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UPDATE:
Veterans for Peace Iraq Water Project, January,
2005
IRAQ
WATER PROJECT UPDATE
Apologies to anyone who has
been checking this website in the past couple of months for new information.
You are probably aware that Iraq Water Project raised money last summer
to rebuild the Hai al-Risala municipal water treatment plant at Falluja.
This was the second time Vets for Peace effected repairs at that
particular plant, and we picked Risala largely because of the extensive
destruction brought upon the city by the aborted April attack and the continued
airstrikes that followed. Photographs of the newly installed equipment came in just a
couple of weeks before US forces launched their last devastating attack on the
city. Because of a security
lockdown imposed by the American military and the consequent absence of reliable
damage assessments, for a long time we did not know the fate of Hai al-Risala.
On 27 December 2004 UNICEF
released a preliminary report on damage to Falluja’s water treatment
capability. Having seen media presentations of Operation Phantom Fury’s
overwhelming success, it is interesting to note that according to this report
four of Falluja’s seven water plants are inaccessible to UN assessment teams,
and only one quadrant of the city near the river is open to Iraqi emergency
officials. We leave it to you to
draw conclusions.
Our Hai al-Risala plant is one
of three water facilities accessible and visited by UNICEF.
We are relieved to pass on word that Risala is still standing and
incurred repairable damage: two
pressure filters and two low lift pumps will need replacing.
It is not impossible, should
the planets favorably conjoin, that IWP would undertake reconstruction here a
third time. At this moment Falluja
is the most shattered city in Iraq and perhaps the closest thing to Stalingrad
seen in many years. We know that
the water ministry building has been flattened, and LIFE, our partner NGO in
Iraq, has finally had to close its Falluja office, which it had managed to keep
open during the most intense fighting. No
one knows how many people were killed or how many Falluja refugees will continue
to die in their squalid encampments. This
story is far from over. How far the
American administration will go in its operations against this city, should it
decide its goals are unmet, is not entirely predictable.
Whether in Falluja or somewhere
else, the Iraq Water Project will continue its efforts.
In the aftermath of the United States 2003 invasion, water quality
throughout the country (excluding the Kurdish north) has sunk even further.
The formerly very, very bad has now become abominable, and people get
sick and die. As long as
contributors maintain faith in us, and our courageous partner LIFE for Relief
and Development is able to carry out the physical work, IWP will keep trying to
help. We hope to preserve your
trust.
In substitution for a more
detailed report on our Falluja water plant, not yet available, I append a piece
picked up a few weeks ago on the Internet.
This description, which of course we cannot corroborate, was written by a
Russian medic, a survivor of Grozny who was serving in a Falluja clinic during
the assault. Needless to say, there
is much in this letter you will never see in major American media. Thanks again, everyone, for your interest and support.
--Art
Dorland, VFP Iraq Water Project Chair, January
2, 2005
Lords of the flies
"And here I am going through the city and cannot say a
word in shock. I
cannot recognize the city. Only ten days ago it was an
Iraqi town with its
regular for centuries Arabic life. Boling bazaars, noisy
streets. And here I
am going through the empty dead city, between the ugly
"pyramids" of
destroyed buildings, broken streets, whole quarters wiped
from the face of
earth. The city is killed and dismembered by some monstrous
maniac.
Beelzebub - the lord of the flies. Under the flag of stars
and stripes,
where the stars look so alike to thick flesh flies. "
One of our readers (newspaper "Zavtra") happened
to be in Fallujah, besieged
by American troops. He escaped from the destroyed city and
sent us his
notes.
...Together with Americans the flies invaded the city. They
are millions.
The whole city seems to be under their power. The flies
cover the corpses.
The older is corpse, the more flies are upon it. First they
cover a corpse
as by some strange rash. Then they begin to swarm upon it,
and then a gray
moving shroud covers the corpse. Flies swarm upon some
ruins as gray
monstrous shadows. The stench is awful.
The flies are everywhere. In the hospital wards, operating
rooms, canteen.
You find them even where they cannot be. In the
"humanitarian" plastic
bottle with warm plastic-stinking water. The bottle is
almost full, simply
someone opened it for a second and made a gulp, but this
black spot is
already floating there...
It is a general crisis with water. There are simply no
clean sources. The
local residents fetch water from the river, muddy, gray and
dead. You can
buy anything for water now. The sewage system is broken,
the water supply is
broken, and electricity is absent in the city.
I am afraid to imagine what will happen in two weeks.
Hepatitis will take
toll of thousands. They say already that people at the
outskirts are in
fever with the symptoms of typhus. But one cannot verify
it. They prohibited
moving in the city.
