>http://assyrianchristians.com/i_was_wrong_mar_26_03.htm
>
>I Was Wrong! By <http://assyrianchristians.com/about_ken_joseph.htm>Ken
>Joseph, Jr. , Amman, Jordan
>
>How do you admit you were wrong? What do you do when you realize those you
>were defending in fact did not want your defense and wanted something
>completely different from you and from the world? This is my story. It will
>probably upset everybody - those with whom I have fought for peace all my
>life and those for whom the decision for war comes a bit too fast.
>
>I am an Assyrian. I was born and raised in Japan where I am the second
>generation in ministry after my Father came to Japan in answer to General
>Douglas MacArthur's call for 10,000 young people to help rebuild Japan
>following the war. As a minister and due to my personal convictions I have
>always been against war for any and all reasons. It was precisely this
>moral conviction that led me to do all I could to stop the current war in
>Iraq.
>
> From participating in demonstrations against the war in Japan to strongly
>opposing it on my radio program, on television and in regular columns I did
>my best to stand against what I thought to be an unjust war against an
>innocent people - in fact my people.
The kindness of the border guards when they learned I was Assyrian, the
taxi, the people on the street it was like being back `home` after a long
absence. The first order of business was to attend Church. It was here
where my
morals were raked over the coals and I was first forced to examine them in
the harsh light of reality. Following a beautiful `Peace` to welcome the
Peace Activists in which even the children participated we moved to the
next room to have a simple meal. Sitting next to me was an older man who
carefully began to sound me out. Apparently feeling the freedom to talk in
the midst of the mingling crowd he suddenly turned to me and said `There is
something you should know.` `What` I asked surprised at the sudden comment.
`We didn't want to be here tonight`. he continued. `When the Priest asked
us to gather for a Peace Service we said we didn't want to come`. He said.
`What do you mean` I inquired, confused. `We didn't want to come because we
don't want peace` he replied. `What in the world do you mean?` I asked.
`How could you not want peace?` `We don't want peace. We want the war to
come` he continued.
What in the world are you talking about? I blurted back. That was the
beginning of a strange odyssey that deeply shattered my convictions and
moral base but at the same time gave me hope for my people and, in fact,
hope for the world. Beginning that night and continuing on in the private
homes of relatives with whom I stayed little by little the scales began to
come off my eyes.
I had not realized it but began to realize that all foreigners in Iraq are
subject to 24 hour surveillance by government `minders` who arrange all
interviews, visits and contact with ordinary Iraqis. Through some fluke
either by my invitation as a religious person and or my family connection I
was not subject to any government `minders` at any time throughout my stay
in Iraq. As far as I can tell I was the only person including the media,
Human Shields and others in Iraq without a Government `minder` there to guard.
What emerged was something so awful that it is difficult even now to write
about it. Discussing with the head of our tribe what I should do as I
wanted to stay in Baghdad with our people during their time of trial I was
told that I could most help the Assyrian cause by going out and telling the
story to the outside world. Simply put, those living in Iraq, the common,
regular people are in a living nightmare. From the terror that would come
across the faces of my family at a unknown visitor, telephone call, knock
at the door I began to realize the horror they lived with every day.
Over and over I questioned them `Why could you want war? Why could any
human being desire war?` They're answer was quiet and measured. `Look at
our lives!`We are living like animals. No food, no car, no telephone, no
job and most of all no hope.` I would marvel as my family went around their
daily routine as normal as could be. Baghdad was completely serene without
even a hint of war. Father would get up, have his breakfast and go off to
work. The children to school, the old people - ten in the household to
their daily chores. `You can not imagine what it is to live with war for
20, 30 years. We have to keep up our routine or we would lose our minds`
Then I began to see around me those seemingly in every household who had
lost their minds. It seemed in every household there was one or more people
who in any other society would be in a Mental Hospital and the ever present
picture of a family member killed in one of the many wars.
Having been born and raised in Japan where in spite of 50 years of
democracy still retains vestiges of the 400 year old police state I quickly
began to catch the subtle nuances of a full blown, modern police state. I
wept with family members as I shared their pain and with great difficulty
and deep soul searching began little by little to understand their desire
for war to finally rid them of the nightmare they were living in. The
terrible price paid in simple, down to earth ways - the family member with
a son who just screams all the time, the family member who lost his wife
who left unable to cope anymore, the family member going to a daily job
with nothing to do, the family member with a son lost to the war, a husband
lost to alcoholism the daily, difficult to perceive slow death of people
for whom all hope is lost.
`Life is hell. We have no hope. But everything will be ok once the war is
over.` The bizarre desire for a war that would rid them of the hopelessness
was at best hard to understand. `Look at it this way. No matter how bad it
is we will not all die. We have hoped for some other way but nothing has
worked. 12 years ago it went almost all the way but failed. We cannot wait
anymore. We want the war and we want it now` Coming back to family members
and telling them of progress in the talks at the United Nations on working
some sort of compromise with Iraq I was welcomed not with joy but anger.
`No, there is no other way! We want the war! It is the only way he will get
out of our lives`
Once again going back to my Japanese roots I began to understand. The
stories I had heard from older Japanese of how in a strange way they had
welcomed the sight of the bombers in the skies over Japan. Of course nobody
wanted to be bombed but the first sight of the American B29 Bombers
signaled to them that the war was coming to an end. An end was in sight.
