 remembered me from a speech she gave in Detroit to a reunion of graduates from Al-Hikma University in
 Baghdad, which my father attended. It had been one year since I approached her and asked that she
 not forget my face because I would call on her to offer my assistance as soon as I finished my
 broadcasting degree. I ended up staying a bit longer to finish a political science degree, strictly for
 academic credibility when I took the sanctions issue to the political table.

 Earlier, I had found myself at the computer one day, especially frustrated at the situation. It could have
 been any number of things: a new bombing in the no-fly zones, the report of an outbreak of cholera, the
 new figures on infant mortality, or the effects of the worst drought in Iraq’s history as a nation. I was
 especially troubled and told myself: "Just go! Nothing can be more important. You can’t sleep. You
 can’t concentrate. Just go!"

 Since my father is a physician I was fortunate enough to solicit lots of medicine to take to the Iraqi
 people. He also contacted two Indian doctors who were happy to donate updated medical textbooks
 (prohibited by sanctions). With a suitcase full of life, and a spirit full of compassion, I prepared to make
 the biggest, most illegal decision of my life. Sanctions prohibit the transportation of goods to and from
 Iraq outside the determined "Food-for-Oil" deal. The penalty for engaging in such actions is the threat of
 imprisonment for up to twelve years and $1.2 million in fines.

 I was breaking a number of federal laws just crossing state lines with a suitcase full of illegal drugs,
 mostly prescription. What is really interesting is that I had no trouble boarding a plane in Detroit and
 flying to Chicago with all these medications. What is still more shocking is that no one ever checked
 the suitcase in Chicago either. I was a little disappointed because the whole point was to openly violate
 the sanctions laws.

 The other members of my delegation included Tom Sager, a computer science teacher at the University
 of Illinois, Ramsey Kysia, an American-Lebanese businessman and photographer, Stacia Crezynski, a
 teacher from New Mexico, Chris Allen Doucot, a seasoned delegate leader from Boston, Dave
 Rollstone, a ship builder from Wales, Great Britain, and another Brit, Joanne Baker, an aroma-therapist
 and teacher from London. I rounded out the group as the youngest and only Iraqi.

 Tom, Stacia, and I met in Chicago and flew together to Jordan where we met the rest of the group,
 except for Chris who was waiting for us in Baghdad. After a brief two-day stay in Amman, where we
 finalized some border papers and cleared up some things with the Foreign Ministry, we set out across
 the desert. My eyes close and I still can see that amazing barren sacred desert that witnessed many of
 the greatest stories of the Bible. Worth noting is the otherwise impassable region which historically
 represents the sites of Sodom and Gomorrah. For miles and miles it is nothing but black, razor sharp,
 bowling ball sized rocks that send the mind into a whirlwind of speculation. For thousands of years this
 region has remained untouched, presumably damned by God for the sins of its early inhabitants.

 Crossing the desert is a very unique experience. For miles it is flat, then it turns into desert hills with
 rocky cliffs. Growing up in Western Kentucky there was a strange similarity in that it is common to
 catch several deer crossing an old country road, but a big difference in seeing a herd of wild camels just
 easing on across the only paved road in a hundred mile radius. Shepherds and their flocks of both
 camel and sheep could be seen as well all through the desert. I mean these folks just live out there,
 completely self-sufficient and untouched by modernization. At the Iraq-Jordan Border, a place called
 Trebil, my group was cordially placed in a big sitting room which displayed a giant mosaic of Saddam
 Hussein on one wall. It was exciting to see because I had read about this picture in several other
 journalists’ accounts of traveling to Iraq, such by Brent Sadler of CNN. This room is normally reserved
 for diplomats and government officials, not transits. However, Voices has made several trips to Iraq in
 the past and has developed what you could call diplomatic relations.

 So there I was, a diplomat taking a two hour nap in front of a giant portrait of the world's last great
 enemy. I slept just fine. I recall meeting two young boys who were in that room. Their names were Ali
 and Kasib. They were traveling from Baghdad to Amman. They were 12 and 14 years old, respectively. I
 lost a few games of chess to all of them before discovering that they were child chess champions
 traveling to Jordan for a tournament. I gave them a few Snickers bars and they kind of looked at them as
 if they were alien. Have you ever seen a child smell a Snickers bar? They hadn't ever seen one!

