Writings by Cathy Breen

They Haven’t Heard the News

Gerald — Mon, 07 Nov 2011 12:51:53 -0600

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Cathy Breen Wrting From Amman, Jordan

Excerpt

Amman, Jordan
November 4, 2011

What a handsome young man. He came three months ago from Baghdad. He said he had to. He left his wife, his mother and six little children behind. When I asked about his children, he became silent and I realized after some moments that he was crying. I too was silent, hesitating to continue. So young, I thought. All he has ever known is war.

Body

Amman, Jordan
November 4, 2011

Then Mustafa, I will call him, took up his phone and began to show me pictures of his children. I silently praised the wonders of technology. He began with his youngest, about 1 ½ years old, and progressed to the eldest, about 11 years of age. What beautiful faces, what bright eyes! Noticing his discomfort I avoided looking at the young father too directly as we spoke. But now I looked him full in the face studying his eyes. Where did the children get such beautiful eyes, I asked him. From their mother he said, and he showed me her picture. What a beautiful smile your wife has, I said, all the time aware of the pain of separation. This is war, I thought. How damnable.

A good friend, I will call him Ali, had told me about this young man the night before. They are friends. Mustafa had told Ali about the situation in the hospitals in Baghdad. How does he know so much about hospitals? Because he often takes people from the streets after explosions. Mustafa told him that at times there are so many wounded people after explosions that they are laying on the ground outside the hospital door as there is no more room inside. The doctors are forced to leave the seriously wounded to die. What must that do to a person’s psyche and spirit?

As a nurse who has followed the number of Iraqi dead in the news since the war, I have had to leave the thought of Baghdad hospitals behind me. It was simply too painful for me to imagine. Some figures have it that 80% of the country’s doctors had to flee because of kidnappings and assassinations. Mustafa told me tonight that the doctors in hospitals are just out of medical school. I have often wondered how they manage to remain sane tending to shredded, shattered, mutilated bodies day after day. I remember an Iraqi friend telling me a few years back how he had seen a mother, beside herself with grief, shrieking and running with the legs of her little boy in her arms to the hospital. She had only his legs.

Ali is waiting for resettlement to the U.S. He has been waiting for over two years now. He is a trusted friend, guide and translator for us. We have tried to help him find out what is causing the delay. He had a second interview this past August with someone from the Department of Homeland Security. This has sometimes proved to be a good sign. The woman seemed kind and assured him his clearance was through. He would be traveling soon. She had only a couple of questions, some papers for him to sign. Why don’t you go back to Iraq? she asked him. The situation is good now, she said. Didn’t you hear the news yesterday, Ali asked her. In Baghdad alone there were five bombings?

I opened my calendar to the day before Ali’s interview. I have one of those at-a-glance monthly calendars. Sure enough, there I had written. 89 dead, 315 wounded. President Obama said on October 7th of this year that the United States was “responsibly ending” the war in Iraq. It seems he hasn’t heard the news either.

VCNV Author

Cathy Breen

Cathy Breen writes from Amman Jordon

Joshua Brollier — Tue, 10 May 2011 10:35:05 -0500

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April 29, 2010

Excerpt

Amman, Jordan

April 29, 2010

Dear Friends,

My time in the Middle East is coming to an end and I would like to write you one last time. I was very sorry to leave Syria yesterday, but my return flight to the U.S. is out of Jordan. I had hoped to travel by land from Damascus to Amman, but the road was closed due to confrontations in southern Syria near the border. So I found myself in the early morning hours yesterday at the Damascus airport waiting to board a plane heading for Amman. How I wished I was arriving instead of leaving.

Body

Amman, Jordan

April 29, 2010

Dear Friends,

As I sat waiting to board the plane, I took up an Easter letter from the Deir Mar Musa community. This monastery, which is a couple of hours outside of Damascus, focuses on unity and the fostering of Christian-Muslim dialogue and relationships. I have been there on more than one occasion with Iraqi Muslim friends. I could hear Padre Pablo’s voice (an Italian Jesuit and key member of that community) in the weighty words. “The damage suffered by Syrian society is already irreversible.” I read on with a heavy heart. “It is….impossible to keep silent and fail to express our deep pain in the face of the prevailing violence that is causing unbearable suffering….We express our solidarity with all the victims of the on-going conflict with prayers of tears.”

Who is behind the unrest? What are the motives? Who are the instigators and perpetrators of the violence? I hesitate to speak about the situation in Syria or what “Syrians” are thinking or wanting. As I write this, I can remember so well Kathy Kelly’s strong disapproval years ago when someone would speak of the “Iraqi people” in generalized terms.

Before me is a letter from good friends of ours. They are from the U.S. but have lived in Damascus for the last six years. The letter is an attempt to respond to urgent emails from their friends asking about the situation in Syria. It is not business as usual they say. “And ‘as usual’ before March 2011 is not going to be ‘as usual’ again. But what the difference will be, we cannot know. Please remember: we don’t know and you don’t know all the actors in this. We don’t know how much commonality there is. We don’t know what outside money (which the WikLeaks revealed has been coming to anti-regime groups in Syria from the US since at least 2006) and what outside interests are at work. “

Further on in the letter I read “Let us say that we do not recognize the Syria where we’ve lived six years in much of what we’ve read these weeks in Western papers. Of course there is much that needs changing in Syria, much that is unjust…We are well aware that the regimes brought down in Cairo and Tunis were US supported, as are the regimes now challenged in Yemen, Bahrain, even Jordan. How the US would like the world to be focused instead on protests against a government [Syria] that has not done the bidding of the US for a long time…. Probably the only Arab country that doesn’t feed at the US trough.”

