The other day, I was in an online chat room…we were all chatting (surprisingly enough). The Internet being the Internet, we were all from different parts of the world. Although, it has to be said, I often end up in East Coast American chat rooms; the five-hour time difference syncs perfectly with my insomnia. In the middle of the banter, this American chap (I believe he was from San Diego) pipes up with, “I’m out y’all, my leave is up tomorrow, I gotta get some sleep in.” Turns out, he was an American soldier on leave and due for redeployment to Afghanistan the next day. It also became apparent, that like me, he didn’t have a family. Which goes some way to explaining why, he’d spent his last night before returning to a war zone, with us, in an online chat room. A couple of people asked questions; about the food, the conditions, and the fear; did he have any? Which he answered in a fairly prosaic way, and by prosaic I mean, not Hollywoodish or glamorized – just in simple, down-to-earth terms. Before he left the chat room he said, “If there’s one thing that you guys can do to support us, it’s write us a letter. I can’t tell y’all how much we all scramble for the mail when it comes in.” He posted a link on how to do it and went about his business. The ambience in the room momentarily changed and the host (an American guy who was visible by webcam, and who I quite fancy if I’m honest) then proceeded to give us this speech about liberty and freedom and the 'American way.' The other guests in the chat room interjected with cyber high-fives and general approval. However, I remained quite silent – it was about a week ago.I think one of the reasons I stayed quiet, was, being half Arab; raised by the Arab half, before I ended up in the care of the children’s charity, Dr. Barnardo's. I have a strong sense of my Arabness – my mother was born in Algeria (North Africa) and we lived in Benghazi (Libya) and Algeria for a while, when I was very little.
It is so unfortunate, but the images that run through my mind when I think of soldiers, and I’m just being totally honest here, are of the soldiers who abused the prisoners at Abu Ghraib. – It is. I cannot forget the pictures of the prisoners; hooded, bloody and naked – their skin colour, not so different from mine. I’m also acutely cognisant and still raw from Tony Blair’s non-existent, "weapons of mass destruction." I suppose, on reflection, I stayed quiet because, I felt uncomfortable lauding an organisation that quite possibly, contained large numbers of dishonourable soldiers (like Lynddie England or former corporal Donald Payne). – And their superiors, who, in my opinion, must have been complicit in the war crimes. So I stayed stumm while the host of the room gave his heartfelt speech. Chat rooms being what chat rooms are; devoid of facial expression, I think my silence passed unnoticed – albeit my silence spoke volumes about myself, to myself.
It is so unfortunate, but the images that run through my mind when I think of soldiers, and I’m just being totally honest here, are of the soldiers who abused the prisoners at Abu Ghraib. – It is. I cannot forget the pictures of the prisoners; hooded, bloody and naked – their skin colour, not so different from mine. I’m also acutely cognisant and still raw from Tony Blair’s non-existent, "weapons of mass destruction." I suppose, on reflection, I stayed quiet because, I felt uncomfortable lauding an organisation that quite possibly, contained large numbers of dishonourable soldiers (like Lynddie England or former corporal Donald Payne). – And their superiors, who, in my opinion, must have been complicit in the war crimes. So I stayed stumm while the host of the room gave his heartfelt speech. Chat rooms being what chat rooms are; devoid of facial expression, I think my silence passed unnoticed – albeit my silence spoke volumes about myself, to myself.
One week later, here I am, telling you on Christmas Day.Thing is, my silence played on my mind (silence has a funny way of doing that), as did the chat room soldier’s last request.
So this Christmas, as a gift to myself, I’m going to write a letter. I’m going to write a letter to an American soldier (as requested). To let him or her know, I’m thinking of them. Trying to imagine, what I cannot even begin to imagine. And to let them know, I support the honourable troops and admire their courage – irrespective of the politics.
I’m doing it because I know how it feels to fight. I’m doing it because I know how it feels to be alone. I’m doing it because I know how it feels to be afraid and I know how it feels to get blamed for something that you NEVER did. And significantly, I’m doing it because my grandmother, Kadijah Omar* taught me, in the short time I knew her, that the smallest doses kindness, from those you’d least expect it from, can often make the biggest difference…But mainly, I’m doing it because the chat room soldier asked me to.
* this post is dedicated to my nana…I remember you more each day.
COPYRIGHT ©2009 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: CHEYELLE OMAR
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