Face To Face
With Injustice
By Dahr Jamail
25 May, 2004
The
New Standard
Decades
of smiles have left crinkles on his face that belie the sadness deep
within his eyes. His hope and love for America has turned to a despair
he is unable to express.
I want to
talk to an American general or judge, says Nihad Munir. I
will give them my guarantee that my son is innocent. I will tell them
that if he is not, then they can take me.
His son, Ayad Nihad
Ahmed Munir, was detained from their home during another of the middle
of the night home raids the U.S. military is so fond of conducting in
occupied Iraq. That was on September 28, 2003. Ayad remains in Abu Ghraib
today, and his father has not been allowed to visit him, despite trying
everything he can think of to do so.
Of course, as usual,
Ayad, married with three children, wasnt charged with anything.
Mr. Munir carries
a small brown satchel, which holds copies of paperwork ... the fruits
months worth of his futile attempts to break down the untouchable barrier
that bars him from seeing his son.
Here is a verbatim
transcription of his written account of what occurred:
On late night
27/28 September 2003 My own house/sons house has been attacked in a
very bad and severe unrespectful manner by the American Military Occupation
Forces regardless to our Islamic and Iraqi Holy Family Traditional safety
and security manners. Claiming they received information about strangers
hidden in this living area who are in touch with the recent explosives
accidents occurs near the main Highway connecting Abu Kharib Amiriaa/Shouala
close to hour house. They put us outside our main gate entrance (I and
my sick wife of over 70 years, my son Ayads wife and three children,
in deep sleep took them out of bed). Our two houses were both thoroughly
and too repeatedly inspected for 3.5 hours. Finally they took away along
with them my son without explaining the main accusation or charge. This
incident resulted to: Losing cash money (son owns $1500 US), three women
and mens handwatches. My sons ID Card, his own passport, N. 459835
issued 3/5/2001 valid until 2/5/2005, and food stuff form NO. 863553.
Mr. Munir has visited
America. His dream is to return there again someday. Im
a 65 year-old man, do you think Im too much a dreamer? he
says with a hopeful smile.
I tell him, Of
course not
where are we without our dreams?
Im trying
not to cry as I tell him this
because in Iraq, for Iraqis today,
for Mr. Munir, this is all he has right now.
I had a brother
in Michigan who I so wanted to visit in the 70s ... but he died,
he continues while pulling out a copy of his sons passport to
show me a handsome photo of the detainee. I visited America, I
know Americans are very friendly people.
His soft, kind voice
hides his anguish. While distraught with the actions and behavior of
the U.S. military in his country, he still separates this from the populace
of the country which produced it.
Smiling gently,
he adds: See my hope? I still want to go to America.
But the brief interlude
of dreams dissipates as the reality at hand sets back in. He shows me
a form hed filled out from the Islamic Party -- another document
so far proven useless for obtaining contact with his son.
Then there is the
letter signed by tribal sheikhs that he wrote last January, when the
CPA was granting the release of some prisoners if their tribes swore
to be responsible for any crimes the freed detainees may commit. Another
useless document.
Mr. Munirs
despair returns: We are lost! Our Iraqi lawyers are useless, because
to the American military here, everything is about U.S. security.
With gracious thanks
he shakes my hand for making the time to visit with him. I am
so grateful for you for talking with me about my son, his other
hand is placed upon mine which he continues pumping. Anything
you can do will be most helpful for us.
And now Im
in that position I dread again, as I explain to him that I am only a
journalist; that although I will write about his story, I dont
know what else I can do to help his son.
Iraqis arent
the only ones who are powerless in their country today. I hate this
feeling ... having someone hold hope in my writing ... that it might
actually change something for them. I never know what to do with this
feeling.
The talk with Mr.
Munir softens the anger Ive felt so often towards the injustice
which is slammed in my face every day here. The gentleness of his soul,
despite his critical time, as he calls it, touches the deep
sadness that lies beneath the false exterior of anger that usually covers
it.
The rest of the
evening I am sad. I think of how beneath the fury of the fighting of
Fallujah in April, lies a bottomless ocean of sadness here. Under the
bloodshed and fighting that rages in the South even now, there is unfathomable
grief.
Driving back home
with Abu Talat I phone my parents and tell them I love them. We laugh
some, they speak with Abut Talat in parental solidarity, and we laugh
a little more.
I hang up the phone
and stare at the silhouettes of palm trees, the stars, the sliver of
moon, and breathe deep so as not to cry ... because of Mr. Munir.
Do you think
Im too much a dreamer?
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Dahr Jamail is Baghdad
correspondent for The NewStandard. He is an Alaskan devoted to covering
the untold stories from occupied Iraq. You can help Dahr continue his
crucial work in Iraq by making donations. For more information or to
donate to Dahr, visit The NewStandard.
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