To my dear friends and colleagues in the peace movement,
This piece was written by Kayla Chin who attended a 121Contact event at NYU.
If
you substitute your own name for Noor's and mine, and reflect upon your
own work, you will again come to touch the importance of all of our
work in moving this world toward more peaceful tomorrows.
b
--
“From Brooklyn
to Baghdad”
By Kayla Chin
Revisiting the
Haunting Truth of 9/11 &
Learning From the
Brave Actions Taken in its Aftermath
While
I mentally organized my notes, balanced coffee and my usually oversized bag, I
prepared to reconnect to the grief and anger I often suppress regarding
September 11th 2001. Although, we are now approaching the eighth
year since the towers fell, it still was not that long ago. I was on my way to
meet with Bruce Wallace, the founder of “One-to-One Contact”, a blog site that
is used as a vehicle for youth connectivity “from Brooklyn to Baghdad.” Originally a space for students to
connect to others, worlds apart, revealing the reality and truth of life in
Baghdad and bridging the gap between the oceans that separate us and the
political and violent misconceptions that breed in that distance. In addition
to such outreach, Bruce and his small team of community organizers work out of
his home in Bay Ridge, Brooklyn, connecting to others throughout the U.S.
through speaking tours to raise awareness and provoke change.
I
first met Bruce and his cofounder ‘Noor’ two years ago as guest speakers for
a peace studies class at NYU. ‘Noor’ was a high school teacher in Iraq who experienced the daily violence and
terror of war and escaped to the U.S. seeking safety. However, the
safety she sought was beyond the violence of physical danger. What she needed
was a safe space where her voice could be heard, and the truth of the American intervention
in Iraq
could be exposed. (‘Noor’ is a pseudonym provided at the risk of exposing
her identity.) She learned that carrying the language of truth, one that
opposes the current empire she inhabits as well as the violence of her home
country, can have dangerous consequences. However, Bruce and ‘Noor’ believe
that exposing the political violence perpetuated by the U.S. government and educating the
public on the reality of the war is fundamental for change.
After
first hearing them speak, I remember being weighted with such a profound
sadness and a feeling of hopelessness beyond anything I had ever experienced. I
couldn’t keep it together. For weeks I grieved and tried to carry on with daily
life but their voices and stories echoed in my mind and tore at my heart. I
realized, as cynical as I am, as politically active and conscious I believed
myself to be, there was nothing that could have prepared me for the true nature
of the war in Iraq.
‘Noor’ described with a trembling voice filled with both rage and profound
sorrow, what it was like living in war-torn Iraq- the bodies that were left to
rot on the streets, the bombs that destroyed the schools, and the violent
presence of U.S. soldiers. The curfews, the loss of electricity, the unknowing,
the loss of family members, and a time when she was held for forty-five minutes
by a U.S.
soldier as a shield in the middle of a crossfire. This moment broke any remaining
hope she had that the U.S.
was there to “help” them, “support or protect” them in any way.
Now,
two years later, I know that meeting Bruce and ‘Noor’ and hearing their
truth was a necessary shock, one of many I now hope, which will force me to
always question my environment and my beliefs. Also, since hearing them speak,
I have carried a sense of gratitude for how deeply they moved me and for the
personal growth I have experienced since then. So my visiting Bruce was not
only to express a long overdue thank you, but to further my understanding of
the truth in Iraq,
and to further grow from his stories and knowledge. I see Bruce and One-to-One
Contact’s work as a reminder to be constantly open, to always seek to relearn,
and further educate oneself. And, admittedly, I felt that seeing Bruce again
could reconcile some of the emotional difficulties I still carried from two
years ago.
Immediately upon
arrival I felt warm and comfortable in the quaint furnishings of a home; a
space well lived in, surrounded by the intimacy of another’s life. The
porcelain trinkets, the placement and order of things. A familiar comfort in
the systematic and practicality of each object and their function. Coasters in
the coaster holder, breakfast tray for 2 mugs and a French press. The aroma of
dark coffee rich and flavorful steamed between us. Charming glass container for
the sugar. The normalcy and comfort of routine and my familiar understanding of
a need to have a place and space for each thing. I smiled to myself thinking
what good roommates we would be. We chatted briefly, asking basic questions,
and catching up. I had forgotten how soft-spoken Bruce was, the gentleness in
his eyes and his demeanor. Feeling at ease, I asked Bruce to start at the
beginning, to retell his experience, his story.
