Tuesday, February 20, 2007

Iraq War Grief Daily Witness Day 25

A woman who claims that she was raped by three members if the Iraqi police force cries as she talks to members of the press in Baghdad, Iraq, Monday, Feb. 19, 2007. Prime Minister Nouri al-Maliki ordered an investigation Monday into allegations by a Sunni Arab woman that she was raped by three members of the Shiite-dominated police force after she was detained over the weekend.
(AP Photo/Asaad Mouhsin)

from America
by Herman Melville


Yet later, and the silk did wind
Her fair cold form;
Little availed the shining shroud,
Though ruddy in hue, to cheer or warm
A watcher looked upon her low, and said-
She sleeps, but sleeps, she is not dead.
But in that sleep contortion showed
The terror of the vision there-
A silent vision unavowed,
Revealing earth's foundation bare,
And Gorgon in her hidden place.
It was a thing of fear to see
So foul a dream upon so fair a face,
And the dreamer lying in that starry shroud.

"Let me clear it up for any moron with lingering doubts: It’s worse. It’s over. You lost. You lost the day your tanks rolled into Baghdad to the cheers of your imported, American-trained monkeys. You lost every single family whose home your soldiers violated. You lost every sane, red-blooded Iraqi when the Abu Ghraib pictures came out and verified your atrocities behind prison walls as well as the ones we see in our streets. You lost when you brought murderers, looters, gangsters and militia heads to power and hailed them as Iraq’s first democratic government. You lost when a gruesome execution was dubbed your biggest accomplishment. You lost the respect and reputation you once had. You lost more than 3000 troops. That is what you lost America. I hope the oil, at least, made it worthwhile."
from Riverbend’s blog, Bagdhad Burning
posted Tuesday, February 20, 2007


RubDMC said...

for justice and healing

ask said...

I witness.

anniethena said...

Peace, and witness

Wasim said...

for peace and justice

edsbrooklyn said...

In hope and for healing.

musing graze said...

Iraq PM sacks 'rape case' critic (BBC, 2/21/07).

On Tuesday, Mr Maliki said he had ordered an investigation into the allegations. Hours later, he said the three officers under suspicion had been exonerated.
The New York Times reported that a nurse, speaking on condition of anonymity, said she had treated the woman at a clinic in her neighbourhood of Amil and had seen signs of sexual and physical assault.

US military officials have neither confirmed nor denied the authenticity of the document. They added that they did not know how confidential medical records had ended up at the prime minister's offices.

Pickthorn Manor: 57
by Amy Lowell

A letter was brought to her as she sat,
Unsealed, unsigned. It told her that his wound,
The writer’s, had so well recovered that
To join his regiment he felt him bound.
But would she not wish him one short “Godspeed”,
He asked no more. Her greeting would suffice.
He had resolved he never should return.
Would she this sacrifice
Make for a dying man? How could she read
The rest! But forcing her eyes to the deed,
She read. Then dropped it in the fire to burn.

Wasim said...

by Adrienne Rich
There is a cop who is both prowler and father:
he comes from your block, grew up with your brothers,
had certain ideals.
You hardly know him in his boots and silver badge,
on horseback, one hand touching his gun.

You hardly know him but you have to get to know him:
he has access to the machinery that could kill you.
He and his stallion clop like warlords among the trash,
his ideals stand in the air, a frozen cloud
from between his unsmiling lips.

And so, when the time comes, you have to turn to him,
the maniac's sperm still greasing your thighs,
your mind whirling like crazy. You have to confess
to him, you are guilty of the crime
of having been forced.

And when you see his blue eyes, the blue eyes of all the family
whom you used to know, grow narrow and glisten,
his hand types out the details
and he wants them all
but the hysteria in your voice pleases him best.

You hardly know him but now he thinks he knows you:
he has taken down your worst moment
on a machine and filed it in a file.
he knows, or thinks he knows, how much you imagined;
he knows, or thinks he knows, what you secretly wanted.

He has access to the machinery that could get you put away;
and if, in the sickening light of the precint,
and if, in the sickening light of the precint,
your details sound like a portrait of your confessor,
will you swallow, will you deny them. will you lie your way home?

ilona said...

Peace and healing to her, to us, to the world...

morrigan said...

I witness, still, for peace.

"I know. But I do not approve. And I am not resigned."
from Dirge Without Music
by Edna St. Vincent Millay

moira said...

For peace.