Everybody knew that they would storm the city. But nobody
could imagine HOW
it would be happening. Honestly speaking, even I did not
believe that I
would once again be in hell. After the hell in Grozny I
thought that nothing
similar would ever happen. That the storm on Grozny was a
national Russian
masochism, a return to medieval times, a stupidity mixed
with a crime. And
Baghdad, yielded practically without a fight, made one
think that this storm
would not last for long. That they would shoot at the
outskirts to show off,
bomb out a couple of buildings and everything would be
finished. The
fighters would hide and the Americans would report their
mission
accomplished.
My friend "fighter" Abdullah suggested me to go.
He stubbornly calls me
"hakim". It means something like "wise
man" in Arabic.
-Hakim, go away! There is big battle coming. Our people
will not leave the
city. We want to show these jackals how Iraqis can fight.
The blood of
occupants will flow like a river along the streets... I
thought it was
bravado.
It is a pity that I did not listen to him. On the second
day they simply
started to demolish the city. Close explosions rocked the
floor rocked under
the feet. The plaster fell off the ceiling, the windowpanes
burst. You could
talk only by shouting because of the continuous gunfire.
But the most
terrible has begun already on the first day. The wounded
started to come
into the hospital like a flow. One of the doctors tuned in
to BBC by his
pocket radio. The news announcer mumbled something about
the precision
weapons and high professional level of soldiers, about
collateral damage
reduced to minimum.
I do not know in which place they employed their precision
weapons, we had
an endless stream of wounded children, women, and elders.
Not dozens -
hundreds! On the third day the medicines started to come to
the end.
Especially anesthetics and antibiotics. But the stream did
not exhausted.
Only on the fourth day we have had a less number of
wounded. But it was not
because the storm calmed down. On the contrary, now the
fights raged in the
streets. Simply Americans captured the hospital quarter.
Americans. I have the impression that there are no other
words except "fuck"
and "shit". Each communication, each order is
accompanied by a flow of
'fucks', 'shits' and 'bullshits'. I look at Americans with
a pity. The
Russian language is much more powerful with emotional
expressions.
Observing Americans, I catch myself thinking that they are
incredibly
similar to Russian soldiers, whom I saw in Grozny in
January 1994. The same
infinite weariness, "burnt out" eyes. The same
dull expression on the faces,
when the conscience is tired to react to outer stimuli. The
same repulsion
from the outer world, "autism". In the whole
world they have now only them
and the rest is wicked and evil.... Yes, to storm the
cities is a nasty
business. As Stalingrad, as Grozny, as Fallujah.
But you have differences, too. The complete order in the
uniform and
ammunition jumps to the eye. It seems that a half of what
each soldier
carries could have been left at the base, but everything is
put on and fixed
anyway. Their discipline of wearing the uniform and
ammunition is well
observed.
The second is their collectivity. The Americans do not move
alone at all. I
even did not see them in pairs. If they appear, they arrive
by the whole
party. And nobody walks away from his party. Even when
their detachment
fights, they are all within each other's sight.
Americans started the shootout with the fighters across the
road of our
hospital. It was strange to see how a dozen of GIs stood
together along the
wall and the whole rank fired along the street before them,
like on the
barricades in 19th century. Had one mortar shell or mine
exploded behind
them, they would all be gone...
They search in the hospital. They check the documents of
everybody. The
Iraqi translators bustle. The nastiest sort of people. They
combine all the
worst things. Obliging,
ingratiating to their American "masters" as only Arabs can do,
they are shamelessly impudent and pompous with their own
people. They make
their business on translation all the time. If the American
demands the
house to be ready for inspection, then the translator will
certainly add
that the house will be searched, and he, translator, needs
a bribe so that
the Americans would not go to the women's part of the
house. Although
according to the order, the women's part should only be
visited by Iraqi
police. This said, the Americans do not follow the order
closely...
A dark-skinned hawk-nosed GI, pure Peruvian by his look,
noticed me among
the "wax-skinned" Iraqis and menacingly moved to
me. The edge of his helmet
was at the level of my chin, and I could not see his eyes.
This was
dangerous.
"Who are you?" asked he. My English is far from
perfection, but his is even
further.
... Generally, it is very notable how many various
"colored-skin" soldiers
are among the Americans. Suddenly I remembered my service
near Baikal Lake
in Siberia and my company of hundred people, which included
only thirty
Russians, five people from Caucasus like me, and all the
others from Central
Asia. Among the "colored-skin" GIs
"Latinos" are largest group, then
Africans and semi-Africans. The officers are mostly whites
but there are
also blacks... But I cannot understand at all, why the US
Army soldiers
speak broken English!!
