2002-11-13|9:24 p.m.
�Think occasionally of the suffering, of which you spare yourself the sight.��George Bernard Shaw
At my school�s library there is an art display worth seeing. They are drawings and paintings by young children. But, what is extraordinary about these masterpieces is that they are from the small hands of children in countries crippled with war.
I cannot look at them without crying. Luckily, no one is ever around when I am in the hall where they hang.
Some depict things they long for again: serenity. Trees, houses, and people drawn in rows, who I imagine are family, are a common theme. The colors are hopeful.
Some have recreated their nightmares. Red has a way of etching its self into your very being. Things no one should ever see, especially children, are on that wall. I feel for a moment that I have lost hope.
Recently, ICQ redeemed itself. A boy, about my age, from Egypt finally got a hold of me after IMing me for weeks while I was offline.
It started out as the typical unfamiliar boy IMs girl scenario. His profile says, �I look to talk to beautiful American girl.� His first actual request was for a picture. The next, if I had a boyfriend. The last, before leaving me in silence, was if I loved my boyfriend.
Yeah, I said all the things he didn't want to hear. He just stopped talking to me after awhile.
Then, I got all determined for a moment. I was going to talk to this boy and have a real conversation!
I sat for about five minutes thinking of how to say the thing that I really wanted to ask. He had broken English, so I had to make it clear. I also thought about how to make it polite.
Then, I just came out with it, �Do Arabs dislike Americans?�
Screw all the pundits that after September 11th pretend they know the answer to that. They rubbed their chins and paused thoughtfully enough to make us sick. Half of them made America afraid of bearded, turban-wearing, brown men and the mass of Arabs at whole. The other half of them fooled us into thinking that the Arab world was singing �Cumbaya� and holding hands, while only the dark-lurking Taliban held grudges against us.
I decided I wanted the truth from a boy whose country came a man who now awaits his death for participation in the destruction of some 2,000+ innocent people.
Arabs don�t like us. That was his honest and simple answer.
I think I was shocked when I read it. I mean, after all that I have read on our responsibility for their desperation, I still was shattered. A people don�t like me because I was Made in the USA.
We talked for another hour or so. He asked me why America wanted to go to war with Iraq. I told him that I personally feared the approaching war, but that the public wanted to off Saddam. I told him, that even though I didn�t want war, it was hard to argue with the fear that he was a dangerous man.
He agreed. He even paused and thought about it awhile. Then, he told me that the people of Iraq were not evil. He offered instead, why not go to war with Israel. They are expoliting the Palestinians. I understood his frustration. Most Americans don't know that Israel is a country of state-run terrorism. They destroy the homes of the innocent, kill women and children, steal land they promised to the Palestinians through numerous documents, deny them the right to vote, refuse them access to health care, and pay them lower wages. Our champion argument for our continued support of Israel? THEY ARE A DEMOCRACY. Yeah, I wouldn�t define the acts above as very democratic either.
I apologized for my country's demand for UN sanctions that kill 5,000 Iraqi children every month.
The Egyptian boy asked me in return, do Americans like Arabs?
I told him that there was a mix. Arabs lived among all the other races here. Some people, I was sorry to admit, lived in fear of Arabs, maybe even a large amount.
He asked me why. I told him that they simply didn't know them. And that the fear created within them a hate and ultimately enough emotion to support Bush and his war.
I think the boy was facing my earlier shock. People disliked his people. He asked why again.
I told him that it was hard to get over what happened on September 11th.
He apologized for our loss. When I read his apology, I felt misplaced. Would his people continue to apologize for this forever? Would we ever apologize for their loss?
He asked me throughout our conversation if I really was an American. He was shocked that I knew anything about the Middle East. I told him it was part of my studies at school.
He told me that I had to convince people around me that we shouldn�t go to war with Iraq. I asked him why he cared so much. He said something to the effect of, �I am Egyptian, but I am also Arab. I don�t want my people to die.�
Will we go to war with Iraq? Will a lot of people die?
I promised I would try. I promised to spread truth and compassion. I promised. But, I had to be honest with him. I was only a poor, young girl. My audience is pretty small (in diaryland it is less than twenty).
As I was about to tell him the same�that he too must pass on the assurance to other Arabs that Americans were not bad people, a box appeared on my screen. ICQ had an error and I was being bumped out. A minute later my whole internet service went down. It didn�t come back up until the next morning. No sign of my Egyptian boy. Also, no sign of my conversation. It was lost in the devoid.
I was straightening the wall of hair dye close to the front door of the store. There sits a newspaper stand with papers with the headline, �Unanimous Support of Iraqi Inspections Document.� An old man reads this to his wife. She asks what it means and he tells her, �We�ll soon go to war with Iraq.�
�About time,� she replies.
I feel ill. �About time� for what? About time we kill a bunch of people? I don�t even know what to do.
How do I make peace?