What will we talk about today you and I?

When I heard the bomb explode last Saturday the first thing I did was telephone my father. But there was no reply. Again and again and again I tried to phone him. My fingers hurt I stabbed them onto the buttons on my phone so hard. I fell onto the floor and prayed please let him not be dead. Please let it be that he died quick if he is dead.

And my heart was sick inside me.

What will we talk about today you and I? I do not want to talk about last Saturday. Shall we talk about peace? I would like to talk about peace. I love the word. No, perhaps we are not ready to talk of peace yet you and I, we are not at peace, we are not even at truce.

My father is one of the organisers for the men who protect the people in our neighbourhood who have fled here from the death squads. When they go to get food we go to the market with them my father, my brother, myself, some of the men in our neighbourhood.

They do the same for us.

Does “peace” mean that your aunt does not weep as she talks of how the young couples she serves ask her after the X-Ray

Well is it a child or is it a monster?

And how she curses the Americans who littered our land with Uranium munitions and then denied us the cancer drugs. Because we needed to be,

contained.

We sand niggers who had been abandoned to the tyrant you had supported for years needed to be,

contained.

And though it was hard for you, though compassion swelled in your noble and peaceful heart we sand niggers needed to be,

contained

For my own good. I needed to be,

contained.

The new world order and the peace dividend required that the sand niggers be contained, and you assured the world, that I was indeed,

contained,

You told me that though it was hard for you :

We think the price is worth it.

Shall we talk about peace you and I? I would like to talk about peace. I love the word. No, perhaps we are not ready to talk of peace yet you and I, we are not at peace, we are not even at truce.

Will we talk about how the Americans urged our people to rise against the tyrant? Will we talk about that you and I? Will we talk about what happened to the men who believed the American lies and rose?

What shall we talk about you and I?

Will we talk about how the Americans urged our people to rise against the tyrant? Will we talk about that you and I? Will we talk about what happened to familys of the men who believed the American lies and rose? There is one who helps me with my English who does not know where his wife and young children are buried. He does not even know if they were buried. But he knows that they were killed, and he knows how they were killed, and that they died screaming, the Mukhbarat saw to it that he was told. You were quick enough to sell to the Mukhbarat but you would not sell the chemotherapy drugs to save our children’s lives.

You were quick to hold up a small bottle for the cameras of the world lying as you swore that it was full of death. Spewing your predatory American lies to the world of how you must use force to make make sure that the sand niggers continued to be

contained.

Shall we talk about peace you and I? I would like to talk about peace. I love the word. No, perhaps we are not ready to talk of peace yet you and I, we are not at peace, we are not even at truce.

After the war you said, adding one monstrous lie to another, a new Iraq would be born. A peaceful child of the west aping your ways and repaying you with control of its oil, of its soil, and of its soul. The operation would be brief, the birth pangs almost painless.

We think the price is worth it.

The only thing these sand niggers understand is force and I’m about to introduce them to it.

Birthpangs of a new Middle East.

Well is it a child or is it a monster?

Shall we talk about monsters, you and I?

No perhaps we should not talk of monsters. People do not talk to monsters. Perhaps instead we should talk of peace. I would like that. “Peace” I love the word. Can you tell me what it means? No, perhaps we are not ready to talk of peace yet you and I, we are not at peace, we are not even at truce.

Does “peace” mean not quickly putting on my shoes and jacket picking up the necessary things when you hear a bomb and running to Abu Hussein’s house? Running sweating and praying. Pounding on Abu Hussein’s door:

Bomb! bomb! bomb!

Running with Abu Hussein and his sons stumbling as I run towards the smoke. Knowing where to run to automatically. Knowing that today it was my fathers turn to go with the others to the market. How will I tell my mother that my father too is dead?

Screaming our father’s name my brother and myself. Pushing screaming fleeing bloodied people out of the way as we run to where the bomb went off. Doing as our trainers have shown us. Doing whatever it is that must be done to get there in the first few minutes.

