A week ago, at the small guest house where friends and I
stayed while visiting Afghan Youth Peace Volunteers (AYPV) in Bamiyan, eight of
us huddled around one cell phone to participate in a conference call organized
by Fellowship of Reconciliation members in the United States. The call was part of an ongoing effort to
foster a connection between the AYPV and volunteers at the Rachel Corrie
Center in Gaza.
The Gazan center was started by Cindy and Craig Corrie, whose daughter,
Rachel, had tried to stop an Israeli bulldozer driver from destroying the home
of a Gazan family that had befriended her.
The bulldozer driver crushed her to death.
I had asked the call planners to notify a close friend of
mine who volunteers at the Center, hoping he might be included in the
call. My friend -- I'll call him Firas -
had extended courageous hospitality to Audrey Stewart and me when we crossed
into Gaza
during the last four days of the Israeli Operation Cast Lead assault which was
waged against Gazans for 22 days, beginning in December 2009.
Firas, whose home has been bombed four times in the past
several years, has tried hard to cope with living in a land under siege. He has survived periodic bombings and the
tragic loss of close friends. When we
were with him in Gaza,
he took us to visit patients who had been wounded by tank-fired white
phosphorous weapons. We sat with
villagers, in ransacked homes, whose family members had been burnt to death. On our last day with him in Gaza, Firas described having been with Rachel
Corrie on the day she died. Filled with anguish by the memory, he put his head
in his hands and cried.
When the Fellowship of Reconciliation coordinators placed
the call to Gaza,
Firas answered the phone.
The AYPV was represented, that day, by their youngest
members-- Zekerullah, 15, Ali, 14 and
Gulamai, 11. The others were busy harvesting potato crops, tending small shops,
or going to classes.
These young boys understood the importance of making
connections with people who share similar circumstances because they live in
war zones. They were remarkably patient with the technical difficulties of an
international skype call between developing countries.
It wasn't easy to hear the speakers at all. What's more, every comment required
translation and participants were frequently asked to repeat what they'd just
said. The call was cut and then restarted several times. But nothing broke the serious concentration
as the boys worked to establish a dialogue with Firas.
Firas began by describing his situation in Gaza. Abdulai responded by noting that the
situation in Bamiyan is better than in Gaza. "It's a little more secure than other
provinces," Abdulai reported. "Kandahar would be
similar to Gaza."
Firas told the boys that he and his family sometimes slept
with their boots on for fear that they might have to escape a bombardment in
the middle of the night. "We wonder," he added, "if we lose our house, where
will we go? Still, we must ask, what
about the others? People in Gaza who were forced to
move into schools and mosques after bombings are looking for apartments, but
they have no funds to rebuild. Thanks to
God, we have repaired our house."
"Firas, said Ali, "if bombings start again near your house,
please go someplace else!"
"Yes," said Ghulamai.
"Come to Afghanistan!"
Firas explained that he has no permission to leave Gaza and that he often
feels trapped.
Abdulai then asked for the phone. "I understand," he said. "My family ran from
the Taliban. My father was captured and
killed by the Taliban."
This seemed to touch something in Firas, prompting him to
revisit another memory. "OK, guys," he said, "I will tell you more of my
story." During a bombing, he and his
friends decided it was time to leave their homes, but one of Firas's closest
friends, someone he had grown up with, realized he had left behind something he
needed and decided to run back and retrieve it. A bomb exploded. They were all
running to rescue survivors and get people to the hospitals. Firas's friend had disappeared. "Didn't you
see him?" his loved ones later asked Firas. "Wasn't he with you?!"
Firas could only reply that they couldn't find him. To this day, nobody has any information about
him.
"Many people face this kind of uncertainty," said Firas.
Zekerullah then recalled a terrible time in his young life
when people being attacked in his village tried to hide in drainage ditches or
in potato storage bins.
Ghulamai told Firas that he has an uncle who disappeared and
was never found. The uncle went missing
ten years ago, after a bombing. "Did the
uncle live, or was he put in prison?" Ghulamai asked, repeating the question
his loved ones still ask. "To this day," he said, "my family and I feel the
pain."
Zekerullah spoke up about the day his uncle was shot -his
body was filled with bullets. "It was a terrible situation, like what you have
just described."
Then Ali nodded his head, indicating he wanted to take the
phone. "Please remain strong and brave," he said. "We will endure this
together, with you. If it's beyond
enduring, please call us. Life will
pass, but if it's beyond enduring," he repeated, "you must call us."
"Yes," said Ghulamai. "We share your pain. You are not alone. Please don't give up."
"Please take care of yourself," said Zekerullah, closing the
call.
Two
day later, Cindy and Craig Corrie were in an Israeli court for a hearing
related to the death of their daughter. Rachel was killed in March, 2003. An
internal Israeli military investigation concluded that no charges should be
brought and the case was closed. Earlier this year, the Corrie family had filed
a civil suit charging the state of Israel with responsibility for
Rachel's death. It's expected that the case will be concluded sometime later
this year.
The
October 20th, 2010 hearing entailed four hours of testimony from the
former soldier who drove the bulldozer that knocked Rachel down and then killed
her.
Following
the hearing, Cindy Corrie said she was relieved to get this difficult day
behind her. She had brought her
daughter's writings with her into the courtroom. "I wanted to keep
Rachel's humility and compassion for everyone in my heart today," she said, "but
it was very hard as I did not hear one word of remorse from this witness today.
That saddens me."
It's
agonizing to slow down, stop and experience the shared pain of war. The Afghan
Youth Peace Volunteers have spoken, several times, with Rachel Corrie's
parents. They believe it's crucial to
express what is called, in their Dari language, "hamdard," meaning "shared
pain."
They
understand Firas's isolation, but in spite of living in remote places under
circumstances that are poorly understood, if at all, by the occupiers and
invaders of their lands, they still feel deepest confidence in the values of
empathy and compassion. To those who are
caught in war's cruel clutch, they extend a simple truth: you're not alone.
Kathy
Kelly (kathy@vcnv.org) is traveling in Afghanistan
with David Smith-Ferri and Jerica Arents.
All three are co-coordinators of Voices for Creative Nonviolence (www.vcnv.org).