April 22-28, 2004

slant

From Philly to Baghdad

Suffering is suffering is suffering.

by Ahlam Yassin

War zone. Did the word Iraq come to mind? My intention was to paint a picture of the inner streets of the United States of America. On a beautiful Saturday afternoon, hundreds of Philadelphians came out to March to Save the Children. Bereaved mothers and young children bearing T-shirts with pictures of kids their age who are dead because of street violence, along with young adults and elders, made a quilt that fluttered through the West Philadelphia neighborhood, and the message was clear: no more. No more violence. No more guns. No more drugs. No more death. No more sorrow. It was no longer satisfactory to question how many more lives had to be lost before all of this violence stops. It was now time to stand up. Voices that were before too timid to react have been forced to take a stand. Out of rage the voice is heard, and through hope it is sustained.

There was a woman who had just lost her son to gun violence two weeks before his 18th birthday. She was standing with the help of two people, one on each side of her. She could barely speak as she sobbed, gripped by her sorrow. I could not help but stare, and at that moment images began to flash in my mind of the headlines that blared from my computer screen, my TV, and the sounds from the radio, all drenched in the violence, blood and death of the past few days. I could not help but wonder if this was how a mother in Iraq grieves for her child, or how the mother who learns of the death of her baby soldier cries. Was this how a Palestinian mother grieves when she loses her child to brutal forces of oppression; or how an Israeli mother mourns when her child does not return to her? How the forces of rage and anguish must grip these women when with so much love and energy they created these beings, beings they will no longer see or hear. Those tears this woman shed today are universal. They know no race, color or religion, but they fell in the universal language of sorrow.

Driving home, I took it all in. Gutted houses, streets so dim they did not welcome the sunshine. Little kids were running around on the sidewalks littered with garbage. Garbage that flew out of the hand of someone who did not think twice about it, someone who unthinkingly contributed to a future set up upon garbage and shattered glass. Watching the effects of this foundation is excruciating. It is the most devastating experience to watch as dreams shrink with age, and the innocence that is so precious to children fades as they encounter their reality on a daily basis. Their dreams and their innocence have been stolen. Playgrounds built upon shattered glass are what we are handing our children, and in turn we are receiving the fruits of shattered dreams. Slowly the sparkle from young eyes turns into a look of numbness, as if, like the rest of the neighborhood, to reject sunlight.

We are yet to be free, and our journey toward freedom is overwhelming. Our war on terror must be waged within. The terrorists are right here in our neighborhoods, walking our streets, among us. They take the face of poverty, racism, classism, sexism and they attack every day -- how many more warnings must we heed before disaster strikes? The dangers are not lurking in the far off, ancient lands of Mesopotamia but confront us boldly and mock at our attempts to hide from them.

And so the story goes, from the inner streets of Philadelphia to the West Bank to Baghdad, the mourning continues. Tears that see no nationality or religion continue to shed. Dreams shatter and do not ask the color of skin. While the breath of life is so easily snatched, children across the world grace us with their beautiful smiles and all too soon are called away to their places as angels in heaven. All too often one more smile disappears, one more mother cries, and it is one more life that could have been. I stand with the thousands today and say, no more.

Ahlam Yassin is an Americorps/Arab-American Resource Corps volunteer. If you would like to respond to this Slant or have one of your own (800 words), contact Howard Altman, City Paper editor in chief, 123 Chestnut St., third floor, Phila., PA 19106 or e-mail altman@citypaper.net.