Pushing the palm of my hand into the face of one too slow to get out of our way. Running to where the flames are, screaming my father’s name. An old man lies dead in a pool of blood and broken eggs caught in a whirlwind with fire. I ignore him.

Shall we talk of age and of memory and of family instead you and I? Shall we talk of a good old man who had lived long and seen much and loved his grandchildren? Shall we talk of that you and I? Shall we talk of how on days when he was tired he would be a little confused and it was as though 50 years ago was yesterday and yesterday was yet to come. Or will we talk of the weight bearing down on your shoulder and of the brush of lips on your forehead and a smile as you rose from helping grandfather stand?

Or shall we talk of the days of age? Shall we talk of the warmth of the weight of age on your shoulder as you guide your aged progenitor as you would a child without letting him know that he is being guided? Shall we talk of guidance across the ages you and I? Or shall we instead speak of the armed foreigner who signals “hello” when he should signal “stop” and of how a confused old man who did not stop quickly enough and who could not lie down died in a whirlwind of fire unleashed by the foreigner? Shall we talk of that you and I? Or shall we talk of a daughter’s screams when she saw her son covered with her father’s blood? Or would you prefer to talk about peace?

The only thing these sand niggers understand is force and I’m about to introduce them to it.

Moving with my brother to a pile of rubble. Doing as our trainers have shown us. Throwing hot chunks of metal and concrete to the side.

Everywhere inside there are pieces of flesh and blood and rubble. Pulling the living flesh from the rubble. Separating the living from the dead. Climbing over rubble to reach bloodied living flesh. She is so small she cannot be older than 5. The cars and the trucks and the vans begin to arrive. A man takes my bloodied burden from me and others run in to help. I run to the next shop.

Where is my brother?

There is nothing to be done here. Where is my brother?

The others of my team are here. Doing as our trainers have shown us. Doing the things that must be done in the first few minutes. All 5 of us are here now. We do as our trainers have shown us. Doing the things that must be done in the first few minutes.

Where is my brother?

Moving round the market with my team. Taking wounded people to the waiting cars. Where are the ambulances? Where are the police? Will the Americans stop the cars and buses and vans carrying the wounded and the dieing to the hospitals as they have done so often before?

Where is my brother?

We move from stall to stall and shop to shop. Checking for survivors. I hear my brother’s voice screaming over the noise:

“Play the tape asking for men to go and give blood! Play the tape asking for men to go and give blood!”

It must be that he has phoned his contact person in the radio station.

We let our eyes and our hands instruct our brain as our trainers taught us to do.

Even if means abandoning them to their fate you do not do go in alone. Wait for your watcher.

Many of the piles of rubble are too big. We move on. When the bulding has collapsed completely or when you see concrete floors hanging and ready to fall you must move on.

Do not risk triggering the collapse of the building until there are two teams with the proper equipment.

We move on to do as our trainers have taught us to do.

It must be that my brother’s team has arrived I see him standing surrounded by people and pointing and giving orders. I look my question and he shrugs despairingly. We move on to do as our trainers have taught us to do. Others of us arrive, we organise ourselves and the people who were there and who want to help, showing them, how to clear rubble, and pull the wounded and dead people out. I and the two other experienced ones move back to the stalls.

Where are the ambulances? Where are the police? Will the Americans stop the cars and buses and vans carrying the wounded and the dieing to the hospitals as they have done so often before?

The “police” and their American masters arrive. They “secure” the scene. Perhaps they are happy now that their work has been done for them.

We cannot leave until they live as we want them live each of their tribes and nations must be separated to their own reservations and no longer know one another.

It’s a stubborn baby this one but these birthpangs will take just another 6 months.

The price is worth it.

The only thing these sand niggers understand is force and I’m about to introduce them to it.