While in Aleppo, I had the opportunity to speak with some university students there. I was stirred by their hopes for change and struck by their determination to continue on in the struggle for a more pluralistic society with free expression where their dreams and aspirations can be realized. On another occasion a young Iraqi friend, a refugee herself, told me about a friend. He was on his way to Homs when the bus he was on was stopped by a car. Armed men got on the bus and the passengers were forced at gunpoint to chant over and over in a loud voice “Down with Bashar! Down with Bashar!” Photos were taken of them, and when the bus arrived at the station the passengers got off. No money was taken; no one was hurt or mishandled. The photos were put up on Youtube, where I understand countless other “staged” stories can be found.

What I can speak of is how frightened and anxious Iraqis are. Several Iraqis I met have lost their jobs (illegal work), as the shops had closed due to unrest. Restaurants, hotels, and boarding houses have emptied out. The landlady in the old house where I rented a room was beside herself with worry when I left. How will she and her invalid mother survive? Shopkeepers stand idle in the old city. In recent days I heard reports of Iraqi families receiving threats by armed gangs in their neighborhoods to leave the country. Accounts of poor Syrian teenagers receiving exorbitant amounts of money to carry out attacks; money said to be coming from the U.S. and Israel. Some of the gang members reportedly captured were carrying guns from the U.S., something never seen in Syria before.

The Department of Homeland Security(DHS) team (they do the definitve interview for any Iraqi seeking resettlement to the U.S.) were due to come to Syria. They will not be coming now. This will greatly affect the US resettlement program here. There are so many questions now. Where will happen to Iraqis now? Would Jordan, presently experiencing a welcomed calm after the unrest here in March, be willing to set up tented camps for them? I have heard whispers of this.

It is in this climate of uncertainty that I must leave. I cannot thank you enough for your prayers and support during this time. I can assure you that they brought comfort and hope to many. Warmest greetings, Cathy Breen

VCNV Author

Cathy Breen

Good Friday in an anxious Damascus

Joshua Brollier — Mon, 25 Apr 2011 09:48:56 -0500

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By Cathy Breen

Excerpt

Damascus, Syria

April 23, 2011

Dear Friends,

So much has been going on here that I don’t know where to begin to write you.

Yesterday was Good Friday for those of us in the Christian tradition. It is one of the most solemn feast days in our church calendar. I believe there are about 2 million Christians in Syria, and ancient churches in the old city seem as abundant and as the beautifully striking mosques. All of the street processions reenacting Jesus’ passion, and normally celebrated here in Damascus, were cancelled due to demonstrations.

Body

Damascus, Syria

April 23, 2011

Dear Friends,

So much has been going on here that I don’t know where to begin to write you.

In the afternoon we heard loud automatic gunfire and sirens close to where I am rooming in the old city. I went up to the roof, but it was impossible to see anything. The gunfire continued sporadically and one of the young women boarders returned from the streets to say that people were running away from the focus of unrest. It is difficult to assess what is going on. The streets were somberly calm in the late afternoon, and internet cafes were open. I was one of the folks searching the internet for news about Syria. Good Friday services were held in the evening, but inside the churches. I opted to stay home and keep an eye on the elderly bed-ridden mother upstairs so the landlady could go to church. She has been keeping a strict fast during this Lenten season, one that has put me to shame. I was glad to pinch hit so she could attend services. For me, she and her mother are the real saints.

Everyone is anxious. Iraqis are especially nervous and vulnerable. You might have heard the news that a truck from Iraq loaded with weapons and munitions was intercepted a week or so ago at the Syrian border. This incident has caused rumors and suspicion that Iraqis could be among those fomenting contention and violence throughout the country. More than one Iraqi has told me that they have lost their jobs as their workplaces have been shut down due to unrest. They stay close to home behind closed doors.

And so everyone is waiting. Waiting to see what happens.

In spite of the uncertainty, life goes on. For me as well, there is no lack of work to do. There are still family visits to make, something that takes me to poorer neighborhoods throughout the city. It is perhaps more important than ever to assure Iraqis that there are people all around the world who have not forgotten them. There are reports to write, follow- up telephone calls and emails. People are in desperate need of cash assistance from UNHCR. Urgent needs: to pay back rent, see a dentist, pay for an emergency operation, buy food for the family or milk for an infant. There are Iraqi refugee families slated to travel to the US but who have no friends and family there. Can we help them find a support group? How can we advocate for Iraqi families and/or individuals here to be reunited with family members in other countries? Can we help them find out the status of their cases, as they have been waiting for months and years now to be resettled?

Today is Holy Saturday. Jesus’ body has been taken down from the cross and buried. The tomb is closed. Everyone is numb and waiting. Waiting to see what will happen.

