From my Inbox: Take Action
“Bush will visit the Occupied Palestinian West Bank and Israel on the first leg of a tour of the Middle East from Jan. 8-16.” He will then travel to Kuwait, Bahrain, the United Arab Emirates, Saudi Arabia, and Egypt. According to a White House press release, Bush will meet separately with Israeli President Shimon Peres and Prime Minister Ehud Olmert and Palestinian President Mahmoud Abbas and Prime Minister Salam Fayyad.
The meetings aim to “follow up on the progress made at Annapolis in helping Israelis and Palestinians to advance their efforts toward peace and achievement of the President’s vision of two democratic states living side-by-side in peace and security, as well as encourage Israeli/Arab reconciliation.”
yeah, yyeah…being hopeful is healthy…. so help set the agenda for his visit…
TAKE ACTION: I already did… Contact the White House and demand that President Bush raise concerns with Israeli leaders about steps that Israel has taken since Annapolis that are inimical to peace.
Support this Project. “Battlefield Without Borders” - Iraq Poems by David Smith-Ferri
“About two thirds of these poems were written while in Iraq, after encounters with Iraqi people, in a wide-range of settings –– from hospitals to homes to bomb sites. The remaining poems have been written since, during the escalating terror and insanity of the current war and occupation. Marcia Gagliardi, the publisher at Haley’s, is generously donating her proceeds from the sale of this book. And Smith-Ferri’s partner has generously agreed to match Marcia’s donation, so that for every $14 book that is sold, $12 will go into a fund for Iraqi victims of this war. Here is one of the poems from the Battlefield Without Borders:
The Unmistakable Imprint of Love
Saddam General Hospital, Amara – July 25, 1999
In this sad place, powerlessness is a voracious presence,
unappeased and pathologic. It eats flesh,
a bacteria consuming people from within,
emptying everyone who comes here,
leaving patients, their parents, the doctors like hollowed reeds.
When the air moved, we expected a mournful tune.
For three hours this morning,
stopping as planned at each cot,
we walked slowly through the pediatrics wards,
observing children caught in the swollen river of sanctions:
tiny bodies tossed by the tide,
hands groping for a root, a branch,
but torn downriver by the implacable current.
Taking measurements and securing water samples for analysis,
we calculated the depth of the river, its width,
the number of feet above flood stage.
At one bedside, I held Hassan, a featherweight, eight-month old child.
Dying there slowly, he slept in my arms.
His mother smiled; she spoke to me directly, in Arabic.
Turning for help, I felt on every side
the fixed, expectant eyes of other mothers holding me,
waiting for my response,
even as I waited for her words to come out of hiding.
Doctor Khammas came across the room to translate.
She said, ‘If you can heal my child, please take him with you.’
I struggled to breathe,
and the plain meaning of those words came from too far away,
came so slowly toward me,
as though swimming through a great depth of water.
I handed Hassan back to his mother,
who smiled graciously, without the least cruelty,
and the mothers’ eyes released me,
but the electrical surge of their desire
marked me forever:
the unmistakable imprint of love.
Read more poems… and try to purchase Battlefield Without Borders. And remember, for every $14 book that is sold, $12 will go into a fund for Iraqi victims of this war.