A bombing during a “crack down” follows a set procedure. It is a stepped process that works like this:

Step Zero:

Prevent people Sunni, Shia, Christian, Jew, Arab, Kurd, Shabak, Turkman, or Yezhidi - it does not matter which from searching for bombs. This is the preliminary and most important step.

Subsequent Steps

Get report of a really big and worthwhile bombing. (Wait …….)
Wait some more.
Arrive too late to be of any use to the most badly wounded.
Look busy and important and “secure” the area.
Make sure your American masters see how busy and important and loyal you are.
Make sure you stop the ambulances from getting into the area. As always make the excuse that this is to stop follow on bombings. (Make sure your American masters see how busy and important you are.)
Search the Ambulances very very slowly. (Make sure your American masters see how thoroughly you search.)
Make sure you stop the cars and buses and taxis belonging to the people who live there bringing the wounded out. (Make sure your American masters see how busy and important you are.)
Search the cars and buses and taxis belonging to the people who live there bringing the wounded out very very slowly. (Make sure your American masters see how thoroughly you search.)
Introduce to force any sand nigger who does not leap to obey your American master.

There are enough of us now to start to attend to the dead. An interpreter like a dog in a mask walking on its hind legs speaks to me as I pass him and his American masters. I recognise his accent and politely express the hope that his family is well and are enjoying life in [ the name of the village he is from ] .

I do not think that particular dog will sleep well in its kennel tonight.

Showing the helpers how to pick up the pieces of human flesh. Put your hand inside one plastic bag pick it up. Drop it into the plastic sack. Move on to the next piece. One of them has not done this before his hand is shaking so much that he drops a piece of dead human flesh to the ground. But before I can get to him another whose face I recognise from before moves to him and shows him how to do it properly. They stay together the experienced helping the new. The first time is hardest. The new one’s shoulders are moving up and done as he works. He stands up and runs to a stall his helper running after him. He stands his shoulders moving up and down. His helper’s hand upon his shoulder. My brother calls out:

O God! Pardon our living and our dead, the present and the absent, the young and the old, the males and the females.

They go back to work.

O God! Pardon our living and our dead, the present and the absent, the young and the old, the males and the females.

Lips moving with each piece that they pick up and put into their plastic sacks.

O God! Pardon our living and our dead, the present and the absent, the young and the old, the males and the females.

Too many are flooding into the market. Some to help, some to look, most are calling the names of others who were there. Many curse the police. Some start to throw stones.:

American agents, Traitors, Useless.

There will be another massacre if this is not stopped. Most of the teams stop what we are doing and run over doing as our trainers have taught us pushing back shouting and pushing shouting and pushing:

Go back! go back Only those with kin may enter! Go back! We haven’t checked for more bombs yet! Go back! go back go back! We haven’t checked for more bombs yet! Only those with kin may enter! Go back! We haven’t checked for more bombs yet! Go back!

The police and their American masters do nothing.

Go back! go back Only those with kin may enter! Go back! We haven’t checked for more bombs yet! Go back! go back go back! We haven’t checked for more bombs yet! Only those with kin may enter! Go back! We haven’t checked for more bombs yet! Go back!

Pushing and sweating against the cursing crowd letting through only those who say they have kin or who we recognise.

The police and their American masters do nothing.

Go back! go back Only those with kin may enter! Go back! We haven’t checked for more bombs yet! Go back! go back go back! We haven’t checked for more bombs yet! Only those with kin may enter! Go back! We haven’t checked for more bombs yet! Go back!

The police and their American masters do nothing.

One of Abu Hussein’s sons pulls me from the crowd to tell me that his father wants to speak to my brother and myself.

Be hopeful. Nobody has seen your father on any of the transports or at any of the morgues …

We will need good people to go to with us the hospitals and then the morgues. You have done this with your father are you able to do it without him?

Hussein and Khalil will go with each of you.

