When Iraq invaded Kuwait in 1990, I had just gotten married 1 week earlier - to someone in the Army. His unit was so new that they were not deployed immediately, but this is hard on a soldier; they feel guilt because they are left behind. Especially when they were previously in the 82nd Airborne and all of their friends are deployed. Our entire marriage was wrapped around the first Gulf War. We watched the main part of the Gulf War from our living room in Germany, where we had moved to in November of 1990. There was a lot of anger on our base because one-third of the soldiers were in Germany, while two-thirds were in Saudi Arabia, away from their families for the holidays. It was a rough time. He was deployed in the May, 1991 for "Operation Provide Comfort," helping to move the Kurdish people out of Northern Iraq in to Turkey. By the time he left, we had already started to talk of divorce. By the time he came home in September, 1991, I was ready to return to the States - alone. By May, 1992, we were divorced. Today, he is married to his third wife, as far as I know. She banned him from speaking to me, wife number 1. You never lose that special place in your heart for someone that you once loved so much - even if a war has torn you apart. Now I worry about him in this new war. Is he fighting tonight as I sit here in my living room typing this? Is he reliving the horror of the sand and the heat that he hated so much 12 years ago, while I am comfortable and safe with my new significant other? Will this war tear us apart like it tore apart that relationship 12 years ago? I don't think so. The world has changed around me, and I have changed within. I learned not to take for granted the lives and the loves near me. I learned to stand up, to question, to not be afraid. I learned to love again after the first Gulf War shattered me. I learned to live, and yet I am sad when I turn on the news and see so many others dieing. My prayers and my heart goes out to those that are fighting, but sometimes even more to the family they have left behind. War can destroy those that never see battle - but like the cities that are crushed by tanks and missles, we can rebuild ourselves. Christine 31 Mar 2003 |
In the summer of '91 my mother, sister and I were returning from London to Karachi. Our flight made a one-hour routine stop-over in Musqat. Fifteen minutes after we landed Saddam Hussain threatend to invade Musqat. Spent much of the next 24 hours in the tiny cardboard box that is Musqat airport, sititng on the ground waiting for the bombs to drop. At one point we all mistook the high-pitch whine of a microphone for a bomb and fell flat on the floor, hands stitched together behind our heads. We were flown back to Karachi the next day, a great deal more traumatized than an intercontinental flight should leave you (well, at least in those days). Today, I am still in Karachi. This Gulf War has less personal impact on me. Pakistan is rumbling uneasily, but most people keep their protests and complaints in their living rooms. The vocal few are polarized by their extremism, and no one rational wants anything to do with them. When we talk we pity the Iraqi people, loathe U.S. imperialistic behavior, try to avoid conspiracy theories (and end up concocting a few anyway). Mostly though we watch the news clips in between re-runs of Friends and Buffy. In '91 I cared. I was passionate and angry and interested. Maybe it was the first-hand experience or maybe it was just that at 13 I was more naive. Now...now i just feel disconnected. If I am not lying on the ground hoping the bomb doesn't land on me or my family, I don't really much care. And I hate myself for it. Sami Shah 31 Mar 2003 |
i'm the same age as you, Derek - i was a senior in high school, with a bit of an inkling and miserable in a small Republican town in northern Georgia (Bush Sr. made it a stopping point on on his 'small town america' tour - it was nightmare, thank god I was old enough to drive. I drove all the way to Orlando that weekend to escape it and avoided the news upon my return). One of my teachers disappeared during the Gulf War - left a note on the chalkboard we kept there until he came back. Sent off. When a military convoy from a nearby base made its way down the highway, presumably 'heading off', I pulled off to the shoulder with a bunch of other people. Most of them were cheering and waving flags, but I sat silent and said nothing. I put a couple of bumper stickers on my car, I wore a button or two, but I did no other protesting. I was too busy trying to graduate, and my main concern in all of this wasn't so much humans dying as it was all the apocalyptic