The Easter vigil service in my own community at the Catholic Worker in New York City is my favorite celebration of the year. The small kitchen and dining room where the mass is celebrated is packed with friends, some of whom we see only once a year. Dusk is falling and the Easter candle is lit from a fire in the back yard and brought into the crowded room. The tin-topped kitchen table is beautifully decorated. Pots and pans hang from meat hooks above and around the table and the refrigerator hums. I cannot think of a more powerful image of the divine meeting the ordinary. The chanting begins and the reading of the Word takes place. It doesn’t get much better than that.

Except maybe here. For it is here that I feel I am walking alongside of the “suffering” church. It is like stepping into the book of Acts. Those who have left everything behind, who have fled persecution because of their faith. Just days ago in Aleppo, an Armenian Iraqi man told me how two armed men broke into their apartment in Baghdad. One of the men, intending to kill him, asked “Aren’t you afraid?” The elderly man who has already suffered three heart attacks, looked upward and said, “I am afraid of no man. I fear only my God.” The man who meant him harm, cast his eyes down for a moment…and left the house without a word.

Warmest greetings and Easter blessings to all, Cathy Breen

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VCNV Author

Cathy Breen

Dear Friends

Joshua Brollier — Mon, 11 Apr 2011 09:13:06 -0500

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April 10th Letter from Cathy Breen in Damascus

Excerpt

Damascus, Syria
April 10, 2011
Dear Friends,

Two nights ago while visiting an Iraqi friend in his apartment, I asked if we could turn on the TV news. I wanted to take advantage of the gracious woman who was translating for us to get a sense of what is going on here in Syria. I will call her Fatima. We had not met before, and at my urging she had just shared some of her own story with me. Now as photos of chaotic scenes flashed before us (of smoke, of people running, of the dead and wounded), Fatima exclaimed, trying to laugh as she spoke, “We ran away from Palestine to Jordan. We ran away from Iraq to Syria. War seems to follow us!” The two friends told me nervously that there had been some disturbances at the other end of the neighborhood earlier in the day. They, of course, had stayed close to their homes.

Body

Damascus, Syria
April 10, 2011
Dear Friends,

Earlier that evening I met up with my Iraqi friend in a little restaurant near his apartment. There I enjoyed a glass of real Iraqi tea! Not the Lipton teabag sort so often served in Damascus. Some of you might remember my writing about this Iraqi father of four. His wife and children went to the U.S. from Syria almost two years ago, but he was denied resettlement for reasons still unknown to the family. I remember how my translator and I had wanted to go to the airport to see them off, but it was too difficult for us emotionally to watch the separation. The four year old daughter didn’t want to go without her father. His sister in the states is trying a route other than resettlement to get the father reunited with his family. Every six months or so, I telephone her in the states to see how his case is proceeding.

Another year of painful separation had passed, but it was forgotten for a moment in our joy at seeing one another again. After tea we walked the short distance to his apartment where Fatima was waiting for us outside. As I listened to my friend’s account of recent events, it seemed there might be light at the end of the tunnel for this family. His wife got a call about a week ago with the news that the security clearance was done. The US embassy in Syria would be advised and they should “just wait for a call regarding his visa.” Wanting reassurance, he looked at me eagerly and asked “Is this good news?” It sure sounds like it, I said.

My friend shared that he had been in the hospital about 9 days ago with chest pain and tachycardia. They kept him for 2 days. He is feeling better now. I can imagine that the news from his family has helped. I asked after the children and his wife. The older girls are doing well in school, and the second daughter only wants to speak English at home. The family’s first language is Chaldean. Her school bus overturned on the ice in Michigan a week ago, but thankfully she wasn’t hurt. I spoke of my own family. He expressed sorrow at the death of my youngest brother last June, as he knew of his illness.

I turned to Fatima, asking this soft spoken woman where she was from in Iraq and how long she had been in Syria. Thus began a most amazing story.

In 1948, when she was just 40 days old Fatima’s mother fled Jerusalem to Jordan. The father had gone before them. After three years in Jordan the family once again followed the father, this time to Iraq. That is where they made their home until circumstances caused them to flee once again.

Sumaya began work at the age of 11. “I always like to be active,” she said. She finished a degree in English at a university in Baghdad, married and had, I believe she said, two children. She lost her husband some years ago. The daughter is in Morocco with her husband and 2 children. Her son lives with her in Damascus, together with his second wife and two little children. His first wife, together with his mother-in-law were killed tragically when a U.S. convoy opened fire on their car, supposedly they had come too close. Fatima’s 1 ½ year old grandson, also in the car, was thrown to the floor and protected by suitcases which fell on him. She was able to find the child a week later, as well as the corpses of the two women, each in different morgues. She showed me the photo of her now 6 year old grandson who is with her. A smiling adorable child. Her mother, now 89 years old, lives with her as well as a 50 year old sister and a 64 year old sister, who is mentally disturbed as a result of the war. The sister doesn’t realize she is in Syria. They are an 8 person household in the same neighborhood as my friend, an area abundant with Iraqi refugees.

Fatima worked for 15 years for a Brazilian Company as a translator, as well as for the Venezuelan and Moroccan Embassies. It was her last position as a translator in the Green Zone for the U.S. military that caused her to flee to Syria in 2006.

She is fretful now as she tries to scrape together enough money for her family to survive. She works six days a week from 8am to 6pm sewing blouses. She earns about $20. a week. Her mother recently had to undergo a serious bowel operation. They owe the hospital $3,000. Their situation is quite complicated as they want to resettle together as a family. But she and her mother and one sister have Jordanian passports and the rest of the family in Damascus are without status as Palestinians born in Iraq.

