Blog from a Witness to War, in Iraq

Readers:

I am reprinting this letter sent to me and others by one of the finest people I know, a woman who has put her life on the line to be a witness to the US war in Iraq. I have known Cathy Breen since she was a Maryknoll lay missionary here in Cochabamba in the early 1990s. On her return to the US, Cathy took up residence in the Catholic Worker house in Greenwich Village, working with the poor of New York and becoming a tireless campaigner against the US sanctions in Iraq, and later the war. In the months leading up to the war Cathy moved to Baghdad to bear witness and has returned several times since with Voices in the Wilderness and Christian Peacemaker Teams. It was CPT peace activist, Tom Fox, who was taken hostage and killed in Iraq this month. Tom was a friend of Cathy's.

We can no longer let this war in Iraq sit on the periphery of our vision as an annoyance in a far off land. We cannot sit idly as the New York Times reported today, The administration could take heart this weekend from the relatively small anti-war protests around the country, compared with protests held on previous anniversaries of the invasion.

Here is Cathy's letter and we'll publish more of her accounts as she returns to bear witness to the US war In Iraq.

Jim

Friday, March 17, 2006
Amman, Jordan

Dear Friends,

Fortunately, I sighed, the last stop on the bus from the airport is MY stop. At least I can't get lost.

Weary but grateful after the 11 hour flight from JFK, my mind wandered as the bus headed into the city, about a 45 minute ride. It was dark outside as the radio sounded inside. Once again I felt that I too was "in the dark," unable to make out the words in Arabic, clumsy and fumbling with the money I'd changed into Jordanian dinars. Just one year ago I'd spent six weeks in this city and yet so much seemed unfamiliar and different. If only I had the language, I grumbled inwardly.

Now two days have passed, and I sit with a hot cup of tea to counter the cold. And I think how much has changed in the span of one year. Can it be that just a week ago Joanne and Matt D. came to my room late at night to break the news to me that Tom Fox's body had been found in Baghdad? Can it be that only a year ago I was with Tom here in Amman, and we shared something of our life stories over dinner? Both of us from an "older" vintage, Tom was struggling with the language as well.

Although I'd caught parts of Tom's statement of conviction from March of 2005 that was broadcast on WBAI radio last week, yesterday I was able to read it through reflectfully with no interruptions. Again I was deeply moved. He writes "During the previous year they [Iraqi friends and human rights workers] asked us to tell their stories, since they could not easily be heard, nor could most flee to a safer country. We continue to act as a resource to connect citizens of Iraq with human rights organizations both local and international, as well as accompany them as they interact with multinational military personnel and Iraqi provisional officials.

As a peacemaking team the need to cross boundaries, help soldiers and other armed actors be humane, and invite them to refuse unjust orders. We need to help preserve what is human in all of us and so offer glimpses of hope in a dark time."

Yes, Tom, to cross boundaries and to touch the human in one another is what it is all about wherever we find ourselves. To bring out the good in one another by trying to be good ourselves. I can hear Peter Maurin in those words.

Every Friday a large open-air market is held in part of the bus lot across from the little hotel where I am staying. This morning I headed off in search of something warm among the piles of used clothing and to buy something fresh like cucumbers, tomatoes and carrots. Thanks to one of the wonderful mainstays of the hotel, a young jovial man named Jamiil, we were able to unearth in the storage room a plastic bag that I had left there (for subsequent CPT and Voices folk) containing items like an electric metal pot for boiling water, a mug and dishtowel and paring knife.

One of the ways I cope with stress is to try and "set up house" wherever I am. I find comfort and solace in preparing food or washing clothes by hand. Maybe it is the normalcy that such things represent. For the first time in my life I carry a cell phone on my person or within hands' reach. It is making me crazy trying to learn how to use it! But, it is what connects me with the CPT team in Iraq and in North America. But it is also a constant reminder of the gravity of the situation we are facing. During a sleepless night last night, how often I thought of Harmeet, Jim and Normal, and of the team in Baghdad, and offered up a prayer, a groan, a psalm, or just listened to the silence. How are they faring? I wondered as I lay under clean sheets and blankets.

This morning when I arose the sun was shining brightly and everything looked different, better somehow at sunrise. The long night and the fears were behind us, at least for a time. And I read the words of Rainer Marie Rilke:

God speaks to each of us as God makes us,
then walks with us silently out of the night.
These are the words we dimly hear:

"You, sent out beyond your recall,
go to the limits of your longing.
Embody Me.
Flare up like flame
and make big shadows I can move in.
Let everything happen to you; beauty and terror.
Just keep going. No feeling is final.
Don't let yourself lose Me.
Nearby is the country they call life.
You will know it by its seriousness.
Give Me your hand."

When I read this I shudder and rejoice at the same time, and I ask myself if I can bear the seriousness. Then I reach for a cup of tea.

Much love,

Cathy

Written by Cathy Breen