It all began with Mitch. Mitch was Bruce’s
nephew; he was the kind of man people called, ‘upstanding, responsible, and
courageous.’ And he was all those things and more up until the day of his death
while working in one of the towers. It wasn’t until months later that Mitch’s
gun was recovered under the rubble, having been a security guard they were able
to match the serial number to his identity. But Mitch’s body was never found.
Watching Bruce retell this story, the grief palpable in its recollection, I
could see how, despite the time, such a loss will always be experienced in the
present.
I
shifted uncomfortably on the couch for a moment, but forced myself to keep my
eyes locked to his, knowing the pain they were speaking, the grief they were
reflecting was the heart of Bruce’s advocacy and understood that this intimacy
of grief, and his sharing it with me was a gift, a lesson and was his story. It
would have been disrespectful to shift from his eyes, from his pain, knowing
that connecting through empathy can at times be as fleeting as that moment and
one could easily miss it. Although he does not need another person to reflect
this pain, I felt it was my responsibility to hold my eyes and absorb the
profound nature of his loss. The absence of Mitch will always remain for Bruce,
his family and all who loved him and now a part of it was in me. A wise woman
once said, “You don’t need permission to feel, your direct connection is your
empathy…imagine if all the people who questioned the right to care took
action.” (Kathy Engel)
Bruce
took action immediately. He wanted to help, to put the pieces together to be a
part of and support the effort to make a difference. After a certain point
though, both he and his wife realized that part of their efforts were driven by
the distraction they provided. Pausing for a moment, he said softly, “we
realized that we were so busy helping others that we weren’t taking care of
ourselves.”
Therapy
was helpful, as was time, but the energy that remained, the constant of anger
and confusion pushed Bruce to seek other options.
“I
could never get comfortable with calling Mitch’s death, and the death of other
innocent people, both here and in Iraq, collateral damage.”
Having
a background in activism and community outreach, Bruce was familiar and
knowledgeable about the propaganda of media, of the political violence of
government, and the dangerous underbelly of military support and “patriotism.”
“I
was full of anger, the nation was being pumped with similar outrage and our
government was pointing the finger at Iraq.”
Personally,
I tell Bruce, how I struggle with a daily rage toward our imperialistic empire,
our actions, our wars, our violence. I hate knowing that every dollar I spend
will end up dirty by supporting Israel,
sending arms to Somalia, and
continuing the war in Iraq,
and the list goes on. I think that knowing the true responsibility we all bare
is both our great depression and our revolution for change.
It
was about a year after 9/11 that Bruce was introduced to September Eleventh
Families for Peaceful Tomorrows, “Turning Grief into Actions for Peace.” It
was here that he felt he had found a space of connectivity as well as peaceful
action he believed and supported. Inspired by the actions of others Bruce,
having taken up teaching again, held a ‘Peace Day’ presentation at John Dewey High School in Brooklyn
that focused on civilian casualties and the real violence of warfare. Although
he didn’t know what to expect he was still disturbingly shocked by the absence
of education on such matters, especially regarding the current war. The
reaction he received from these young adults was profoundly moving. “I wasn’t
prepared for such an emotional reaction; it was so heavy, the kids wept and
were angry, and in the end wanted to do something, to help in some way, they
wanted to write to other students in Iraq.” Bruce’s eyes were distant as he
spoke, remembering the events of that day and how these students, this
presentation, were what began and helped create One-to-One Contact through
the walls of political violence.
He
went on to describe the long and complicated process of organizing and outreach
he experienced while trying to create a connection with Iraqi students. As he
went through the web of people, faces and names, it almost bordered on comical
the way things came together. Bruce said with a smile, “Hey, this is New York, you gotta know
somebody to get somewhere.” He reached out to everyone he knew, going
through a chain of phone calls and endless emails, misunderstandings and
miscommunications- from a woman who worked with international trauma victims to
the cell phone number of a taxi driver in Baghdad-who said he knew an important
woman working in the education system-which ended up being untrue, but did end
up having a sister who was a high school teacher. And this was how Bruce met
‘Noor.’