Toward the end of the visit I brought out photos of my own family, my neighborhood, community and friends. As I passed around the photos (families from New Zealand, Germany, Sunnyside, N.Y., Denver, Colorado, L’Arche Community in Boston, etc.), I told them “They all send their greetings to you. They are all thinking and praying for you.” Thanks to so many of you, I was able to leave a bit of the money you have sent for families such as theirs. Words can’t express their gratitude.

There is so much more I could write you, but for now this will suffice. I send you warmest greetings and very much love, Cathy

Holding Out for a Laugh

Joshua Brollier — Mon, 11 Apr 2011 08:54:30 -0500

Short Information Teaser

Cathy Breen writes from Damascus

Excerpt

Damascus, Syria
April 9, 2011

Dear Friends,

I want to laugh today. As the mystic Indian poet Kabir sang, “A whole body laugh, feeling God’s poke in the ribs.”

There is no lack of things that make me sad just thinking of them. An Iraqi man separated from his family for almost two years. The wife and four children left for the U.S. in June of 2009, but the father was denied on “credibility.” For what reason? I challenge anyone to try and get the Dept. of Homeland Security to release this information to the family. His little son in Michigan, now 4 ½ years, has long since forgotten his dad’s voice over the telephone. The family in the U.S. is trying another route to reunite the family, but the wait seems eternal. I hope to see the father tonight.

Body

Damascus, Syria
April 9, 2011

Dear Friends,

I want to laugh today. As the mystic Indian poet Kabir sang, “A whole body laugh, feeling God’s poke in the ribs.”

The recent meeting with the UNHCR, though discouraging in its prognosis for Iraq and its refugees, was helpful and clarifying. The news for Palestinians from Iraq is grim. I know some are waiting to hear the results of that meeting and I dread telephoning them today. I asked the UNHCR representative what I should tell them. “Tell them there are no slots for them for resettlement.” Though compassionate, the representative’s voice was fraught with frustration.

A very small number of Iraqis have returned from Syria to Iraq this year, perhaps 50. Dawn Chatty, a reader in anthropology and forced migration at Oxford University writes: “The Iraqi refugees, unwilling to return and unable to emigrate further west or north, are in a perilous situation that needs to be recognized and addressed by the western powers who created this humanitarian crisis.” She views their state as one of “protracted crisis.”

In Syria alone there is a backlog of over 2,000 cases for U.S. resettlement to be processed due to new Homeland Security procedures. So many Iraqis I have met this trip, both in Jordan and Syria, are waiting for their security checks to clear. One young Iraqi in Amman who sometimes translates for me has had his medical tests four times already. The medical work up must be redone after each six-month period.

The projected figure for resettlement to the U.S. from Syria for the next year is over 10,000. In the UNHCR meeting we spoke of the economic recession in the U.S., and the serious ethical question of sending Iraqis into a situation where they will only suffer further hardship and humiliation. Some days ago I received an email from a trusted German friend of Voice who was with the UN in Iraq before the war. An Iraqi colleague of his who was resettled in Texas “found a hopeless situation with help that is not enough to live and not enough to die.” His friend is not a young man. He was just told that next month, in May, U.S. financial assistance will cease. Our German colleague was aghast. How can this be? Who is addressing this situation?

I must close now, but I am holding out for that laugh today. “A whole body laugh, feeling God’s poke in the ribs.” Cathy

Dear Friends

Joshua Brollier — Fri, 08 Apr 2011 09:18:53 -0500

Short Information Teaser

Cathy Breen writes from Damascus

Excerpt

April 4, 2011
By Cathy Breen
Dear Friends,

I arrived in Damascus a few days ago. There weren’t many cars crossing the border, so it was a relatively quick trip, and inexpensive (about 4 hrs. and $12.00). Friends living in Damascus had found me a room to rent in a house in the old city. There were four other boarders, all of them studying Arabic. Two of them are German women, in their 50s, who, sadly, will be leaving in a few days. One young fellow from the states left early today for Amman. On the occasions when I spoke with him he appeared quite nervous. He told me late last night that his mother really wanted him to get out of Syria for awhile.

Body

April 4, 2011
By Cathy Breen
Dear Friends,

It is hard to get a sense of what is going on here. On a public bus returning from a visit to a Palestinian neighborhood, things appeared normal and the atmosphere tranquil. An Iraqi friend told me that there was hardly anyone in the mosque at Friday prayer. People were frightened and stayed home. A young Iraqi woman whom I had hoped to enlist as a translator said she felt it was too risky for her. And today a young Iraqi mother told me that she also stays inside as pro-government supporters are frequently on the streets of her neighborhood shouting slogans. But here in the old city there is no lack of tourist groups wandering around taking photos. I hear French, Spanish, German and other languages as we pass each other on the street. It seems so Kafkaesque to sit in an internet in Damascus and try to get information on line about what is going on in Damascus!

