Don't Get Me Started
by Linda Sharp
Explosions give 'foul' and 'strike' whole new meanings
Take a look at this picture. A good, long look.
What you see is simply wrong. In any country. In any culture. In any context. No child should ever be found standing before a pool of liquid, which normally pulses through a human being.
But that is de rigeur for the children in Iraq. Every single day, more and more children are either blown apart as victims, or have their innocence further eroded by the continuous stream of suicide bombers in their country.
I do not give a rat’s rear what President Bush tries to spin to the American people. I do not want to hear the administration try to minimize the attacks (Rumsfeld's quote about his flyover of Iraq was classic, "From up there it's not so bad."), saying that Iraq is really big and that the media only highlights the bad stories.
A child standing in front of a pool of blood is not to be minimized. And it should never be a story. Not even one by Stephen King.
Two weeks ago, an initial report claimed that as they played on a makeshift soccer field on the outskirts of Ramadi 18 young boys were killed when a suicide car-bomber detonated his ride.
You would think that with explosions ringing out around the clock, this would just be one more in the long line of mental fragging the public endures each day.
But no, this one had to do with children – all 10-15 years old.
And they were playing.
Even if you avoid the news at all costs because the reports are so depressing, that report was enough to garner immediate media, and to make most who heard of it stop in their tracks for a moment.
10 -15 year old boys, playing a game.
As a parent, the images that immediately came to mind were less than 24 hours old. Just the night before, I sat on the sidelines of a soccer field, watching my 10 year old run, cavort, pass, defend, strike and enjoy the company of 180 other girls and their trainers.
They were doing what children are supposed to be allowed to do.
Play.
And I was doing what I am supposed to do.
Enjoy watching them laugh and learn.
It sickens me that each day brings new horrors to the eyes and hearts of the youngest members of Iraqi society (Darfur, North Korea, insert any other strife ridden area of this planet here). The reports of the soccer field attack followed bombings in Baghdad at a popular ice cream shop, a parking lot and a restaurant – eight people killed and 24 wounded. In one day alone.
An ice cream shop. A soccer field.
As it turns out, the reports of a suicide car bomber and the 18 children were wildly exaggerated. Not an uncommon occurrence when news stories are as fluid as the blood they cover.
With more reporting, it actually turned out to be a "controlled explosion" done by the United States military. One of many they carry out to obliterate the piles and piles of munitions they stumble upon each day.
Unfortunately, and those who wear the brass bear this out, the controlled explosion was larger than they had anticipated resulting in an unexpected blast radius of fragments, debris, and, yes, more blood shed.
While no one was killed, many were injured, and yes, many were children. That soccer park aspect was not misreported. It was, in fact, directly in the line of fire, so to speak.
So it was a mistake. An error. A miscalculation.
It still injured innocent children.
And that brings me back to the photo at the top of this entry.
What is happening in Iraq to the children is simply unforgivable.
Unforgivable on the part of the Sunnis and Shiites intent on continuing their centuries old Hatfields and McCoys battle, innocent bystanders be damned.
Unforgivable on the part of the United States. We may not have started their battle, which dates back to antiquity, but we certainly came along and poured gasoline on the fire. We picked off a scab, seemingly unaware that the country was a hemophiliac, and now the blood won't stop pouring forth.
I don't have an answer. I have no idea what could fix the situation. And I also admit, that like many Americans, I sometimes get so fed up and disgusted with the daily account of bombs and bodies that I wish the entire region were just turned into a parking lot.
But then I remind myself of the people in that region who are just like me, just like you. They want to live in peace. They want to go about their lives. They want to raise their families. And they simply want to watch from the sidelines as their child scores a goal.
That shouldn't be so much to ask.
Yet last week, another suicide bomb ripped through a crowded historical book market in Baghdad, killing 26 people, and seriously wounding 54 others. Men, women, and yes, children.
And as blood, flesh and pages of books drifted through the air, this photo was played out yet again. Different part of the city, the country, but the subject matter identical.
What are we doing to this planet's youngest occupants? What kind of future can they possibly see, when their view is constantly one of violence and bloodshed? We owe them more than this. We owe them playgrounds, schools, book markets, ice cream parlors, and soccer fields – where the words "strike" and "foul" might draw them a penalty card, but not one the color of that puddle.
Take a good long look at that picture. What you see is simply wrong.
An internationally
read author, columnist, event speaker, and media guest,
Linda Sharp makes people
laugh and think from Maine to Malaysia. Enjoy
her book Stretchmarks On My Sanity and add her daily blog, Don't Get Me
Started, to your online favorites! Look for her new book, Femail:
A Comic Collision In Cyberspace this winter! Give her a Google – you'll be glad you did.
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