Armageddon thoughts my ultra-religious grandmother had instilled in me growing up. I did some protesting this year. Actually, i'd hesitate to call it protesting. I went to be counted, I stood there, I marched, I handed out some flyers I'd written up with a friend on war tax resistance, and I tried to get out of the crowds when the 'direct action' started to take place. I yelled at some NYPD cops that weren't acting appropriately but for the most part, I stayed away from anything other than that meant to represent peace and solidarity. And then I went out and started drinking, because it's not that I don't care but I'm feeling pretty powerless to stop it as it stands now. I hope it's over soon. I worry about those poor troops over there. I try not to make comparisons to Vietnam although I can't help it. I wish everyone had peace inside, because that's the only way we're ever going to see it globally. Regime change may begin at home but peace starts inside yourself. Instead of violent protest, I pray for peace, I focus on my own. I'm not so full of rage anymore now that I DO know what's beautiful. But i'm still wracked with visions of Armageddon. dori 31 Mar 2003 |
I was in Junior High, in a neighbourhood controlled by the Mafia boss, John Gotti. There were mostly Italians living around the school and to see the group of west indians coming into the neighbourhood didn't settle well with many. Dark and brown we flooded in, crowding into tiny classrooms, waiting for the education ... the reason that our parents brought us to America. It stirred small wars within the community. Then a real war hit ... and the yellow ribbons tied around massive oak trees. It solidify us because we are all Americans then and for those brief days, it was Us against Them. It was surreal as all shit. Then and now. Andrea Indira 31 Mar 2003 |
Simply put, in 1991 I was a 16 years old teenager who couldn't care less of a war distant both from my country and from my culture. I live in Italy, Tuscany, in a small town on the sea: mild climate, mild feelings, mild life. So, why bother? A teen has way better things to care for, the first being visiting some girl's private locations. Life was just taking all I could get with the smallest effort, without hurting anyone... when possible. Now I'm 28, still studying to become a Computer Engineer. Life has changed, as well as my vision of life. I've started to hear the bell tolling, I've understood it always tolls for me. Italy (and precisely Tuscany) was the first country in the civilized world to abolish capital punishment (1786). I see war as a capital punishment in large scale, the failure of human reason, hidden behind beautiful words as "freedom", "truth", "justice". In 1991 I couldn't understand what was happening, now I understand it, maybe too well. I see peace flags, a beautiful rainbow with PACE in bold letters, used as vessils of another, more subtle war. They're hanging outside many buildings, and many so-called "pacifists" are trying to impose their view with, guess what, FORCE. Public buildings covered by peace flags, as to say "EVERYONE in here MUST think as WE do!". Red flags mixed to rainbow ones, as to state that RED is the best colour of the seven. Politics mixed to ideals, the usual old story, and a lot of fresh meat to support this and cry out for "PEACE" without even admitting a feeble thought to weaken their pre-built slogans. You won't believe it, but I am "red" and I am definitely for peace. A peace which can't emerge this way, that can't be IMPOSED, even with flags or pretty slogans. My peace flag hangs from the wall of my room, one of the three this student's house is made of. My friend Carlo just bought an American flag, it hangs from the ceiling of his room. Piero has no flag, his walls are full of beautyful Italian women, almost naked. We'll have dinner together, as always, we'll watch the news on TV and discuss about them, and we'll try to understand each other's point of views. This is our little peace. Alessandro 31 Mar 2003 |
When the first gulf war broke out, my Boy Scout troop leader was called in for duty in the Reserves. My mom jumped on the war bandwagon and made sure to get me in the paper (front page) tying a yellow ribbon around a bush in our front yard in my Boy Scout Uniform. Yeah, that wasn't staged. I didn't understand war then, but I went along with popular opinion. As a blossoming artist, I drew cartoons of Saddam in compromosing positions with US Missles and the like. Now, as I hold up my sign of protest, I think about the times when I was young and didn't care, and how much transformation has gone on since that first gulf war. bryan 31 Mar 2003 |