Here in the house there are also periodic bouts of loud angry shouting. It is something I am not used to. The landlady, about my age, cares for her bedridden mother, who is hard of hearing I might add. They too are homebound. I am at a loss as to know how to reach out to them, especially given my poor Arabic. Sometimes I close the door and window of my room, because of the yelling. We are all so volatile and vulnerable, and the precarious political situation doesn’t help. It was nice to be invited upstairs to join them for coffee this afternoon, together with one of the German women and a couple of their women neighbors. The TV was on and apparently there was a violent confrontation in Latakia (a seaside town in northern Syria) with several killed and many others wounded. At least that is what I understood to be the case.

In spite of the underlying tension, there is no lack of hearty relationships to warm one’s heart and feed the soul. The other day I was invited to visit a center that Palestinians from Iraq have set up in their neighborhood. They showed me a spiral bound book in which they have compiled some 3,000 names. I learned that all of the Palestinians who fled here from Iraq come primarily from three villages near Haifa. Of the original 34,000 Palestinians from Iraq, there are perhaps 9.000 left in Iraq. In Syria there are approximately 2,000 to 2,500 with another 400 in Al Hol camp (inside Syria at the border) and 300 in Al Waleed camp (inside Iraq at the border).

You cannot imagine my surprise when they showed me a photocopy of a letter I had written last May while in Damascus, in which I described the desperation of their particular situation. Parts of the letter were highlighted and translated into Arabic. I was dumbfounded that it had found its way into their hands! Over the next four or five hours about twenty people gathered, eager to bring me up to date on the events of the past year, as well as sharing their more personal stories and… their feelings of despair and hopelessness.

They are worried as they have no legal status, or documentation. Many fled to Syria using falsified passports with fake names. One could say they are the most vulnerable of any refugee population. More than a desire for resettlement, their main concern is for the safety of their families. This point was emphasized over and over in the course of the lengthy visit.

They are especially fearful as last November one of their young men was arrested while simply walking on the street. His family was rounded up and others as well. Forty people were forcibly returned to Baghdad. After this incident families in Damascus stayed in their homes for the next month, leaving only quickly to shop for food.

When Palestinians from Iraq register with the UNHCR here in Syria, they get a paper which recognizes them as refugees. This document however offers no protection when picked up by the authorities. There is another paper, however, called the ejaza paper, which is issued by the Al Hol camp at the Syrian-Iraq border. This paper when shown to the Syrian police, has prevented forced deportation. What has changed over the last year is that Palestinians from in Syria, over 2,000 of them, are no longer permitted to get this paper at Al Hol Camp. They feel betrayed by the UNHCR whose explanation has been “The government won’t allow it.”

Without exception everyone agreed that the situation has gotten worse over the last year, due they feel to the lack of cooperation from the UNCHR. “We have no hope. Our children can’t go to university; there are no jobs, they can’t marry because they can’t register. When children are born, we can’t give them a name. And when people die, there are no legal papers. We can’t go one step further. Palestinians the world over are recognized as people without a country. Sometimes my children ask me ‘Who am I?’ I tell them we are Palestinians. They ask ‘Why can’t we go back to Palestine?’ We are refugees from birth. We will be refugees until death. The UNHCR has a responsibility, and even more so the United States has a responsibility. We would like Syria to keep us until our situation is resolved.

They insisted I stay for dinner. No amount of protesting could dissuade them. Here you see the lovely table that was set and some of the folks beginning to gather. Please know that you were all at the table with me. More than once, I assured everyone of your thoughts, support and struggle on their behalf.

I send you all my warmest greetings, Cathy Breen

A Letter from Cathy Breen

Joshua Brollier — Mon, 13 Dec 2010 03:59:57 -0600

Short Information Teaser

Cathy Breen writes about her visit with Iraqi families in Canada and Michigan

Excerpt

New York City, December 8, 2010

They say she cries tears of oil, and that occasionally there is a hint of a smile on her face. The story has it that the statue is owned by a Muslim woman in Windsor, Canada.

When the statue began to shed tears, it created such a furor in the town with crowds thronging to see her, that the statue was transferred to a little church. I was taken to see her just a few days ago by an Armenian Iraqi family I was visiting in Canada. The church was open and we were the only visitors. Almost life sized, Mary was indeed smiling down on us. We saw no trace of tears, though her eyes were large and luminous and it was easy to imagine her weeping. The thought that went through my mind was that Mary only cries when we stop crying. Crying for the ongoing suffering due to our wars, for families uprooted and separated from their loved ones, for families still burying their dead and trying themselves to escape the ongoing violence and killing in Iraq.

Body

New York City, December 8, 2010

They say she cries tears of oil, and that occasionally there is a hint of a smile on her face. The story has it that the statue is owned by a Muslim woman in Windsor, Canada.

An elderly Armenian couple has befriended our Iraqi friends (I will call them Yosif and Mariam) who have relocated in Windsor. The couple accompanied us on our pilgrimage to the shrine. Sitting in the car beside this dear woman, I inquired about her own origins. Born in Syria, she went with her husband to Lebanon and later immigrated to Canada where they raised several children. Their children are grown now and have children of their own. I was totally captivated to learn that her father was the sole survivor of hundreds massacred in Armenia in 1915. It was hard to believe, but her mother as well was the sole survivor of her own village. She told me, if I am not mistaken, that one and a half million Armenians were slaughtered in from 1909 to 1919.

I asked her if she had ever written down her story for her children and her grandchildren. She had not. She felt they had little interest, but later it became apparent that neither she nor her husband could write. She had to care for her sick mother at the early age of six. After visiting the shrine, we returned to their home where I was able to record just a portion of the story. I was humbled to be in the presence of such survivors.