We hug another tightly a fierce despairing grip. Gripping as the drowning must have gripped Othman Abdul Hafez not wanting to let go of life clutching the living and the loved. I go to one truck my brother to another. Getting into to back with the bodys and driving to Imam Ali hospital. We drive behind a police truck also full of bodies. The smell of death is a mix of the smell of the sort of excrement you pass when you have drunk bad water and the meat market on a hot day. It rises to surround me. It is in my hair and my clothes and my throat. I will smell of death when I go into the hospitals. Khalil Ibn Hussein and I pray. I do not know what Khalil is asking of God, he is probably doing as I am and asking God for help not to vomit.

Climbing out of the van the morgue attendants tell us to put the dead bodies on the ground. I hear a woman scream. Stepping over body after body after body as we walk to the emergency room. The guards do not try to stop up us from entering. We are many and they are few. Bloodied moaning people on the floor, bloodied moaning people on the floors of the corridors. Two old men on the floor against a wall faces grey with pain trying not cry out. More and more people being carried in. Many will die on the floor here as they have before each time that the American predators and their Iraqi underlings open the gates for the jackals to flood through and do their work for them. The people on the floor over whom we step will die of bleeding, and of pain and of not enough doctors, not enough, not enough equipment to take the blood from those who arrive to donate, not enough space.

Going through to the wards.

No sign of our father. I look at my brother - phone?

Nothing.

He says. “Nothing.”

Imam Ali hospital We speak again to the guards and to the people who try to keep the records. Nobody has seen a man answering to our father’s description living or dead. Back through the corridors.

One of the two old men has died.

O God! Pardon our living and our dead, the present and the absent, the young and the old, the males and the females.

We step over him as we leave. Stepping over more of the dead who have been left outside asking Khalil Ibn Hussein if he recognises any of the new arrived dead.

Some, none of your family. We have the names.

A telephone rings on one of the dead bodys. The same tone as on the phone we gave our father. Running my hands through the pockets of the dead boy to find the phone. A woman’s voice screams when she hears mine. Khalil speaks Kurdish. Gesturing to Khalil, “come here, come here,” handing him the phone.

Khalil is to stay. We to go.

The smell of death in no less strong in the car that drives us back. Or perhaps it is our presence that magnifies it. At Al-Sadriya the scale of the destruction is clear. The crater is five metres in diameter and almost two metres deep. Wherever you step there is blood blackening and thickened on the ground. Shops and homes alike are destroyed and work goes on to take out those buried in the rubble of their homes.

The police and their American masters do nothing.

Abu Hussein tells us to separate our search. I to Al Kindi, my brother to Ibn Al Nafees. Getting into the back with the bodys and driving to Al Kindi hospital. The smell of death is a mix of the smell of the sort of excrement you pass when you have drunk bad water and the meat market on a hot day. It rises to surround me. It is in my hair and my clothes and my throat. I will smell of death when I go into the hospital.

I found my father that night outside the morgue. He had been lightly wounded, his clothes were soaked in dried blood, and he was praying over the body of our friend and colleague Abbas.

I, my brother, and Abu Hussein and his sons, have bought him a new telephone.

We think the price is worth it.

The only thing these sand niggers understand is force and I’m about to introduce them to it.

Birthpangs of a new Middle East.

Well is it a child or is it a monster?

The only thing a predator understands is force.

We have nothing to talk about you and I.

Mohammed Ibn Laith.Al-Sadriya,Baghdad,Irak.

Colophon:

My Muslim brothers:

Omar Abu Abdullah.
Ali Ibn Hussein and,
Ali (Al-Basrawi);

Helped me with my English and fixed my spelling any new mistakes are mine.

markfromireland my brother in humanity gave me the tools with which to write and this place in which to write.

Mohammed Ibn Laith

Indexed under: Baghdad

Posted on February 10th, 2007 under Iraq, Site News, Team Members. Tags: Baghdad. RSS 2.0 feed. Leave a response, or trackback.

