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Death Of A Father

By Helen Williams

08 July 2004
Electronic Iraq


Baghdad 25 June 2004 -- Bad things happen in Iraq all the time. The tragic events that happen as a daily occurance, although deeply upsetting and horrible, happen to people that are 'anonymous' to me. This is not a report, like I usually make, but it is the story of the heinous murder of a beloved father by American soldiers occupying this country — the father of a friend, Shafaq — which makes it all the harder to bear. Shafaq has been so brave telling me what happened to her father, although it was clearly difficult for her to do so. Please take the time to read the following account in memory of my friend's father.

When Kevin and I travelled to Iraq as Human Shields on the Red Buses in February 2003, there was an Iraqi lady who lived in Norway, who was also travelling with us as a Human Shield. Her name was Nama'a, and although she had left Iraq because of Saddam Hussein, she still knew that the impending war would be wrong, and felt strong enough about this to return to her homeland at great risk to her personal safety. During the journey to Iraq and our time spent here as Shields, we became firm friends with Nama'a and when we returned to the country in November 2003 we were overjoyed to find Nama'a here visiting her family. We met her lovely family and were lucky enough to be invited to the wedding of her neice, Ishraq, 29, which took place on 27 November 2003.

I first met Shafaq, sister of the bride, at the Hennah (the party for the female members of the bride and groom's families), the night before the wedding. I also met Shafaq's and Ishraq's other 4 sisters —Nawr, 27, Shahad, 18, Mays, 14, and Hala, just 10 years old. All 6 sisters were beautiful girls — friendly, welcoming and outgoing. I remember how some had them had made their own dresses for the Hennah and wedding — fantastic creations and far better than any clothes anyone could buy in a shop anywhere.

It is Shafaq who I have kept in touch with and who has told me about the murder of her father at the hands of hateful American soldiers.

Shafaq Ahssan, 25, lives in Adhimaya, Bagdad with her sisters and mother. She is a pretty woman — confident, bubbly, chatty, kind hearted and intelligent with excellent English. she is studying computer science in University and is in the second year of a four year course — she will move on to the third year in September, if she passes her exams, recently taken.

Her father was Ahssan Abdul Azziz, 49 years old. He was divorced from her mother, but the sisters regularly saw their father who they loved — he lived near them in Adhimaya. Shafaq was particulary close to her father, calling him 'not just a father, but a friend'. She used to see him all the time and talk to him about everything. She described a sort of telepathy between them — even if she was not with her dad, they knew what each other was doing and he always knew if she was unwell, even if she had not told him so. She said that she had so many fond memories of him, saying that when she was sick, he would just hug her and she would feel well again. She talked movingly of her father saying how gentle and intelligent he was — a friend to all, especially to his daughters and his neighbours — he was a very special man. His death had clearly left this strong woman sad and destroyed in her heart — she loved him so much.

Then she told me how her father loved to write things, like poetry and he was good at it. He used to draw beautiful things and he was a good cook, creating delicious food. He was also like a professional at car repairs and was even skilful at sewing clothes.

Before the war he had been an import merchant, but after the war he had no job — things became so hard for him. Just 2 weeks before he was killed he had found a new job as a customs official. He was looking forward to starting this new job so much, beginning a new life, perhaps with his daughters going back to him — he had been full of hope.

Shafaq told me how her father's life had been full of suffering. He had been a soldier in the Iraqi Army, though not through choice — men in Iraq do not have the right to choose not to fight. He had been in the Army all through the Iran/Iraq War and had been injured twice, once in the leg. During the Iran/Iraq War he had seen all of his closest friends die in front of his eyes. Then during the Gulf War, he had witnessed the deaths of yet more of his friends. He did not fight in the last 'war'(I mean the illegal invasion and slaughter of this country) in March 2003 — he was too old to fight.