Having just returned from a 5-day trip to visit two Iraqi families with whom Voices has been close for some years now, I am anxious to get some word to you. As I already mentioned, the family resettled in Canada (with two young girls) are Armenian. They had been living in Aleppo, Syria for over two years. They had to flee because they are Christian. I came to know the family through Miriam’s elderly widowed father who was living in Amman, Jordan. He was trying to get to California where his two sons had been resettled. He told me sadly that his only daughter was in Syria. I was able to visit her on two consecutive trips to Syria. I became a messenger of sorts, bringing photos and packages back and forth between Jordan and Syria as they themselves were unable to reach one another. Tragically they remain separated, the elderly father now in California and the daughter in Canada.

During my stay with them in Windsor, Yosif told me that a bomb exploded last month in his only sister’s home in Baghdad. A message was left for the family “Leave!” This happened the morning after some 200 hostages were taken in a Baghdad church. Over 80 were killed when the perpetrators began killing one after another inside the locked church, only to “exploded themselves” when Iraqi security forces tried to enter. Yosif’s sister and her husband have moved back into the house after making repairs. They have nowhere else to go.

Yosif is extremely worried as his own elderly parents are languishing in Aleppo, Syria. His father has already suffered two heart attacks and can only walk a short distance before having to take nitroglycerin. They live on the 5th floor of a building. Yosif said “I don’t think they will make it another year.” Yosif and Miriam want to receive them in Canada, but, his parents just reached Syria 8 months ago and they have not been considered for resettlement yet. There are thousands of Iraqis ahead of them who are waiting for resettlement. Some of them have been stuck in Syria for four and five years already.

From Canada I went on by bus to Grand Rapids, Michigan to visit a Muslim family (I will call them Abu and Um Mohammed) with their seven children. They resettled there just 8 months ago, having been in Damascus for the last four years. They had to flee Baghdad after three attempts were made on Abu Mohammed’s life. As with so many Iraqi families we know they were the target of sectarian violence. The father is Sunni and the mother Shi’a. Abu Mohammed told me that his mother died 5 months ago in Baghdad. And two months ago one of his brothers died in Baghdad. His sorrow was so great while telling me this that I could not bring myself to ask him the circumstances of his brother’s death.

I was in Grand Rapids on a Monday and Tuesday, school days. Six of the seven children are school age, and the two older girls have missed at least two years of school. They are both in 10th grade and the third oldest is in 9th grade. The fourth daughter is in 6th grade and the fifth daughter in 3rd grade, each in a separate school. The sixth child, a boy, is in kindergarten and is in yet another school.

The two mornings I was with them, I arose early with the rest of the family and accompanied the father as he took them to their respective schools. As we set out it was dark and cold. By the time we saw the last of the children dropped off, the day was dawning as you can see from the photos. I have had first-hand experience of just how difficult it is for non-English speaking Iraqi children who are suddenly thrust into our school system. I know of the desperate tears shed by Iraq children and parents alike as they take these first painful steps into a world and language so foreign to them. It moved me deeply to see the courage of these young children as they made their way to the front door of their respective schools. I told them how brave they are!

Not yet 50 years of age, Abu Mohammed was scheduled to have open-heart surgery three days later (a triple bypass). I was able to go with him to the hospital where he was to undergo preoperative tests. He was pensive, wondering if the surgery could be postponed. But he was fearful he would lose the opportunity and the doctor’s services. After seeing how dependent the family is on him, I also felt it would be good to delay the operation if possible. The staff was wonderful as they listened to his concerns. Later that day he received a telephone call advising him that the doctor agreed to wait three months.

I am happy to report that in both Windsor and Grand Rapids, people have reached out to theses families to make their resettlement easier. But so many tears have been shed. Abu Mohammed has watched his wife cry herself to sleep night after night. But one evening we put Arabic music on and they taught me how to do a traditional dance. We had many laughs as we linked hands and made our way dancing through the living room! I was easily drawn into both families and welcomed as an aunt or grandmother. We no longer needed a translator as in the past.

In many ways it was harder for me to plan this 5-day trip to the north than to arrange a 3 or 4 month trip to the Middle East. But I have more courage now after having done it. I greet you with great affection and heartfelt thanks for all your support, Cathy Breen

VCNV Author

Cathy Breen

Letter From Kathy Breen, June 7 2010

Gerald — Wed, 09 Jun 2010 11:27:32 -0500

Short Information Teaser

Update on the Iraqi Refugee Crisis from Damascus, Syria

Excerpt

Just a half an hour ago I got an email from a doctor friend in Baghdad whom I wrote just last night asking about their well-being. ” …we are always thinking that being not alone is a grace. We are passing hard times….the hot summer is not hotter than the fire inside our hearts from the chaos we are living and the tragic stories we are witnessing everyday.”

Body

Damascus Syria
June 7, 2010

Dear Friends,

Sometimes I play solitaire on the computer. Perhaps it is escapism, but I look on it as helpful therapy. In my family growing up, “a card laid was a card played.” There was no second chance unless my siblings or parents were in a merciful mood. One had better think things through. On the computer however, I discovered that if I click on something that says “undo,” I can change a card played too hastily. I actually get a second chance.