I explain to him that I am a doctor, the humanitarian
mission
representative. I show my plastic "badge". He
suspiciously examines the
document. The barrel of his rifle hits my hip at his every
movement. My
Turkish passport confuses him completely. The soldier takes
me by the sleeve
and pulls somewhere. I understand that it is useless to
argue and follow
him. In the corridor I am handed over to the sergeant. The
sergeant is
white. I repeat everything that I said before. Another man
studies my ID
with the same suspicion. Then he demands that I take off my
surgical coat
and the T-shirt. Well, I passed it many times in Chechnya
and Serbia. I take
off my clothes. The sergeant and the soldiers closely
examine my shoulders,
looking for the bruises from the rifle's butt. Finally I am
allowed to dress
myself.
When I button my coat, the sergeant, with a barking
commander's voice,
suddenly asks me whether I treated the fighters. I almost
laugh at that. I
have a weird feeling - as though I watch the film about the
Second World War
with me as an actor, and the large German in his helmet
(the American
helmets look pretty much German) asks me, "Where are
the Partisanen?" I
shrug my shoulders. I tell him that they bring everyone to
us. But without
weapons. Who is the fighter, who is civilian - we cannot
tell. The sergeant
loses his interest in me after it. I cannot help but ask
him how strongly
the fighters resist? The sergeant's face turns stone. Then
the whole flood
of 'fucks', 'bullshits' towards the fighters. Out of this
flood I pick up
that the marines would already capture the city and wipe
the fighters long
time ago, but the commanders look back at politicians and
spare bombs and
shells. And it is hard for soldiers because of that. But
the victory is
near...
I recall two days of bombing and think that if it is
"spare the shells",
then what is not to spare them?
When I return to the staff room, the search is at the full
speed. The
soldiers inspect the wards, by first cautiously peeking
inside, and then
bursting into the room by the whole party. Clanking of
weapons, tramping,
orders. The main attention towards the young males. For
some reason they
look for those who are with bullet wounds. But we have here
only in very
serious condition, mostly unconscious. A whole crowd of
relatives beside
every bed. A continuous cry over the whole hospital.
Yesterday Dr. Ahmed brought half a liter of iodine from
somewhere in the
bottle of Chivas Regal. He put is to the refrigerator,
defrosted long ago.
One of GIs opens the refrigerator, sees the bottle. Looking
around his
shoulder, he takes it out quickly. Apparently noticing that
it is open, he
turns away the cap and smells the liquid. After that he
winced and, with
already familiar 'fuck', throws it to the wall. The iodine
splashes the
treatment room by red shower. It smells by the sea and
alcohol. GI goes away
without a word. We do no speak, too. This iodine was the
last one.
Finally they go away. They take three wounded Iraqis with
them. They are
suspected fighters.
In the next two days, the searching procedure is repeated
twice. Every time
they carry away somebody.
In the evening we receive the wounded teenager. He has two
bullet wounds in
his chest. By him is a woman - his mother and an old man.
They shout,
explaining something. I hear familiar "min faldik!"
- please! - "Aunni!" -
help!.. The teenager is taken to the operating room. He has
no chances - we
are practically without the medicines. And even if the
operation will be
successful, there will be nothing to carry out [post
operational treatment].
Abdul Karim gloomily opens the pack of cigarettes. He just
finished
listening to the long confused explanations by the old man.
-- After interrogations, the Americans give the usual
detainees to our
traitors ... -- he calls the new Iraqi army by this word
-- and those shoot
them. This boy was executed together with three other men.
Bastards...
The rumors about the shootings without trial become true.
Many wounded tell
that somebody was executed or finished off before their
eyes. After all I
saw these days I begin to believe it. The American army
evidently has broken
loose...
The surgeon comes out after an hour. The teenager has died.
The crying
mother is led away by the old Iraqi. He is her brother. The
surgeon sits
down on the sofa and closes his eyes.
-- Aneh teben! -- I am so tired! ...
During the five days, while the count was yet conducted,
more than three
thousand wounded passed through our hospital. These were
the people who
lived nearby. The people who could be delivered to us.
Nobody knows how many
people in the city are dead. Nobody will ever know...
Tomorrow the mission's car will pick me up. How the driver
could break into
the city, only God knows. Maybe the insignia on the hood
and the doors
worked out.
And here I am going through the city and cannot say a word
in shock. I
cannot recognize the city. Only ten days ago it was an
Iraqi town with its
regular for centuries Arabic life. Boling bazaars, noisy
streets. And here I
am going through the empty dead city, between the ugly
"pyramids" of
destroyed buildings, broken streets, whole quarters wiped
from the face of
earth. The city is killed and dismembered by some monstrous
maniac.
Beelzebub - the lord of the flies. Under the flag of stars
and stripes,
where the stars look so alike to thick flesh flies.
I go and ask the skies again, like five years ago in bombed
out Kosovo, will
anybody ever answer for this barbarism? But the skies do
not respond. Only a
few US battle helicopters pass nearby my road towards the
ruins of the city.
The killings continue.
translated by dari890