 Our approval at the border came quickly due to our status and the couple of cases of Shasta cola we
 brought for leverage. The second half of the trip across the desert I rode with Sattar Al-Jihad, who, unlike
 his brother driving the other truck, could speak English. He was a civil engineer who made his living
 driving taxis from Baghdad to Amman. He was married and had two children. I wish the reader could
 have been there for that eight hour trip; I must have asked every kind of question about Iraq, and he
 always had an incredible answer. We became very close, and for the first time in my life I had an
 authentic Iraqi friend. Sattar explained to me that common daily tasks in the US are monumental
 achievements in Iraq. For instance, driving from one place to another without the vehicle breaking down,
 or having enough sugar to make a cake, or giving your wife an anniversary present, or your child a
 birthday gift.

 When we reached Baghdad, it was almost overwhelming. My whole family was waiting for me at the
 hotel after having waited all day and the day before. They were expecting me a day early but our papers
 got held up. Some were missing. My aunt Khemi, the wife of my mother’s brother had died nearly a
 year earlier because she had no access to an athsma inhaler. My cousin Behegia who had died from
 heart failure was also absent. But their families were there greeting me with tears and hugs. I had made
 it home, to fight for all these people who were greeting me with tears, who lived the nightmare that I
 could only read about in America. Gena (19), Genevea (23), and Julia (8) are the daughters of aunt
 Khemi. All were there crying, overjoyed to see me -- the first light they had had since their mother
 abruptly died of athsma. 81-year-old uncle George couldn't make it to the hotel. This small giant of the
 Battah family, formerly known as "King of the Dates" because of his chief involvement of the import and
 export date business, waited at the house my father built over thirty years earlier. His achievements are
 incredible considering he was a Christian, a school dropout, and had never married. He is perhaps the
 greatest example of sacrifice in the Battah family.

 Somewhere between all the family at the hotel, my group met Chris Allen Doucot. Chris was our group
 leader, a Canadian/Bostonian. He was a cross between a cynic and an anarchist, but very organized,
 and very official. You should hear the ringing of a Bostonian accent in the office of the Iraqi
 Under-Secretary Minister of Health. Chris did most of the coordinating for our group. He was the main
 liason with the Iraqi Red Crescent Society, which appointed minders to our group on official visits. The
 minders were never threatening -- they were usually simple people who could translate and tell us small
 significant do's and don't’s. Don't’s usually included taking pictures of bridges or other government
 buildings or from cars. The Iraqis were under a lot of stress because of the on-going bombing taking
 place in the north and south.

 The bombing campaign had started December 16, 1998, after UNSCOM Chief Weapons Inspector
 Richard Butler declared Iraq as non-compliant. Iraq claimed the current inspectors were spies.
 UNSCOM inspectors, specifically U.S. and British, were later confirmed to have been operating covertly
 through the weapons inspection regime. The US, British, and Secretary General of the UN all confirmed
 these allegations. So Iraq was bombed for assuming the truth. And the bombing was a bilateral action
 that was condemned by the other three members of the security council. What is sad is that even
 today, mainstream media speaks of the bombing campaign in the past tense even though US and
 British planes have continued to bomb Iraq on nearly a day to day basis, killing hundreds of Kurds in the
 North and Shias in the South, the same people the U.S. claims to be defending by creating the "no-fly"
 zones.

 So I didn't mind -- and actually appreciated -- the motive behind being a little careful on Iraq's part. Iraq's
 sovereignty and national integrity had been marginalized through the actions of UNSCOM, especially
 considering the trouble that Kofi Annan had gone through in February of 1998 to get them back.
 Referring to the extent at which Iraq had allowed international inspectors in, Chief Coordinator for the
 986 (Food-for-Oil) Program, Hans Von Sponeck said, "The Iraqis have been completely undressed. It is
 humiliating. Try and see if any such action would be acceptable in a western state."

 Although VITW made arrangements in a local hotel, I decided to only use this as a base. Every night I
 stayed at a relative's home. One night with my father's family, one night with my mother's family, and so
 on. Every morning at 8am we would meet and go through the day's schedule. Activities, which usually
 took all day, were completely optional. If one chose to abstain from a meeting they were perfectly
 welcome. A typical day usually went like this: by 10am we were heading to the Red Crescent to meet
 our minder. Each day there was usually a scheduled trip to a hospital. At hospitals we would first be
 briefed by a medical supervisor who explained the condition of the facility, then discussed common
 operating problems as a result of short supplies. Then the tours would begin.

