it. On reading the piece, a doctor in Baghdad, another of my contacts, sent me
this:
I haven't written to you for a while ... but your last dispatch
about the health conditions in Iraq incited me to do so. I write you while
holding in my mind and heart a lot of sorrow and pain for all the innocent
people I am encountering every day as victims of this blind violence. I have
sorrow and pain
for a steadily vanishing future which once I had thought of as hopeful - even
after the US-led invasion in 2003. Let alone my sorrow for the future of my
one-and-a-half-year-old daughter.
The Iraqi health system has never been this bad before, and it is growing worse
day by day. The Saddam [Hussein] regime always tried to show that the [United
Nations] embargo affected the health system to the bone. That regime tried to
show the shortage of medicines, equipment and the high mortality rates of Iraqi
children. Saddam used to emphasize the bad conditions through the media, and
especially the Western media, in an attempt to affect international public
opinion.
But what is happening today is the total opposite of this. The government is
practicing a marked suppression of any revelation of the reality of the health
system. This is obvious through the government's underestimation of the figures
of victims of violence and sectarian killing. It can also be exemplified by
their prohibiting any workers in the health facilities from speaking to the
media unless authorized. In many situations the government will give an
optimistic view of our disaster in a time when there are no signs for a
favorable view.
During Saddam's era we used to see Western or even local media reporters
visiting hospitals, conducting interviews with patients and doctors. I wonder
why we can hardly see any now. It is a big question. Nobody now is aware of the
critical situation in our health institutions - once huge attractors of
therapeutic tourism in the Middle East. There has been a massive exodus of
senior consultants and junior doctors, which means a great absence of
experience. There is a grave shortage of necessary medicines and other
important logistics.
Sectarian tension has its own enormous impact. Sunni people are afraid to
attend hospitals run by the Mehdi Army [Shi'ite cleric Muqtada al-Sadr's
militia], which leaves them with very limited options. I have encountered many
Sunni patients in the hospital who use an alias to conceal their identity so
that they could have some help. Hospitals are heavily infiltrated by active
cells of Shi'ite militias, which are ready to abduct anyone they do not like.
Everyone here from the manager of the hospital down the administrative pyramid
must have the approval of the Sadr officials. What adds to the disaster is that
these people are not qualified; they only have the privilege of being loyal to
their political party.
The latest trend of mass abductions and kidnappings puts me under great
pressure of fear and apprehension that some day I might be a victim myself.
What happened in the raid on the Ministry of Higher Education [up to 150
academics, staff, and visitors were abducted on November 14 when roughly 80
gunmen stormed a research institute] is always echoing in my mind. Today the
media announced two officials of those who were kidnapped were found tortured,
blindfolded, murdered and dumped in Baghdad.
The burden of violence and terror is further intensified by the very bad
performance of our hospitals. Now, many innocent people can't find the proper
care and the majority are fleeing to Iran, Syria or Jordan for care. One of
these is my uncle, who couldn't find a working machine for lithotripsy for his
kidney stones in all of Baghdad, so he was advised to go to Syria.
We doctors are under unbearable stress. Aside from the scores of injured people
we see daily, factors like limited experience and the horrible shortage of
supplies have caused many doctors problems. When faced with a complicated case,
doctors often refuse to handle the case and try to refer it elsewhere, since a
doctor has reason to fear reprisal actions from the family if he fails to
manage the case successfully.
One week ago, I was called to examine a 22-year-old college student afflicted
with 60% burns after a blast injury. He had his face and limbs mutilated. One
eye had been lost. Nearby was standing a decent-looking gentleman. His eyes
were full of tears with breaths full of throes. He was the boy's father. He was
murmuring, "Those criminals targeted me but hit my boy. Why didn't they just
kill me instead?"
It was an uneasy situation and I felt speechless. What kind of words would
mitigate his pangs? I thought to myself, but I couldn't find any to say to him.
So I couldn't do anything except have my long, plaintive face reflect my
condolences. That gentleman was a college professor and he explained to me, "I
will not remain for a second. I just want my son to be fine so that I can take
him and leave this wrecked country." I nodded my head agreeing with him and
replied, "Right, it's a country that you and I can't live in anymore." By
nature I am not always morose like this, but sometimes a man is pushed beyond
his will.
The fact is, for most Iraqis, there is little hope
left, though polls show that more than 70% of them still want all occupation
forces out of their country. I've long since abandoned asking myself the
question: How much worse can it get in Iraq? My Iraqi friends and colleagues
tell me that one of the more popular sayings in Baghdad nowadays is, "Today is
better than tomorrow."
Dahr Jamail is an independent journalist who reported from Iraq for more
than eight months during 2003-05, as well as from Lebanon, Syria, Turkey and
Jordan.