Mohammed Ibn Laith Says:
February 10th, 2007 at 3:04 pm

Predator Society
Predator Government
Predator Soldiers
Predator Mercenaries

Siun Says:
February 11th, 2007 at 6:06 am

Mohammed -

I have no adequate words to match yours but wanted you to know that your words were read and heard here - with tears for you and your brothers and sisters - and rage at what my country does - and horror that we have not stopped them.

Your writing is exquisite. I pray for the immediate end of the occupation and a time when your words may sing of better days.

Thank you for allowing us to hear your words.

Ruth Says:
February 11th, 2007 at 7:04 am

Not all Americans support the president and his war.

My heart is breaking.

I have no words that can tell you the depths of sadness in my heart.

Confucius said: When you can think of nothing to say it is time to be silent.

My silence speaks for itself.

I am so so sorry. Sorry. Tears.

Jean Says:
February 11th, 2007 at 7:04 am

My heart breaks for you, and all of Iraq, As an American, I am deeply angered and ashamed of what my government has done to your country and people.

Crazy Horse Says:
February 11th, 2007 at 8:04 am

Thank you for bringing your sorrow and rage. Eloguently. Many of us continue to fight against the horror that perpetrates this inhumanity against you. Please remember they tried to exterminate the Native Americans as well. But the Mohawk and Lakota and Apache and Seminole and Hopi and nearly all of the others live on strongly, We will find a way to stop this madness.

Sean Says:
February 11th, 2007 at 11:27 am

Saying “we don’t support this president” means nothing. I hope American and I can earn your forgiveness someday.

Michael Says:
February 11th, 2007 at 3:29 pm

As others have stated, I am truly saddened that your life’s experience must be as it is. I would like to talk about peace, but feel helpless in my ability to share my concerns with those that make such terrible decisions IN THE NAME OF PEACE AND DEMOCRACY!
I am not capable of sharing your sorrow because I am not able to share your experience as it truly is.
I wish uyou well and assure you that I will actively pursue all that I can do to promote truth and peace in my country (the U.S.).

Rebecca Says:
February 11th, 2007 at 4:56 pm

I’m so sorry we let the neocons do this. I’m so sorry. My heart breaks.
Rebecca in North Carolina

peter spring Says:
February 11th, 2007 at 5:30 pm

i too am “so sorry”… we will begin to push our legislaters into reading this site. This diary has moved me more than anything has ever moved me… i will redouble my efforts for Peace… Peace Peace Peace… amen. We “all” need to double and re-doubled our efforts… PEACE BE WITH YOU…

Coffee House Poetry » Round-Up — Good Posts I’ve Read Lately Says:
February 11th, 2007 at 7:15 pm

[…] What Will We Talk About Today You and I — Poetry from Iraq. When I heard the bomb explode last Saturday the first thing I did was telephone my father. But there was no reply. Again and again and again I tried to phone him. My fingers hurt I stabbed them onto the buttons on my phone so hard. I fell onto the floor and prayed please let him not be dead. Please let it be that he died quick if he is dead. […]

mike Says:
February 11th, 2007 at 8:17 pm

Mohammed,
Many of us protested against this war/ ocupation even before our troops arrived. None, other than those who have been to war, truly understand the horror and saddness. Thank you for allowing us (those who have not seen)to better understand what is happening. I truly grieve for you and yours and like many others who read your words, promise to redouble my efforts to stop the maddness.

Sir Francis Says:
February 12th, 2007 at 4:00 pm

Just linked to you first-time from Crooks & Liars:

http://www.crooksandliars.com/2007/02/10/what-will-we-talk-about-today-you-and-i/

It’s been seven weeks? — eight? — since Riverbend’s most recent post. (I seem to recall she did one more post a day or so later then removed it, perhaps guessing — too late? — that something in it gave away her identity?)