 It is unfair to those people for me to even try to recreate in black and white the conditions of these
 hospitals, and the environment for the patients. Common were paint chipping off walls, the smell of piss
 and shit, broken windows throughout, almost suffocating heat, sheetless hospital beds, fly tape over
 patient beds, fecal contamination in the tap, non-existing pharmacies (picture an empty closet), and the
 unnerving screams of suffering children, grief stricken mothers, and helpless doctors. It is the end of the
 world in those hospitals, the end. One would think that your chances are better off dying than extending
 such a miserable life. The first doctor I met at the Saddam's Pediatric Teaching Hospital was named
 Raed. He was the chief resident and the first person other than myself that I had ever known with that
 name. Raed was just a student when Saddam invaded Kuwait. He knows only the theoretical procedure
 for curration, and has very little applicable knowledge.

 Medical texts have been prohibited, along with computers, and most of the essential elements of a
 high-tech, highly effective medical facility. They don't even have working centrifuge machines to separate
 blood platelets. They are mixing regular table salt and tap water to make I.V. fluid, leading to all kinds of
 recurrences of water-borne infectious diseases. We were given the opportunity to ask many of the
 mothers in the hospital if they wanted us to relay any message. Most of them said the same thing,
 "What has my child done to make America want to kill him? Why can't my child live a happy peaceful
 life like American children? Would Americans do this if they knew how our children suffer? Is our oil
 worth our children's lives?" I knew most American didn't feel that way. They didn't feel anyway; they
 didn't even know those poor children were dying. That is why I went: to find the truth.
 
 

 Another very interesting experience was a trip to the main Baghdad sewage facility, Rustameiya. I'm not
 a sewage expert, but compared the local sewage plants here in Kentucky, this was a monster. It
 covered probably about five square football fields, serving three purposes: filtering water, extracting
 sewage, and converting sewage to fertilizer. However, the plant was merely a functioning skeleton of a
 once-grand system. Most of the oxygen generators, which helped naturally breakdown organic waste,
 were not functioning. Pumps to move water from phase to phase were used to simply push the water
 through the system then back into the river. It was simply depressing to see such a facility get nothing
 done, and to think about the consequences for the people miles away in the city. Working at the facility
 was a health hazard. The plant lost an average of two employees a month due to hydrogen sulfide
 poisoning. A young boy who worked there with his father was waste deep with knee high boots in a pool
 of, I guess, shit, scrubbing algae off the edges of a water churner. For less than a combined $0.15 a
 day, where is the dignity?

 This same day we went to a water treatment facility, one of 18, along the Tigris. Their purpose is to
 apply chemicals to the water such as chlorine. The Iraqis never used fluoride. However, chlorine is
 prohibited under sanctions, and what is permitted to be ordered through the 986 program is far less than
 what is necessary to maintain efficient and effective operation and usage. What is permitted to be used
 is frequently held up by the sanctions 661 committee.

 In addition to hospitals and civil facilities, we visited with Iraqi and U.N. officials. The most significant of
 these meetings was with Hans Von Sponeck, the Chief Coordinator of the Humanitarian Program in
 Iraq. Von Sponeck is a German who took the reins of the program after his predecessor, Dennis
 Halliday, resigned. Halliday left his post having said, "Sanctions are killing an average of 6,000 children
 a month. I no longer want to be a part of that." Von Sponeck referred to his colleague’s actions with
 understanding but vowed to continue to work to help make the program more efficient. An outspoken
 critic of the 661 committee’s policy of holding up orders, he is working to inform people on the
 misinformation concerning supply stocks and misuse. Von Sponeck said that it is a combination of
 delays, poor working conditions, lack of transportation, lack of trained personnel, depressingly low
 wages, inefficient inventory systems etc. etc.. He mentioned the fact that his colleagues had requested
 a computerized inventory system to help keep an accurate account of orders, their whereabouts, and
 quality controls. The sanctions committee refused the request because sanctions prohibit computers
 from entering Iraq. This deeply disturbed me.

 I asked Semere Solomon, Assistant Coordinator of UNESCO if this was practical. Doesn't the U.N.
 personnel keep a log of product whereabouts? Solomon confirmed this by saying that every item, pill,
 pencil, paper, or whatever, is ordered on a "cum by cum" basis. Every item brought in the country has a
 specific destination and is closely monitored. So why can't they give the U.N., not to mention schools,
 hospitals, and industry, computers? The answer is to keep Iraq primitive. Every day Iraq gets further and
 further behind the developed world.

