By: Hart Viges
My name is Hart Viges. September 11 happened. Next thing I was in the recruiting office. I thought that was the way I could make a difference in the world for the better. So I went to infantry school and jump school and I arrived with my unit of the 82nd Airborne Division. I was deployed to Kuwait in February 2003. We drove into Iraq because Third Infranty Division was ahead of schedule, and so I didn’t need to jump into Baghdad airport. As we drove into Samawa to secure their supplies my mortar platoon dropped numerous rounds on this town. I watched Kiowa attack helicopters fire hellfire missile after Hellfire missile.
I saw C130 Spector gunship...it will level a town. It had bet-fed artillery rounds pounding with these super-Gatling guns. I don’t know how many innocents I killed with my mortar rounds. I have my imagination to pick at for that one. But I clearly remember the call-out over the radio saying “Green light on all taxi-cabs. The enemy is using them for transportation.” One of our snipers called back on the radio saying, “Excuse me, but did I hear that order correctly? Green light on all taxi cabs?” “Roger that soldier. You’d better start buckling up.” All of a sudden the city just blew up.
Didn’t matter if there was an innocent in the taxi-cab – we laid a mortar round on it, snipers opened up. Next was Fallujah. We went in without a shot. But Charlie Company decided they were going to take over a school for the area of operations. Protesters would come saying, “Please get out of our school. Our children need this school. We need education.” They came back, about 40 or 50 people. Some had the bright idea of shooting AK-47s up in the air. Well a couple of rounds fell into the school...
They laid waste to the group of people. Then we went to Baghdad. And I had days that I don’t want to remember. I try to forget. Days where we’d take contractors out to a water treatment plant outside of Baghdad. We caught word that this is a kind of a scary place but when I arrived there’s grass and palm trees, a river. It’s the first beautiful place that seemed untouched by the war in Iraq. As we were leaving, RPGs came flying at us. Two men with RPGs ran up in front of us from across the road. “Drop your weapons.” “Irmie salahak.” They’re grabbing onto women and kids so [we] don’t fire. I can’t take any more and I swing my [gun] over. My sight’s on his chest, my finger’s on the trigger. And I’m trained to kill but this is no bogey man, this is no enemy. This is a human being. With the same fears and doubts and worries. The same messed-up situation. I don’t pull the trigger this time...it throws me off.
It’s like they didn’t tell me about this emotional attachment to killing. They tried to numb me, they tried to strip my humanity. They tried to tell me that’s not a human being – that’s a soft target. So now, my imagination is running...What is he pulled his trigger? How many American soldiers or Iraqi police, how many families destroyed because I didn’t pull my trigger. After we leave this little village we get attack helicopters, Apaches, two Bradley fighting vehicles, and we go back. And we start asking questions. Where are they? Eventually they lead us to this hut where this family is living, and myself and [another soldier] started searching for AK47s, for explosives, for RPGs, you know...evidence. And all I can find is a tiny pistol, probably to scare off thieves. Well because of that pistol we took their two young men... Their mother is at my feet trying to kiss my feet like I deserve my feet to be kissed. Screaming, pleading. I don’t need to speak Arabic to know love and concern and fear. I had my attack helicopter behind me, my Bradley fighting vehicle, my armor, my M4 [semi-automatic] with, laser sight. I’m an 82nd Airborne killer.
But I was powerless...to ease this woman’s pain. After I came home I applied for conscientious objector [status]. I’m a Christian, what was I doing holding a gun to another human being? Love they neighbor. Pray for those who persecute you, don’t shoot them. I get my conscientious objector packet approved. I’m free. It’s all gone now, right? No! I still swerve at trash bags...fireworks...I can’t express anything. All my relationships are falling apart because they can’t (...) understand me.
How do they know the pain I’ve gone through or the sights I’ve seen? The innocence gone, stripped, dead? I couldn’t stand the pain. People were leaving me. I couldn’t cut my wrists. So I called the police. They come stomping through my door. I have my knife in my hand. “Shoot me.” All of a sudden I was the man with the RPG, with all the guns pointed at him, thinking “Yes, we can solve the world’s problems by killing each other”. How insane is that? Lucky I lived through that episode. See, you can’t wash your hands when their covered in blood. The wounds carry on. This is what war does to your soul, to your humanity, to your family.
* The Independent
17 March 2006
What Iraqis Really Think About The Occupation
By: Tom Hayden
The lack of critical media coverage at the beginning of the Iraq War is widely acknowledged. But the media’s failure to cover Iraq voices of opposition is arguably a greater default.