There would be terrible destruction. They might very well die but finally
in a tragic way there was finally hope.
Then I began to feel so terrible. Here I had been demonstrating against the
war thinking I had been doing it for the very people I was here now with
and yet I had not ever bothered to ask them what they wanted. What they
wanted me to do. It was clear now what I should do. I began to talk to the
so called `human shields`. Have you asked the people here what they want?
Have you talked to regular people, away from your `minder` and asked them
what they want? I was shocked at the response. `We don't need to do that.
We know what they want.` was the usual reply before a minder stepped up to
check who I was.
With tears streaming down my face in my bed in a tiny house in Baghdad
crowded in with 10 other of my own flesh and blood, all exhausted after
another day of not living but existing without hope, exhausted in daily
struggle simply to not die I had to say to myself `I was wrong`.
How dare I claim to speak for those for whom I had never asked what they
wanted!
Then I began a strange journey to do all I could while I could still remain
to as asked by our tribe let the world know of the true situation in Iraq.
Carefully and with great risk, not just for me but most of all for those
who told their story and opened up their homes for the camera I did my best
to tape their plight as honestly and simply as I could. Whether I could get
that precious tape out of the country was a different story.
Wanting to make sure I was not simply getting the feelings of a long
oppressed minority - the Assyrians - I spoke to dozens of people. What I
was not prepared for was the sheer terror they felt at speaking out. Over
and over again I would be told `We would be killed for speaking like this`
and finding out that they would only speak in a private home or where they
were absolutely sure through the introduction of another Iraqi that I was
not being attended by a minder. From a former member of the Army to a
person working with the police to taxi drivers to store owners to mothers
to government officials without exception when allowed to speak freely the
message was the same - `Please bring on the war. We are ready. We have
suffered long enough. We may lose our lives but some of us will survive and
for our children's sake please,, please end our misery.
On the final day for the first time I saw the signs of war. For the first
time sandbags began appearing at various government buildings but the
solders putting them up and then later standing within the small circle
they created gave a clear message they could not dare speak. They hated it.
They despised it. It was their job and they made clear in the way they
worked to the common people watching that they were on their side and would
not fight. Near the end of my time a family member brought the word that
guns had just been provided to the members of the Baath Party and for the
first time we saw the small but growing signs of war.
But what of their feelings towards the United States and Britain? Those
feelings are clearly mixed. They have no love for the British or the
Americans but they trust them. `We are not afraid of the American bombing.
They will bomb carefully and not purposely target the people. What we are
afraid of is Saddam Hussein and what he and the Baath Party will do when
the war begins. But even then we want the war. It is the only way to escape
our hell. Please tell them to hurry. We have been through war so many
times,but this time it will give us hope`.
The final call for help came at the most unexpected place - the border.
Sadly, and sent off by the crying members of my family I left. Things were
changing by the hour - the normally $100 ride from Baghdad to Amman was
first $300 then $500 and by nightfall $1,000. As we came to the border we
began the routine paperwork and then the search of our vehicle. Everything
was going well until suddenly the border guard asked if I had any money. We
had been carefully instructed to make sure we only carried $300 when we
returned so I began to open up the pouch that carried my passport and money
stuffed in my shorts.
Suddenly the guard began to pat me down. `Oh, no`! I thought. It`s all
over`. We had been told of what happened if you got caught with videotape,
a cellular telephone or any kind of electronic equipment that had not been
declared. A trip back to Baghdad, a likely appearance before a judge, in
some cases 24-48 hour holding and more. He immediately found the first
videotape stuffed in my pocket and took it out. I could see the expression
of terror on the driver as he stifled a scream. The guard shook his head as
he reached into my pocket and took out another tape and then from pocket
after pocket began to take out tape after tape, cellular telephone,
computer camera - all the wrong things.
We all stood there in sheer terror - for a brief moment experiencing the
feeling that beginning with my precious family members every Iraqi feels
not for a moment but day and night, 24 hours a day, 365 days a year. That
terrible feeling that your life is not yours that its fate rests in someone
else's hands that simply by the whim of the moment they can determine. For
one born free a terrifying feeling if but for an instant.
As the guard slowly laid out the precious video tape on the desk we all
waited in silent terror for the word to be taken back to Baghdad and the
beginning of the nightmare. Suddenly he laid the last videotape down and
looked up. His face is frozen in my memory but it was to me the look of
sadness, anger and then a final look of quiet satisfaction as he clinically
shook his head and quietly without a word handed all the precious videotape
- the cry of those without a voice - to me. He didn't have to say a word.
I had learned the language of the imprisoned Iraqi. Forbidden to speak by
sheer terror they used the one language they had left - human kindness.
As his hands slowly moved to give the tape over he said in his own way what
my Uncle had said, what the taxi driver had said, what the broken old man
had said, what the man in the restaurant had said, what the Army man had
said, what the man working for the police had said, what the old woman had
said, what the young girl had said - he said it for them in the one last
message a I crossed the border from tyranny to freedom . . .
Please take these tapes and show them to the world. Please help us . . . .
and please hurry!
Ken Joseph Jr is a Assyrian, a Minister and was born and raised and resides
in Japan where he directs Assyrianchristians.com
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