 Von Sponeck -- a true diplomat -- was a man of integrity. He was visually perturbed by the present
 situation. He spoke of his wife and daughter who were working in Germany to get the sanctions lifted.
 Unfortunately, the US State Department isn't so pleased; spokesman James P. Rubin said Von
 Sponeck undermined his position and rendered himself unfit to keep his position as 986 Coordinator.

 On August 6 -- the anniversary of the imposition of sanctions and the day that the United States
 dropped an atomic bomb on Hiroshima -- five members of my group went south to Basra. About 100
 miles north of Basra, we stopped at a place called al-Qurna. This little historic mother of pearl is
 otherwise known as the "Garden of Eden". It is the place where the Tigris and Euphrates Rivers meet to
 form the Shat al-Arab. I could have sat there and watched those rivers blend forever, despite the fact
 that the temperature in southern Iraq is frightfully worse than in Baghdad. How bad is it? Some time in
 late July sit in your car with the windows up and the heat on and put a blow dryer up to your face on
 high. This is what it feels like with the windows down in a moving car in southern Iraq. It was great! The
 people are so strong to deal with such a natural adversity.

 From Qurna we went on to Basra. Once again, when I arrived, my family was waiting. My mother’s other
 brother Jamaal lived in Basra on the largest petro-chemical complex in Iraq. He is production manager
 of this superplex, and his wife is a private practicing gynecologist. They have four children. They live in
 company housing because they can't afford to buy a home. (Imagine the same family in the US and the
 lifestyle they would enjoy.) He owned a small Volkswagen that was given to him in the eighties by
 Saddam Hussein for taking a bullet and some shrapnel in the Iraq-Iran war.

 In Basra we visited a refugee camp called Moe-Fuckia. It was a huge stone building complex that was
 designed and intended to house government workers. But construction stopped nearly two thirds of the
 way in because of the Iraq-Iran war. Now, it is home to nearly 15,000 refugee families, nearly 50,000
 people. The complex is one big health hazard: open pools of raw sewage, lack of water, doorless
 balconies several stories high, no electricity, and its great distance from any conceivable medical
 facilities. The refugees were predominately Shia who were displaced do to the fierce fighting that
 occurred on the Iraq-Iran border in southern Basra. Many thousands were Palestinian refugees, and the
 others were made up of Kurds, vagrants, and Iranians. Iraq had a very generous policy towards refugees
 prior to 1990. Dr. Abid Amir, of UNHCR, said that, "Iraq is a rich nation, was a rich nation, and had all
 the goodwill to take care of these refugees. It is only now after sanctions that they need our help." Iraq
 would often permit refugees to integrate fully into society and would provide 70 dinar a month for general
 welfare. Prior to 1990 that was about $210. Now it is less than $.04. Iraq still provides this 70 dinar a
 month.

 Also in Basra we visited a village called Jumhouriya. I was late returning to the hotel the morning before
 leaving for the village and subsequently missed my group. However, to my surprise and delight, Hans
 Von Sponeck himself showed up in the lobby of the Basra Sheraton. He recognized me from our
 previous meeting in Baghdad and insisted that I ride with them. So there I was, climbing into those
 damn white Range Rovers that you always see on CNN with Hans and his little Indian entourage. I got
 to speak briefly on a personal level with him and he told me a little about his history and how diplomacy
 runs in the family. Hans had traveled to Basra to visit Jumhouriya and to make arrangements to rebuild
 some of the destroyed houses. Jumhouriya was bombed in January 1999 with an AGM-130. This bomb
 is satellite guided and accurate within ten meters. Unlike laser guided bombs, weather does not affect
 its heading. In addition the AGM-130 has an optical guidance system which allows the pilot to precisely
 guide the bomb. Even if the pilot loses contact with the bomb, its satellite guidance should not fail it.
 Technical failure or pure barbarism killed seven people that day in the crowded village and destroyed 64
 homes.

 After returning to the hotel, I retired around 5 p.m. for a nap. All day it was misery, misery, misery. You
 couldn't imagine the horrible schedule of events. It seemed like the complete opposite of reality.
 Wherever there should be yes there is no, pleasure/pain, happiness/sadness, health/death,
 hope/disparity, anger/compassion, hate/love, revenge/forgiveness. How was any of it possible? As I lay
 in my bed in the hotel I hear all the families outside in the pool trying to cool off and act somewhat
 normal. My eyes closed, and with a sigh I heard the air raid sirens ring through Basra. The Americans
 were flying over. I was Iraqi. I was home. I was happy. My sacrifice may have been at hand.