With each passing day more of us in the US and beyond come to recognize that, save for the inevitable attrition of sickness and old age, most of the 650,000-odd Iraqi dead would be alive and well had Bush, and America, simply done nothing whatever. And add to that another half-million Iraqi children five and under dead, many of whom, had Clinton and the UN not imposed their killing sanctions, would be coming into young adulthood today. I can’t begin to do the math but is it possible that, between the current president and his predecessor, America has, directly or indirectly, cased more Iraqi deaths than we did Vietnamese, Laotians etc. in *that* utterly egregious conflict? I’m sorry, my mind is too small to take that in.

Unfortunately, for us and (especially) you, America is currently ruled by two dissociated-from-reality madmen. Pray that we find a way to stop them and the next murderous, phony war.

Billy Says:
February 12th, 2007 at 5:20 pm

I have sent this to the British Prime Minister and urged him to read it, then to get out of Iraq. The British people never wanted this war. Blair will learn that when election time comes.

Mohammed Ibn Laith Says:
February 12th, 2007 at 5:48 pm

This is always a nightmare yes it is possible she identified herself. Everything we write on “Guides” is double and thriple checked by two vetting teems of Irakis one who live here one who are in exile they take out everything that even by many millions to one could identify us. If even one of them vetos then it is not published. It is the unbreakable rule for team members disobey and you are removed from team if you even protest.

Update to clarify I should say that my father who writes here is not permitted to vet my posts because he is too involved with my safety :-) therefore he cannot be cold about it and it needs somebody cold to do it.

But it also could be that she has no electricity. Or that she is in despair.

Those are some of the possible answers to your question Sir francis.

Blair will learn that when election time comes.

Thankyou Billy but it would be better to make him learn it now. Send it your MP make sure you tell your MP how angry you are. If you do not have a Labour MP write to your local party. Say to them because it is the truth that your troops in al-Basrah are surrounded. You could also point out that any British firm hoping to sell anything in the Middle East is going to find it more and more difficult to sell. We know who our friends are…. We can always buy from the Chinese or the Russsians … or the French … anybody in fact except the Americans or the British.

Sophia Says:
February 13th, 2007 at 4:41 am

Mohammad,
I want you to know how much I empathise with you. I was 17 when the civil war broke in Lebanon. I saw dismembered bodies, I saw death and at 17 I believed that this was the end of the world before coming to life again some six years later outside Lebanon. Lebanese civil war was nothing compared to the savagery that is taking hold day after day of your country, the savagery of the ‘civilised’, those who don’t do body counts. Thank you for this piece. Take care.

Mohammed Ibn Laith Says:
February 13th, 2007 at 6:33 am

Shukran my sister I am glad that you were able to return to life if not to your home. I pray that when the people have taken back Lebanon for her people that you will be able to return. I pray also that God will grant that you can live again in the land that mothered you if that is what you wish.

Siun Says:
February 13th, 2007 at 6:49 am

Mohammned - I know you are very busy and pressed for time so I hesitate to interrupt your work. Still, along with thanking you for your recent writings, I wanted to thank you for the link to Ahmad Saud’s recitation. I find myself viewing it each day and, even as someone illiterate in Arabic and the Qu’ran, it has become important to me. Mark shared with me an english translation of the Surah and next I will begin to read the Qu’ran in a version Mark recommended.

Thank you for the inspiration to begin this new study.

I wish you well in the struggles to come.

Siun

Mohammed Ibn Laith Says:
February 13th, 2007 at 7:32 am

You are welcome God has given him a great gift. There is another video of him reciting
Surat Al-Tur that has English in it. This also has English in it Surah Ar-Rahman This and this are also favourites of mine I like the last one because his accent is so soft not harsh like the Saudi one.

Siun Says:
February 13th, 2007 at 8:09 am

Thank you Mohammed … I will watch these tonight!

Your list is much appreciated here … as well as your time.