The mainstream media convey the impression that there are two categories of Iraqis – the handful of fanatical jihadists and the majority who show their yearning to be free during January’s elections. In this paradigm, our troops are seen as defending, even cultivating, a nascent democracy. Not surprisingly, a Fox News poll in February revealed that 53% of Americans believed the Iraqis wanted our troops to stay while only 35% thought the Iraqis wanted us to leave.
To a public fed this distorted narrative and nothing more, the actual facts may be too jarring to believe. There has been little or no coverage of these realities:
A majority of Iraqis in polls favor US military withdrawal and an end of the occupation. At the time of January’s election 69% of Shiites and 82% of Sunnis favored “near-term withdrawal”. Surveys done for the Coalition Provisional Authority in June 2004 showed that 55% majority “would feel safer is US troops left immediately.”
A recent summary of numerous Iraqi surveys, by the independent Project on Defense Alternatives in Cambridge, Massachusetts, concluded that a majority of Iraqis “oppose the US presence in Iraq, and those who strongly oppose it greatly outnumber those who strongly support it.” The PDA report went on to say that “the fact that [these surveys] have played little role in the public discourse on the Iraqi mission imperils US policy and contributes to the present impasse.”
The only Iraqis who strongly support the US occupation are the Kurds, less than 20% of the population whose semiautonomous status is protected by the United States, and who are represented disproportionately in the Iraqi regime. By backing the Kurds and southern Shiites, the United States is intervening in a secretarian civil war. The US-trained Iraqi security forces are dominated by Kurdish and Shiite militias.
In mid-September of this year, the 18-member National Sovereignty Committee in the US-sponsored Iraqi parliament issued a unanimous report calling for the end of occupation.
In June, more than 100 members of the same parliament, or more than one-third, signed a letter calling for “the departure of the occupation”. They criticized their regime for bypassing parliament in obtaining an extension of authority from the United Nations Security Council.
In January, US intelligence agencies warned in a “grim tone” that the newly elected Iraqi regime would demand a timetable for US withdrawal, which indeed was the platform of the winning Shiite party. After the election, nothing came of the worry. The winners simply abandoned the campaign pledge that helped elect them.
In June, the former electricity minister of the Coalition Provisional Authority, Aiham Al-Sammarae, created an organization to begin dialogue with 11 insurgent groups. The London Times reported that high-ranking US military officials joined one round of talks.
In 2004, 20 Iraqi political parties formed a National Foundation Congress to become a public voice for withdrawal. In May 2005, it held a second Congress, releasing a three-point platform demanding a withdrawal timetable, an interim international peacekeeping force, and internationally supervised elections. Virtually none of these realities have been reported in the American media, with the exception of articles by Nancy Youssef of Knight-Ridder.
These various Iraqi peacemakers deserve to be heard by Congress and the American people. Some of them are risking their lives. Al-Sammarae reportedly discovered a car bomb next to his Baghdad home.
Another high-status Iraqi leader, who asked that his name not be used, wrote of being “active in trying to bring the US and UK embassies to negotiate with heads of the opposition in Iraq [...but] unfortunately had been dismissed by representatives of both countries. He did meet with some of the US senators who visited Baghdad some time ago and suggested ideas but it seemed that no one was really interested in settling the issue and military force was believed to be the only means of stopping the uprising and insurgency.”
What could account for the failure of the mainstream media either to report these facts or interview these respected opponents of the war? There are apologists like Charles Krauthammer, who falsely asserted in the Washington Post that “there is no one to negotiate with”, as if military suppression is the only option.
But what accounts for the failure of more objective reporters to notice what is before their eyes? Are they embedded in the biased assumptions of empire? Supportive of the American troops? Blinded by the paradigms presented them?
From its beginning, this war has been one of perception. Perhaps the media elites, whose collaboration with the Pentagon gave public justification during the 2003 invasion, now worry that if they report that a majority of the Iraqis we are supposedly “saving from terrorism” are actually calling for our departure, any remaining support for the war will collapse.
* The Nation
The lack of critical media coverage at the beginning of the Iraq War is widely acknowledged. But the media’s failure to cover Iraq voices of opposition is arguably a greater default.
The mainstream media convey the impression that there are two categories of Iraqis – the handful of fanatical jihadists and the majority who show their yearning to be free during January’s elections. In this paradigm, our troops are seen as defending, even cultivating, a nascent democracy. Not surprisingly, a Fox News poll in February revealed that 53% of Americans believed the Iraqis wanted our troops to stay while only 35% thought the Iraqis wanted us to leave.