Even during the occupation Ahssan Abdul Azziz suffered. One day, while walking along a street in Adhimaya, with some of Shafaq's cousins, he was stopped by American troops. They accused him of being a Ba'athist and of being in the Resistance. They arrested him and took him to the notorious Abu Gharib Prison, 20 kilometres from Bagdad and scene of the gross violations of human rights and torture by American soldiers on the Iraqi detainees. He was held there for 5 months and, during his 'disappearance', his family, beside themselves with worry and anxiety, asked about him and searched for him.

After 3 to 4 months he managed to get a message out of the prison with a friend, saying that he was in Abu Gharib Prison and could someone help to get him out. Even though the family knew where he was then, they were still not allowed to visit him. After 5 months the Americans released him with no charge — he had done nothing wrong, he was innocent. Shafaq said that she did not know whether or not her father had been abused or mistreated in the prison. She said he came out a quiet man — he said nothing about his capture or his time in detention — he was hurting inside and could not talk.

During the evening of Thursday 10 June 2004, Asshan Abdul Azziz experienced chest pains and, worrying about his heart, he set off for the hospital in Medical City for tests at midnight. He was accompanied by 2 of Shafaq's cousins: Mohanned, 22 years of age, a Biology student in his 3rd year and studying at the same University as Shafaq — he was driving the car with Shafaq's father in the passenger seat next to him; and 16 year old Shawqy, still in high school — he was sitting in the back seat of the car. On the way to the hospital they passed the old Iraqi Army Officers' Club on Al Magreb Street — this is right next to the drama college theatre where Yahya took us in March, which I have mentioned in a previous report. On the way, Shafaq's father was telling stories of happy and sad memories with Shafaq's mother. Right by the old Officers' Club was a spot where he used to go and sit with his wife and children and this is where he was murdered on this night.

Two soldiers, possibly drunk or on drugs, shouted and indicated to the car to stop on the side of the road. Mohanned did as he was told. The soldiers pointed rifles at the car and left them sitting there for half an hour. Mohanned took his shirt off and waved it out of the window like a white flag. He shouted out of the car window "Don't shoot, we need to go, we want to speak to you".

Shafaq's father spoke English well so he tried to open the car door to ask if they could continue to the hospital. This is when the American soldiers opened fire and started shooting at them. Ahssan (Shafaq's father) pushed Mohanned down and then tried to turn himself around in the car to push Shawqy, his young nephew, down as well, so he would not get hit by a bullet or get hurt. At the exact moment that he tried to push Shawqy down, Ahssan was hit in the neck by a bullet. The bullet entered by the voice box and travelled through the neck to the side of the neck. Another bullet hit him in the chest. Mohanned shouted "Stop shooting, don't shoot, we don't have any weapons, you're hurting my uncle, please help us, show some mercy". The shooting continued for 10 — 15 minutes — there are 2 bullet holes on the car door on the driver's side — one above and one to the side of Mohanned. There are also many other bullet holes in the car.


Mohanned's cries for help and mercy were futile to these murderers. The soldiers pulled them roughly out of the car, including the injured father, now bleeding to death and in urgent need of life saving medical attention. They dropped Ahssan, Mohanned and Shawqy to the ground and beat them with their hands and the backs of their guns and stamped on their heads. Then the soldiers searched them and the car — all the while Ahssan lay there bleeding — this continued for a full 2 hours. The soldiers then shot at another passing car, which, thankfully, managed to speed off. During the 2 hours lying in the road, Mohanned managed to get to Ahssan and wrap his shirt around his uncle's neck in an attempt to stop the bleeding. Someone called an ambulance — Mohanned doesn't know if it was neighbours or a passing car. When the ambulance arrived, the paramedics rushed to Ahssan to treat him and take him to the ambulance. The soldiers then shot at the ambulance in an attempt to make it impossible to drive the victims to hospital. They even shot at the police car accompanying and guarding the ambulance.

Half an hour after the father and cousins were able to leave for the hospital, the same soldiers shot and killed 2 more people in another car. It is well known here that many American soldiers brag about how many Iraqiis they have killed and will kill — often making bets on innocent people's lives.