…Siun

Mohammed Ibn Laith Says:
February 13th, 2007 at 8:17 am

When people ask and they mean it as a question because they truly want to know then I answer :-) I think you will be disappointed reading the Holy Qur’an in English when I read a translation it is almost impossible to believe it is the same. Perhaps that is because I am still learning English but I do not think so all my teachers say the same.

Siun Says:
February 13th, 2007 at 8:29 am

smiling … your “still learning english” comment puts mine to shame!

I do find translations often disappointing … but I’m hopeful the edition suggested by our host is at least better than most … then I may need to study Arabic! (and I still have an unkept promise to myself from childhood to study gaelic!)

Thanks again!

Gorilla’s Guides » Things of Infinite Importance Says:
February 14th, 2007 at 1:33 am

[…] I see no reason to waste your time or mine quoting somebody quoting what I have written.] History speaks to us — if we have the ears to hear. And if we don’t, it will gently, […]

ken Says:
February 14th, 2007 at 4:17 am

Just so you know, the American masters and their dogs wage war against niggers here - black, hippie, brown, peacenik, yellow, poor, red, sick - anyone who challenges them.

Any words of condolence fall far short of the action required to stop this mess, still I’ll send you my apologies for the fact that I have helped pay for the invasion force, and that I didn’t do enough to stop it.

What shall we talk of you and I? Love and hope. Please forgive us.

Mohammed Ibn Laith Says:
February 14th, 2007 at 4:30 am

Thankyou Ken - I agree with you completely and make this point you are completely correct when you say:

American masters and their dogs wage war against niggers here - black, hippie, brown, peacenik, yellow, poor, red, sick

I wrote this to clarify my point in response to a Christian:

Things Of Infinite Importance

And use both Islam and the teachings of the American follower of the Prophet Jesus (PBUH) called Martin Luther King to illustrate it. But surely it is required of you by God to do something about it before he forgives?

ken Says:
February 14th, 2007 at 8:14 am

Mohammed

Please trust me when I say that here in Connecticut, I am paying a price for voicing my discontent with the war and organizing people to move our government away from violence as a means of problem solving and maintaining power.

Someday, we shall all be released. I hope. It is only that fervent optimism and belief in justice, that thought of Martin Luther King, Jr. that the arc of the universe is long, but it bends towards justice, that carries me.

So, yes, I am doing something, my best, and that is all I can offer, which is why I ask for your understanding.

For truce,
Ken

Mohammed Ibn Laith Says:
February 14th, 2007 at 8:30 am

Thank you also that you also try to do. I too believe that God is just and will release us. I say to you also that though he tests us and the tests are hard that the tests are never more than than we bear. Though they sometimes are so hard that they seem unbearable. Have hope.

New Worlds Blog » Meanwhile — Gorilla’s Guides. Says:
February 21st, 2007 at 4:44 pm

[…] Gorilla's Guides […]

CW Says:
March 10th, 2007 at 12:41 am

I am an American. I love my country, but I am terrified of my government. It has become a bloated bully, fat with corporate money that buys it’s power. Greedy men who play golf together, discuss - with great indifference - the strategies of taking control of another country, and donate bags of cash to each others’ campaigns. They make me sick, and I cry when I read these accounts and know I can do nothing. I can shout at the top of my lungs, and some will agree, some will ignore me, and some will just stare with their mouths agape - but it will do nothing. I can only read what you write, hope others do to, and pray someone with power wakes up with a soul.

Kelsey Says:
March 10th, 2007 at 4:21 am

Mohammed, you are a powerful writer and a force of good in your country. I pray for your work to continue.

I look forward to the day when we can drive the monsters out of the US and Iraqi governments. I know, however, that the Americans and Iraqis can not drive them off alone. We must stop them together.

I only hope that there are enough Americans to stop these monsters this time. I’m sorry we didn’t before.