 On the way back to Baghdad we stopped briefly in a town called Amara. It is a poor, or poorer, town.
 We briefly visited the hospital, saw your typical suffering humans, long lost to the rest of the world,
 thanked them for suffering for us, apologized and moved on. By this time it was hard to be shocked
 anymore.

 We drove into Baghdad and straight to the UN compound. There were our friends in a tent across from
 the compound on what was a terribly busy highway. The tent had English and Arabic slogans draped all
 over it. Beat up cars whisking by would honk. I thought to myself candidly about all those drivers who
 passed and realized, as they drove by beating their steering wheel, that their horns no longer worked. I
 bet everyone was honking in their hearts. We all gathered at the UN again the next day which was
 August 9, the anniversary of the bombing of Nagasaki. We all shared thoughts, poems, prayers, and
 music. Some read from the Bible, particularly the Lamentations of Jeremiah. Stacia read a beautiful
 poem she wrote. I simply recited an old Pink Floyd lyric, "No more turning away from the weak and the
 weary. No more turning away from the coldness inside. Just a world that we all must share, it's not
 enough just to stand and stare. Is it only a dream that there'll be no more turning away." I stood right
 there and wished the hate away.

 August 10 was our last full day. I met with Semere Solomon on this day and some others met with
 Farrid Zarrif, Assistant Coordinator of UNOHCI. I spent the remainder of the day and that evening at
 Uncle George's house where my family gathered to see me off. It was then that a friend of the family
 brought me his daughter Areege. Areege is 15 years old and suffers from spinal scoliosis. She had a 15
 degree curvature of the spine. The operation, if equipment was available, would cost 15 million dinar.
 This beautiful girl who looked no older than 11 spoke enough English to say "thank you" as I promised
 to try and help her here in the States. I have failed Areege; I don't even have the courage to inquire about
 her condition. I knew when I looked into her eyes that all I could give her was false hope.

 I returned to my uncle’s home and sat, mostly in silence, as time ticked away. Sitting on that floor with
 all those people I didn't know whether I wanted to bring them home with me, or make Iraq a country one
 need not escape from. People are fleeing in droves from the Garden, and it's not because Saddam is
 chasing them out. It's because sanctions have embargoed hope, dreams, and ambition. It has worn
 their spirits thin. It has created a cultural black whole that Iraq will never forget. Iraqis aren't stupid,.
 though our government’s stated policy would assume otherwise. Madeline Albright has said that the US
 State Department cares much more about Iraq's people than Saddam -- the death of over 500,000
 children and the impoverishment of millions of innocent and noble, God-loving people must be “caring” to
 the US.

 In conclusion I want to dedicate this report to the people of Iraq; I want to dedicate this entire
 independent study to the children of Iraq and to those who died. I did it all for them. I want to dedicate
 my entire academic career, in both broadcasting and political science, to the pursuit of truth and peace.
 I want to thank the Department of Government for giving me this opportunity and for helping me become
 credible through its support. I hope that Eastern Kentucky University doesn't soon forget its outspoken
 Iraqi student. I hope that people will recall that there was always a movement, albeit a small one,
 against the genocidal sanctions on Iraq, even here in eastern Kentucky. I hope that whatever number,
 quote, fact, or image that may have made an impression on any of my teachers burns into their memory
 and that they share the reality of that truth to their students. On behalf of Iraq, let me tell what the US
 Government denies: the truth.
 
 

 Myself and other members of Voices in the Wilderness, including your Person of the Year, Kathy Kelly,
 have been in D.C. for one month starting January 15th, Martin Luther King Day and the anniversary of
 the beginning of the Gulf War, doing a liquid-only fast and trying to get Congressional reps to sign on to
 the Tom Campbell/John Conyers letter to President Clinton asking him to delink economic sanctions
 from the military embargo. When we started, there were only 35 signatures, but our efforts have brought
 that number up to 62. Our fast ended February 11th, and we will travel to New York to do a
 civil-disobedience rally in front of the U.N. building on February 14 to commemorate the cruise missle
 bombing of the Al-Ameriyah bomb shelter during the Gulf War in which 1,175. The action is called "We
 Remember, We Resist." Speakers will include Kathy Kelly, Dennis Halliday, John Dear and others.

 --------
 Raed Battah recently graduated from Eastern Kentucky University.

 Copyright 1999 Raed Battah.