So the Ambulance managed to get Ahssan to hospital. In the hospital, like in all hospitals here, the hospital staff were frightened to treat him as he was a victim of the American troops. They did treat him, but not that well — just First Aid in the emergency room, basic life saving treatment. This was in Al Karkh Hospital. Ahssan had been in the road for 2 hours and in the ambulance for 15 minutes travelling to the hospital. His blood was everywhere — on the road, in the ambulance, in the hospital —everywhere. After a few hours, he was transferred to another hosptial — a specialist hospital for this sort of wound in Medical City, Bagdad.

Mohanned and another cousin came to Shafaq's house early the next morning to inform the family of the horrific events during the night. The family left immediately for the hospital. Shafaq told me how the treatment was so bad in the hospital — the wards are dirty, they do not have the correct equipment and the staff are terrified to treat anyone wounded by coalition forces. The doctors were careless and not good in their treatment of the father and arrogant in their attitudes and would not answer the family's questions The doctors would not even say if Ahssan had a chance of life or not, but Shafaq said that when she saw her father, she just knew that he was not going to live.

Ahssan spent 4 long days in a coma. During this time, there was always someone from the family in the hospital with him. Shafaq told me how she held his hand all the time and talked to him constantly — hoping that he would hear his beloved daughter's voice and wake up. He tried to squeeze her hand even though he was in a coma. She said that when she held his hand she felt that he was trying to say something to her. When she released his hand she saw tears in his eyes — he was trying to say something, but couldn't.

Ahssan died at 5 am on 14 June 2004. Shafaq was just leaving the hospital after a hard night when he passed away.

Shafaq said she feels so sad and so angry — 'They destroyed his hope, destroyed him, they killed him. I feel so hurt, so broken inside. When the whole world gets hard you need someone to turn to — now I feel I have no one to turn to".

The funeral took place over 7 days. Shafaq's last exam had been on 10 June, the day of the shooting in the night, so she had (luckily!) finished her exams. But 3 of her sisters still had exams to do including her younger sister, Mays, 14, who still had 2 to do. This brave young lady still tried to do them even though it was so hard for her to do so. This meant she had to leave the funeral on 2 of the days and it meant that she had no chance to study for these last 2 exams.

Because of this tragic event Shafaq has lost her job. She was a hard worker as a researcher on the internet, looking for contracts. The problem is that there is so much work to be done that the employers need the workers there all of the time, with no days off. They need her work and they need her reports daily. So they had to let her go and employ someone else to do her work — they could not be down one member of staff for one day and Shafaq could not work for 2 weeks. When I suggested that she needed a break, some time to mourn and come to terms with what happened she agreed, but said how she badly needed another job as she is a student.

Shafaq's aunt is trying to make a complaint and claim compensation, which will prove extremely difficult, if not impossible. Shafaq does not want money, saying that money cannot bring her father back. she just wants justice. This will also be impossible — they do not know who the soldiers are and they dare not make inquiries for fear of arrest and detention.

Two days later, Shafaq took us to the home of her aunt and her cousins, Mohanned and Shawqy. We met these 2 young men and I felt so sad for them, so upset about what they had been through as I shook their hands. The car they had been in on this dreadful night was parked outside and I was invited to take photographs of it. It was the first time Shafaq had seen her father's car since his death and she became so upset. There were bullet holes all over — in the bonnet, in the radiator, in the doors, in the door frames — and one in the windscreen. This was the hole from the bullet which had entered Ahssan's neck and killed him. It was a horrilbe sight. Even though her aunt had washed the car thoroughly, we could still see small spots of blood in the door frame and the seats of the car were still badly stained — I will be emailing the photographs home,of the car, as well as a family photograph of Ahssan — a loving father and tragically another unmentioned victim of this carnage.

Imagine this happening to you. You live through wars, Saddam's regime, sanctions and the last war and you loose your dear father in this terrible way. A father who also suffered through his whole life, but who was still brave enough to have hope in his heart for the future. Imagine — how do you carry on after all this. This is the suffering of the Iraqi people and it goes on and on and on.


Helen Williams is currently based in Kerrada, Bagdad, and lives in Newport, South Wales.