May 2004

Views expressed are those of the authors, not necessarily of the AFSC.

Najaf Emergency Peace Team Demonstrates in Iraq

As numerous people from nonprofit organizations working in Iraq left the country during the week of April 16-22, 2004, an independent emergency delegation of US civilians entered the conflict-torn nation, traveling to the tense stand-off around Najaf, where the US military deployed almost 3,000 troops for a threatened assault designed to attack Shiite rebels there.

The Najaf Emergency Peace Team, "Peace Between Peoples," consisted of a handful of determined volunteers who traveled to Najaf to place themselves "nonviolently, symbolically and physically" between the US armed forces massed nearby and the civilian population of the ancient holy city.

The delegation received messages of encouragement from religious and community leaders in south-central Iraq, including an advisor to Ayatollah Ali al-Sistani. "We understand the dangers of our journey, but we are determined to try and contribute in our own small way to peace and justice for the people of Najaf and Iraq. Only when peacemakers are willing to shoulder some of the same risks that soldiers take in war, can we begin to move away from the cycle of violence that grips human society at the dawn of the 21st century," says the group's statement.

Rev. Meg Lumsdaine is an ordained Lutheran pastor who has previously been involved in human rights delegations to Latin America and Iraq. Peter Lumsdaine is coordinator of the Military Globalization Analysis Project and organizer of the Najaf delegation. Mario Galvan, a high school teacher, is a national board member of PeaceAction, and a founding member of the Zapatista Solidarity Coalition. Trish Schuh co-founded the Military Families Support Network in 1990 and is involved in Military Families Speak Out. Brian Buckley is a carpenter and member of the Little Flower Catholic Worker community. The following letter was sent by Mario Galvan on April 29, 2004.

Dear friends,

Yesterday we demonstrated at the largest military base here, on the outskirts of Najaf on the road to Kufa. We were able to get a considerable amount of media, which no doubt contributed to the success of our action, and helped insure our safety.

Peter Lumsdaine, unidentified US soldier, and Brian Buckly. Najif, Iraq, April, 2004. Phtographer unknown

We held a press conference at the al-Najaf Sea hotel at 1:00 pm. There were almost twenty video cameras trained on us. The crowd of media was perhaps 30 altogether. We unfurled the banners we would carry to the base: one said "Peace" in Arabic, English, and Spanish. One said "USA.: Don't Be The New Saddam. Come Home" in English (addressed to the US soldiers). One said "No US occupation" in Arabic. Each member of the delegation made a brief statement, and then we left in a cab for the base, which was just a kilometer or so down the road. On the way, the press followed us on all sides. Later we heard that the footage of our event was carried on twelve different stations. The press in Najaf is largely from the Arab world.

Stopping about 200 yards before the base, we unfurled our banners and spread out, with Peter in the middle, carrying a white flag to indicate our peaceful intent and unarmed, nonviolent approach. Our greatest fear was of snipers, for we had heard many stories of people being shot without warning, and of shots fired at cars that just slowed down on the road passing the hospital/military base. As we approached, a flock of camerapeople came with us, both ahead and behind.

We had trouble identlfying the entrance to the camp, since it was behind a large concrete barrier. We crossed the street to a gravel road that went around the barrier, and just as we stepped off the sidewalk onto the gravel, a shot rang out. A flock of birds flew up from inside the base. We stopped and raised our free hands, continuing to hold the banners. It was a tense and frightening moment, but a relief also, in that because none of us had been hit, it showed that it was only a warning to stop.

We talked as we stood there, trying to decide whether to go ahead or to the side, as we were standing in a spot partially blocked by trees, and felt it would be better to be in the open. We were careful to stand with the banners to one side, not blocking a view of our bodies, so that it would be clear that we were unarmed. We had left all bags and packs behind for the same reason. A few anxious minutes passed, and just as we were going to begin moving forward, we saw some soldiers appear to our right from behind the concrete barrier (the barrier was about12 feet tall!). They motioned us to come ahead, and we did so, careful to walk slowly and keeping our hands raised. Three of the four soldiers remained crouched behind trees, weapons pointing out toward the road, and one approached us.

PFC Lopez was courteous and professional. He invited us to come in behind the shelter, saying that we were in great danger standing there in the open. This seemed somehow ironic, after all of our travels, but then we realized that he was in great danger standing there with us. We moved ahead to the cover of the concrete wall, then stopped to debate whether we should accept his invitation to come inside. We had previously decided not to enter their perimeter, fearing that the US military authorities might try to detain us.

We were told that Meg, who had made the initial contact with the Coalition Provisional Authority in Baghdad, would be the only one allowed inside to speak with the officers. The rest of us could come inside the first defensive position, which consisted of two sandbagged bunkers flanking a road that was blocked by a parked dump truck.