Sean Says:
March 11th, 2007 at 7:17 am

Mohammed, the anger i read in your posts reminds me that I am not the only one, and though you and I are on the opposite sides of this conflict, i wish that you and I could talk together. I am American, held hostage with all the rest of the Americans, by an administation that we did not place in power, and which has dug itself as deeply as it can, winding itself around the media, the courts, the marketplace and the churches, in order to make sure that we never get another chance to remove it once it reveals itself for what it really is: the purest embodiment of evil on the planet today, bent on nothing less than total control of the entire world.

The Americans I talk to about the war are mostly asleep. All they see are Americans and non-Americans. All they can do is repeat the same garbage that they hear coming from the state-controlled media, and since no competing viewpoints are given airtime, everybody takes these as fact. I fear they won’t wake up until war comes to our country as well, which it will, trust me. God will not allow what we have done to go unpunished.

And what will I do then? Will I fight, making it worse, feeding into the cycle of violence, taking fathers away from their children, because otherwise it will be my family dying? Or will I look back at our history of aggression, and say to myself, “this is what we deserve,” and do nothing and be called a traitor and a coward by those around me? Or will I walk out into the middle of the conflict, unarmed, hands out, face to the sky, and thanking God for the life he has lent me and telling Him that its okay, I am ready to leave these apes now, they would not listen to what we tried to teach them, and hope that whoever shoots me aims for the head?

Whichever I choose, I hope that you and I can meet when this life is done for both of us, and that you can forgive me, and the rest of us who knew from the start what these people were up to, for not knowing how to stop them sooner.

Brendan Calling - I hear the voices, and I read the front page, and I know the speculation. But I'm the decider, and I decide what is best. » It Is Too Much Says:
March 12th, 2007 at 8:45 pm

[…] Is Too Much By Brendan Via BMT, I came to Gorilla Guides: What shall we talk about you and […]

Ruth Says:
March 25th, 2007 at 9:21 pm

There are no words to express how sorry I am, and there are no words that can help you.

Know that I am afraid of President Bush. I am afraid of what he is doing here in America. He is a criminal; he has broken the law. But there are many who think he is a hero. It is becoming a division between Christian and nonChristian - many Christians think he is saving the world. That is what he believes himself. I am afraid for America. I am even afraid that when his term is up, and it’s time for a new president, that he will not step down. That he will refuse to give up his power.

He hates you. He hates you because you are Moslim. He hates you because you are not ‘white’. He hates you because your country has access to oil. He is a monster.

I am so, so sorry that we have failed to stop him.

Gorilla’s Guides » Blog Archive » Securing The Scene Says:
April 19th, 2007 at 8:38 pm

[…] Source: Gorilla’s Guides » Blog Archive » What will we talk about today you and I? […]

Gorilla’s Guides » Blog Archive » Securing The Scene - Update Says:
April 23rd, 2007 at 5:12 pm

[…] In ”What will we talk about today you and I?” my colleague Mohammed Ibn Laith described the aftermath of the February bombing of Al Sadriya market from the standpoint of one of the rescuers. On April 19, 2007 Um Thalit highlighted a report of American soldiers opening fire yet again on the rescuers after yet another bombing of Al Sadriya. Today in my mail box I received a link to this report in the American newspaper “The New York TImes.” I have highlighted the key passages which you will find below the fold: As he neared the Babasher police station, about 100 yards from the blast site, soldiers that Mr. Himet says were Americans opened fire. He was wounded and crashed the bus in front of the police station. Iraqi soldiers were afraid to rescue him, he says, for fear the nervous American soldiers would shoot them, too. Bleeding badly, he was eventually taken to the hospital with the other victims he had tried to save. […]

Gorilla’s Guides » Blog Archive » 13129 Says:
February 17th, 2008 at 9:52 am

thepoetryman Says:
March 28th, 2008 at 3:51 pm

Mohammed,
Surprised by the fetid sounds of war.
Mohammed,
Surprised by the trembling earth.
Mohammed,
Surprised by the quaking limbs.
Mohammed,
May much needed peace come forth.

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