It
began with these two classrooms, creating an intimacy with a world our nation
posed as violent, replacing words like terrorist with friend and Iraqi with
students’ names. Using the power of language to express truth, create change,
educate, connect, learn, grow and understand one another. (“When we finally
discovered that we ourselves were the language…”) The blog’s success has been
monumental, helping to raise funds for displaced families and orphaned children
due to the war. However, its efficiency has fluctuated along with the turbulent
and unstable environment in Baghdad.
“One-to-One” faces many challenges, ranging from scarce electricity and
availability of the internet, to resistant fighters in Iraq claiming contact with an
American is traitorous.
Looking
at his hands, hearing the sadness in his voice, Bruce explained, “When the blog
started in 2004, Iraqi’s were still hopeful, but by 2006, when people were
without water, without electricity, hope was replaced by fear, as the assassinations
started to occur.” The distrust in Americans had manifested a deep hatred,
producing resistant groups like the Moqawama. They systematically drove out
American forces, threatening translators and reporters, and assassinating those
believed to support Americans. The constant danger and fear that became the
lives of many, greatly affected “One-to-One’s” contact with Baghdad.
A
silence fell between us for a moment. Sometimes there are no words. Sometimes
such moments just need to be absorbed, reflected upon, felt. Sighing Bruce
looked at the time, and with a new energy he said, “But, what I feel is truly
most important is informing American students about the nature of war and the
truth of political violence, civilian casualties, and the forces of our
government.” He went on to say how he very much supported and believed in the
importance of the Peace Education Movement. In instituting peace studies in
high school and college curriculums he believed we could ensure that the
absence of information on alternative actions-to militarization, violence, and
war- would no longer be an issue. He believed that ‘Peace Day’ presentations
would not deeply shock the very core of young adults but rather would be
organized by them.
“One-to-One
Contact is not a business, nor is it an official charity; it has always been
about educating people.”
I
told Bruce then, how I very much agreed with such compulsory studies and
classes. And how I believed that this disconnect to current issues was a
reflection of our individualism to a fault. Not only did such disconnect allow
for the invisibility of war, but it created a disassociation with each other
and inevitably with ourselves. Clearing my throat and struggling against
brimming tears, I told Bruce how before hearing him speak with ‘Noor’ two
years ago, I was very much out of contact. And that meeting them, hearing their
stories, I didn’t realize that a part of me had turned off, that I had adapted
in a way to discussing Iraq, the war, without heart, empathy; becoming almost
indifferent. The day of their presentation, I relived the impact of 9/11
through an upsurge of emotions I had not realized I was keeping cautiously at
bay. And now, sitting in Bruce’s living room, I greeted and accepted these
emotions with a new understanding, with the grace that can come with personal
growth and the energy and will to make a difference.
Leaning
forward in his seat, eyes narrowed with intention, and his composure taking on
one of satisfaction, he said, “That is why the emotional content of the
speaking tour is absolutely necessary. We needed to expose people, youth, to
the horror and truth of war. Compassion often starts with pain, and such pain
and anger create energy. And this energy can be used to grow.”
We
realized then that time had escaped us, causing an unfortunate and abrupt end
to our conversation. Getting up to go, collecting my many things, I felt
overwhelmed with gratitude and affection, wanting to spend the rest of the day
with Bruce, absorbing his energy, learning more about his life in the gentle
grayness of the early morning hours. We exchanged thank yous, my hand pressed
against my chest, my heart, as I further expressed my gratitude and the delight
of his company. While opening the door for my departure, back into the rainy
morning, he said how one evening he had gone to a meeting for peace advocacy
and community outreach and came home and told his wife excitedly what wonderful
people he had met. Looking at me with smiling eyes he said that after telling
her she looked at him and said bluntly, “Well what kind of people did you think
you were gonna meet at a peace advocacy meeting?”
Smiling and still
laughing, buzzing with hope and inspiration, I gripped my umbrella against the
rain and walked with a new sense of determination the few blocks to the train.
www.121contact.typepad.com
www.peacefultomorrows.org
