Vietnam

in my lifeFor Now, They StruggleA PHYSICIAN VISITS FAMILY MEMBERS IN WAR-TORN IRAQ.By Dahlia Wasfi ’93“Dahlia, come here,” my father called.I was upstairs in my parents’ house, duringwinter break of my sophomore year atSwarthmore. On the East Coast, it was 5p.m., Jan. 16, 1991. In Iraq—my father’sbirthplace and homeland of my paternalfamily—it was 1 a.m., Jan. 17. I went to thebalcony overlooking the family room.“They started bombing,” he said.Fear and sadness came over me becausemy relatives were among the millions ofIraqis who had no say in their government’sactions but would pay dearly at the hands ofthe most powerful military force in theworld. Once the initial shock of the newspassed, I found myself nervously humming.I soon realized the song was R.E.M.’s “It’sthe End of the World as We Know It.” Andit was.My father was born in Basrah, Iraq. Heearned a government scholarship to study inthe United States and completed graduatework at Georgetown University. While inDC, he met and married my mom, a niceHospital, where I began working in June2000. My experiences there would be thefinal straw.Most residencies are abusive, and thisone was no different. But the environmentbecame even more hostile following Sept. 11,2001.“I don’t want to operate on any MiddleEastern people,” one attending physiciansaid.I condemned the hypocrisy of militancy on a campus that purported to reflectQuaker traditions. But the hypocrisy I truly despised was within me, for I wascontinuing my life, business as usual, while bombs rained down on my family.AP PHOTO/JEAN-MARC BOUJUJewish girl from New York. Her parents hadfled their homeland of Austria duringHitler’s Anschluss and emigrated to the UnitedStates. Was it love at first sight? I don’tknow, but my sister was born in 1969, and Iarrived in 1971. To pay back his scholarship,my father taught at Basrah University from1972 to 1977; thus, my early childhood wasin both Iraq and the United States. For me,the bombing of Basrah was equivalent tobombing Yonkers.Upon returning to campus for the springsemester, I was dumbstruck by the pro-waratmosphere. Sports teams sewed Americanflags onto their uniforms. More flags andpro-military banners hung from ParrishHall. What was going on? Why didn’t thebest and brightest understand that war isunacceptable, no matter who is directing thetanks? Why was the anti-war sentimentdrowned out at this “liberal” institution? Icondemned the hypocrisy of militancy on acampus that purported to reflect Quaker traditions.But the hypocrisy I truly despisedwas within me, for I was continuing my life,business as usual, while bombs rained downon my family.Although more than 100,000 Iraqis perishedduring the 42 days of Gulf War I, myblood relatives survived. The worst was yetto come, however, because our aerialassaults had purposely targeted Iraq’s electricityplants, telecommunication centers,and water treatment facilities. In a matter ofdays, life became desperate. There was nopotable water; no electricity; and, with draconianeconomic sanctions in place, nomeans of rebuilding. And it was summer:heat of 115 to 140 degrees as well as humidity,with neither fans nor air-conditioning. Iknew I had many relatives suffering underthese conditions. But I had only faint memoriesof aunts and uncles, and most of mycousins were born after we left in 1977. Icondemned the hypocrisy of my governmentfor starving the Iraqi people while claimingto punish Saddam Hussein. But thehypocrisy I despised was within me. I continuedmy life, business as usual, graduatingin 1993, and moving on to medical school,with a sadness I couldn’t explain.After medical school at the University ofPennsylvania, I began a surgical residency,first at the University of Maryland, thenback at Penn. After 3 grueling years—unconscious of the contradiction fueling myunhappiness from within—I believed thatchanging fields would bring me contentment.I switched to a training program inanesthesiology at Georgetown University“We should blow up the countries ofeach of the hijackers,” another said.These were my supervisors—medicalprofessionals who had taken the Hippocraticoath. But I continued to work underthem, business as usual.By early 2002, we had invadedAfghanistan, and our administration wastelling lies to build support for invadingIraq. My relatives, from whom I was stillseparated, had been starving under sanctionsfor more than 12 years. Now, we weregoing to shock and awe them. My tax dollarswould help foot the bill.“We should just nuke ’em,” my attendingphysician said.In September 2002, overwhelmed by thehypocrisy without and the painful conflict72 : swarthmore college bulletin