Oh how different life would be if we could undo some of our mistakes.

Many unexpected doors have opened on this trip. I have been able to see several Iraqis whom we haven’t seen since before the war or under the occupation. What should be a joyful occasion, that of seeing one another again, of sharing memories and catching up on friends and events, is also indescribably painful. The passing of time has not eased their pain and suffering. The situation in Iraq remains unstable and volatile, with no end in sight of the chaos and violence. The passing of time… over seven years now…only serves to accentuate a feeling of helpless desperation.

I become, not a bearer of good news and forthcoming relief, but merely someone who, with them, sits together and bears witness to the card ill laid. I remember quoting C.S. Lewis some years back, I believe it was in a letter from Baghdad. He wrote in the preface of The Great Divorce:

I do not think that all who choose wrong roads perish; but their rescue consists in being put back on the right road. A sum can be put right; but only by going back till you find the error and working it afresh from that point, never by simply going on. Evil can be undone, but it cannot ‘develop’ into good. Time does not heal it.

On June 2nd, Kathy Kelly and Joshua Broiler write from Pakistan, quoting a young man from North Waziristan. “Our situation is like a football match. The superpower countries are the players, and we are just the ball to be kicked about.” Kathy and Josh report that this sentiment “has been echoed throughout many of our conversations with ordinary people here in Pakistan and in Afghanistan.”

Further on in the article we read “One doesn’t have to spend much time in South Asia to find many people who feel that the tactics like the U.S. offensive in Kandahar, torture and indefinite detention at Bagram, and the drone strikes in Pakistan are fanning the flames of resistance and increasing the ranks of violent groups that manipulate Islam for their own purposes.”

Perhaps a first step in being put back on the right road is the withdrawal of troops, something which, Kathy and Joshua point out, does not require the U.S. abandon Afghanistan, [Pakistan or Iraq]. “There are models for securing development efforts, in conflict zones, that do not require hundreds of thousands of troops, networks of military bases, and the overwhelming force of aerial surveillance and bombing.”

Yes, evil can be undone, as C.S. Lewis says. But it cannot develop into good. And the passing of time, as we see so clearly in the case of Iraq, does not heal it.

VCNV Author

Cathy Breen

Letter from Cathy Breen, May 24 2010

Dan Pearson — Tue, 25 May 2010 09:52:26 -0500

Short Information Teaser

Update on the Iraqi Refugee Crisis from Damascus, Syria

Excerpt

Damascus, Syria
May 24, 2010

The other day an article caught my attention while I was at the internet shop I frequent—“In Baghdad Ruins, Remains of a Cultural Bridge.” (NY Times, May 21, 2010, Anthony Shadid) I printed the article out to take back to my room.

Body

Damascus, Syria
May 24, 2010

The piece begins with a terse official report by a Colonel Qais Hussein. Report No. 25 to be exact, dated April 4, 2010. “Material damage significant,” the Colonel writes. A car bomb was set off near the Egyptian Embassy. Seventeen people were killed, ten cars burned as well as a house in front of the embassy. Mr. Shadid describes the report as “clinical, the anonymous survey of an explosion in a city where explosions are ordinary.”

What the Colonel’s report doesn’t mention, Mr. Shadid notes, were “the hundreds of books, from plays of Chekhov to novels of the Palestinian writer Ghassan Kanafani, stored in bags, boxes and a stairwell. It didn’t speak of the paintings there of Shaker Hassan, one of Iraq’s greatest, or the sculptures of his compatriot, Mohammed Ghani Hikmat. There was no note of the stone brought from an exile’s birthplace in Bethlehem that helped build the house as a cosmopolitan refuge bridging West and East.

Nor did Colonel Hussein’s report mention that the home belonged to Jabra Ibrahim Jabra, a renown Arab novelist, poet, painter, critic and translator who built it along the date palms and mulberry trees of Princesses’ Street nearly a half-century ago and lived there until his death in 1994.”

As I read the article later in the day, I was overcome by sadness and memories of Baghdad, especially of a dear friend named Amal. She had a family home on the Tigris River which she turned into a beautiful Cultural center. The rooms were filled with art and handcrafts, many of which she herself collected throughout the whole of Iraq. Like Jabra Ibrahim Jabra’s house, the doors were open to all. It was a refuge of peace and harmony, and a place of lively stimulating discussions as artists and friends gathered on the veranda or in the courtyard garden for tea. For me it was always magical.

A scholar and lover of beauty, Amal was heartbroken and inconsolable at the destruction and looting of the museums and historical sites after the regime collapse. Her own lovely center was completely gutted just days after the fall of Saddam’s regime. About 1-½ weeks after “Shock and Awe” I visited the home where Amal lived across town. The windows had been blown out due to the bombings, and everything was covered in a fine layer of dirt from an intense sandstorm. As in the Cultural center, Amal’s home hosted many lovely treasures. Her friend Mohammed Ghani Hikmat, also mentioned in Mr. Shadid’s article, had crafted the front door.

After visiting Amal, as I was returning in a taxi to the hotel, we passed the Cultural center. Noticing that the door was wide open, I quickly asked the driver to let me out.

