"Fuck, Tarek! Why the fuck do you have to put yourself through this? And just because I ask this, it doesn't mean I don't "understand" or "support" you... It just means that you're a fucking lunatic!
Quite frankly, I can't really see what the heck you're doing in Fallujah. There ain't no reporting on the state of Iraqi hospitals, and no "helping of people" that's going on... so, what *are* you trying to do being where you are?!"
In the last few days, a lot of people have said something to this effect, though none have been quite so eloquent. The inquirers have been my family, friends, my Iraqi detainers, and perfect strangers.
Everytime such a statement is made, it is imbued with defeat and resignation. What the inquirer means to say is "why the fuck do you have to put me through this?"
Those who care about me must feel tremendous anxiety right now. I would lie if I said that I do not feel the same. Their anxiety - their sense of dread - is the same as mine. And so, the next question comes: What am I doing here?
Yes. Right now, I am sitting around, waiting for something to give and soaking in the family with whom I'm staying. However, during my first trip to Palestine, it took more than 3 weeks for me to really start doing something, and I have been in Iraq for less than 10 days. Soon, I'll be in a hospital, but what will that change? Only the background scenery.
Here, they average 1 doctor per hospital bed. They don't need people, but needles and medicines and peace. I can give none of these three, but at least I can bear witness, or sit there to hear people cry.