Meg went ahead while we talked it over, and we soon decided that it would be better to go inside. We wanted the chance to talk with the soldiers, which would have been impossible from where we were. It was a wise decision, because we were able to talk at length with PFC Lopez, a Cuban-American from Florida.

He had been sent to meet us because the gate was defended by troops from El Salvador, and he was the only Spanish-speaking soldier in his unit. The other soldiers who had come out to meet us were Salvadorans, as were those in the bunkers. Lopez spoke good English as well as Spanish, and responded to our questions in a warm and human, if slightly guarded way.

We asked him how it felt to be in Iraq, and for any impressions he might want to share with us. He replied that he was a soldier, and that he was doing his job. His unit was moving in to replace the Spanish troops that were leaving. He was a medic, and was preparing the clinic.

We pointed out to him that the military base was set up in the largest hospital in Najaf, and that it contained 400 of the 900 hospital beds in all of Najaf. He replied that resistance fighters had attacked from the hospital, and that they had simply "secured" the complex. When asked why the original military base had been set up next to a hospital in the first place, he said he didn't know. The base, he said, was here when he arrived, and had been there for some time.

We spoke about how many Iraqis had told us that they were glad the US had invaded and deposed Saddam Hussein, but how US behavior and insensitivity had gradually turned them against the US. He gave us the US soldier's-eye-view of the situation. They are targets every time they leave the base, and even within the base are attacked regularly (every night, he said) with mortars. He told of 10-year-old children throwing grenades at them, of soldiers stopping to help a woman whose car had broken down along the road, only to discover, as the woman fled and the car exploded, that it was a trap for them. "No soldier likes war," he said, "but it's our job."

Explosions from mortars began to sound as we lounged in the shade of a covered area behind the bunkers facing the road. He directed us to a concrete shelter just a few feet from where we had been talking. We scrambled inside, and as we did, were amazed to see just outside, one of the soldiers from El Salvador, standing out in the open, looking up at the sky with arms raised, calling out, "Here I am! Come and get me!" An interesting act of bravado, perhaps for our benefit.

The mortar attack was brief, but as we sat in the bunker waiting for the "all clear," we were joined by Lt. Col. Francisco Flores of El Salvador. Like Lopez, he was friendly, and the conversation continued. Lopez came in and we talked. As we had not brought any bags with us, none of us had our notebooks. Too bad we didn't have a tape recorder with us! No doubt we will be able to report on all of this in more depth later, but in general, the two soldiers were warm and human with us, and we were glad that we had decided to come in and talk with them. They were frank, and answered our questions candidly. However, they made it clear that they followed orders (Nuremburg flashed through my mind), and that they had no control over decisions that were made over their heads. Nor would they offer opinions on the wisdom, legality, or morality of those orders.

I think it's safe to say, on behalf of the delegation, that our interaction with these men only strengthened our conviction that peace, if it is ever to come, must come from the peoples of the world. We can't expect it from the governments, who sit safely in comfortable offices making decisions that force the hell of war on soldiers and civilians alike. Both the soldiers we met inside this base, and the people of the resistance we met in Najaf, are playing out a tragedy being written by powerful men far away from the suffering and pain they are causing. The people of Iraq, as exemplified by the people of Najaf, of Fallujah, of Baghdad, are caught in between; their wishes for a normal life sacrificed to the quest of a small handful of individuals for power and control.

Why do we become soldiers, closing our minds and allowing others to think for us, giving our lives - and taking the lives of others - to further the ambitions of people who have no regard for the lives of others? Brian, one of our members, pointed out to the soldiers that every human being has a moral responsibility to an authority even higher than their governments; a divine authority that, speaking through the voices of all religions, calls on us to love one another, to be kind rather than cruel, to help one another rather than hurt each other.

After maybe an hour or so, a Hummer drove up, bringing Meg back to join us. They said we were free to go when we pleased, but before leaving, we formed a circle of prayer there between the bunkers and shelters, and offered our prayers for the safety of everyone in Najaf and all of Iraq. The soldiers standing around us seemed somehow embarrassed, and gradually backed away, leaving us alone in the hot sun.

I don't remember right now what the others said, and not even exactly what I said, but it was something about my impression of the army base as an expression, not of strength and power, but of weakness and fear. Our human heritage of thousands of years of war should teach us that war is not the answer to war; it demonstrates a failing of our society. We must look instead to an awakening of the spirit of humanity within us.

Only love will open the door inside each of us that enables us to see that every other human being is just the same as us, deserving of respect, yearning for love and connection, and wishing only - as PFC Lopez so eloquently put it - to be with his family, to go to the beach and play with the kids, to have a barbeque on Sunday, mow the grass in the back yard, to laugh and be safe at home.

A great work awaits us, the peoples of the world, if we truly want peace. We must escape the grip of the men who have taken control of the governments of the world. We must learn to see ourselves not as Americans or Iraqis, but as human beings, brothers and sisters, one human family.

When shall we begin?

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