I will never forget walking through the barren gutted rooms. The only things left were a few broken shards on the floor, the remains of a clay vessel of some sort. Then I noticed a discarded piece of paper. It was, I discovered, part of a photograph of the center, which was taken when the second floor collapsed during the first Gulf War. Amal had managed to restore the center, minus the second floor. The photograph was a shot of the before and after. I took it along with the shards to give to Amal at a later date. Over seven years have passed…and the memories are still vivid. And the explosions continue on.

After reading “In Baghdad Ruins…” I decided to go to a special place I have found, the gallery of the Syrian artist, Mustafa Ali. This is the sight that greets one upon entering the courtyard: a young woman in repose, embraced by and embracing the truck of a tree.

I just sat and let my eyes feast on the raw natural pieces of wood turned into art. The very smell of the wood was healing. Some of the pieces have delicate brass figures.

Mr. Shadid points out that Colonel Hussein’s report did not mention that the home that was destroyed belonged to Jabra Ibrahim Jabra. “This is not,” he says, “a story about an outpouring of grief over its destruction. There were no commemorations, few tributes. As Fadhil Thamer, a critic, said, ‘People here have seen too much.’”

I think of Amal and all that she has seen. Her name means hope. I pray she has not given up hope.

Cathy Breen

VCNV Author

Cathy Breen

Letter from Cathy Breen, May 16 2010

Dan Pearson — Sun, 16 May 2010 09:34:59 -0500

Short Information Teaser

Update on the Iraqi Refugee Crisis from Damascus, Syria

Excerpt

Damascus, Syria
May 16, 2010

Dear Friends, “Ten years ago everyone dreamed about going to America.” The words of an Iraqi friend to me recently. But this is no longer the case. Quite the contrary as a matter of fact. Iraqis who have been resettled to the U.S. have been returning to Syria and Iraq as the conditions there have been unbearable. No work to be found, benefits cut, etc. Iraqis here and in Jordan are quite aware of such situations, but they are caught in a bind. The U.S. is the only show in town so to speak; their quotas for Iraqi refugees far surpass those of other countries.

Body

Damascus, Syria
May 16, 2010

Dear Friends,

“Ten years ago everyone dreamed about going to America.” The words of an Iraqi friend to me recently. But this is no longer the case. Quite the contrary as a matter of fact. Iraqis who have been resettled to the U.S. have been returning to Syria and Iraq as the conditions there have been unbearable. No work to be found, benefits cut, etc. Iraqis here and in Jordan are quite aware of such situations, but they are caught in a bind. The U.S. is the only show in town so to speak; their quotas for Iraqi refugees far surpass those of other countries.

A few days ago I visited a young family with three little children. The children stole my heart a year ago when I first met them. This family has since been approached for resettlement to the United States. There is no other country with openings. They have already passed through a number of interviews and are awaiting a call to appear for the deciding interview with an officer from the Department of Homeland Security.

The wife’s brother in Baghdad told her “Go to any other country, but not to the United States. People returning to Iraq from the states are facing grave problems…kidnappings and killings.” She has heard moreover that, should they go to the U.S., she and her husband will have to agree to their sons enlisting in the army when they are of age, even return to Iraq to fight should they be called to. This thought terrifies the mother.

Even before visiting the family, my translator told me how nervous and fearful the family was about going to the states, a place so foreign from their own, so far away. Upon hearing this, I sent an email to some friends in New Jersey, asking if they would be in a position to begin searching for a support group to receive this family. Such a group of friends could make the difference between a frightening lonely experience, and one of feeling welcomed and expected. We shall see what will unfold.

Another family we visited recently also feels trapped. Like the above-mentioned family, they have been caught in the Shi’a – Sunni sectarian violence. They have lost so many family members, as well as the family home, that returning to Iraq is not an option for them. The husband is on a death list.

The mother repeatedly broke down in tears during out visit as she related the brutal killings of her family. Although she is getting psychological help, she cannot shake her fear and anxiety. “The doctor,” she said, “tells me to put the sadness behind me, to think of pleasant things. But I come home to my husband without work…we cannot buy the simplest things for our children…How can I?” They do not qualify for cash assistance, as there is a male in the household. The father gets sporadic work (illegally) washing dishes or waiting on tables. They would like to have another child, she said, but they cannot consider this. “I just want to go somewhere, anywhere, where my children can have a future.”
Such a normal desire. A desire all parents have in common. I asked the little girl to the right what she wanted to be when she grew up. “A doctor…a doctor for children. And I want to treat the children for free.” I asked her little sister the same question. She thought about it for quite awhile and then replied, “I want to draw pictures.” The makings of an aspiring artist it would seem!

In her book A Paradise Built in Hell, Rebecca Solnit proposes that “the prevalent human nature in disaster is resilient, resourceful, generous, empathic and brave.” When Cain cries out after killing Abel “Am I my brother’s keeper?” he is “also raising one of the perennial social questions: are we beholden to each other, must we take care of each other, or is it every man for himself?”

It is time to try and pick up the pieces of the lives and dreams we have shattered…through the wars we have chosen and continue to choose. The little girls in the photo did not choose this war, nor did their parents. May the light in their eyes help us to find our way.

It is time to open our hearts and homes to welcome and heal what we have broken. Should your family, community, church or other group of friends be able and willing to extend the hand of hospitality to such families, please let us hear from you.

Cathy Breen, Voices for Creative Nonviolence, email: newsfromcathy(at)yahoo.com

VCNV Author

Cathy Breen