To a public fed this distorted narrative and nothing more, the actual facts may be too jarring to believe. There has been little or no coverage of these realities:
A majority of Iraqis in polls favor US military withdrawal and an end of the occupation. At the time of January’s election 69% of Shiites and 82% of Sunnis favored “near-term withdrawal”. Surveys done for the Coalition Provisional Authority in June 2004 showed that 55% majority “would feel safer is US troops left immediately.”
A recent summary of numerous Iraqi surveys, by the independent Project on Defense Alternatives in Cambridge, Massachusetts, concluded that a majority of Iraqis “oppose the US presence in Iraq, and those who strongly oppose it greatly outnumber those who strongly support it.” The PDA report went on to say that “the fact that [these surveys] have played little role in the public discourse on the Iraqi mission imperils US policy and contributes to the present impasse.”
The only Iraqis who strongly support the US occupation are the Kurds, less than 20% of the population whose semiautonomous status is protected by the United States, and who are represented disproportionately in the Iraqi regime. By backing the Kurds and southern Shiites, the United States is intervening in a secretarian civil war. The US-trained Iraqi security forces are dominated by Kurdish and Shiite militias.
In mid-September of this year, the 18-member National Sovereignty Committee in the US-sponsored Iraqi parliament issued a unanimous report calling for the end of occupation.
In June, more than 100 members of the same parliament, or more than one-third, signed a letter calling for “the departure of the occupation”. They criticized their regime for bypassing parliament in obtaining an extension of authority from the United Nations Security Council.
In January, US intelligence agencies warned in a “grim tone” that the newly elected Iraqi regime would demand a timetable for US withdrawal, which indeed was the platform of the winning Shiite party. After the election, nothing came of the worry. The winners simply abandoned the campaign pledge that helped elect them.
In June, the former electricity minister of the Coalition Provisional Authority, Aiham Al-Sammarae, created an organization to begin dialogue with 11 insurgent groups. The London Times reported that high-ranking US military officials joined one round of talks.
In 2004, 20 Iraqi political parties formed a National Foundation Congress to become a public voice for withdrawal. In May 2005, it held a second Congress, releasing a three-point platform demanding a withdrawal timetable, an interim international peacekeeping force, and internationally supervised elections. Virtually none of these realities have been reported in the American media, with the exception of articles by Nancy Youssef of Knight-Ridder.
These various Iraqi peacemakers deserve to be heard by Congress and the American people. Some of them are risking their lives. Al-Sammarae reportedly discovered a car bomb next to his Baghdad home.
Another high-status Iraqi leader, who asked that his name not be used, wrote of being “active in trying to bring the US and UK embassies to negotiate with heads of the opposition in Iraq [...but] unfortunately had been dismissed by representatives of both countries. He did meet with some of the US senators who visited Baghdad some time ago and suggested ideas but it seemed that no one was really interested in settling the issue and military force was believed to be the only means of stopping the uprising and insurgency.”
What could account for the failure of the mainstream media either to report these facts or interview these respected opponents of the war? There are apologists like Charles Krauthammer, who falsely asserted in the Washington Post that “there is no one to negotiate with”, as if military suppression is the only option.
But what accounts for the failure of more objective reporters to notice what is before their eyes? Are they embedded in the biased assumptions of empire? Supportive of the American troops? Blinded by the paradigms presented them?
From its beginning, this war has been one of perception. Perhaps the media elites, whose collaboration with the Pentagon gave public justification during the 2003 invasion, now worry that if they report that a majority of the Iraqis we are supposedly “saving from terrorism” are actually calling for our departure, any remaining support for the war will collapse.
* The Nation
Staying Alive
By: Ahdaf Soueif
In Baghdad on any given day you might come across her. I will not tell you her name – but you’ll recognize her. She is tall and slim, has silver hair and dresses in black with black trainers and thick black socks. Her husband, now dead, used long ago to be an Iraqi ambassador. Now she sets out from her home every morning and walks. She walks through the streets looking and listening and asking questions. Her project is to memorise what is happening to the people and the daily life of her country. She’s eighty-eight and doesn’t have much time.
None of us has much time.
Have you ever seen a patched book? Here it is: SJ’s slim volume The Poet. SJ has a Ph.D. in Arabic literature from Baghdad University. The ancient piece of machinery coaxed into printing her book either dries up or floods. On pages where the damage is too bad SJ writes out the missing words by hand on a piece of paper and glues it in place. ‘War gives birth,’ she writes, ‘and mothers do the bringing up.’ She sells The Poet at 125 dinars a copy, hoping eventually to pay back the 3,000 dinars it’s cost to produce. Three thousand dinars equal one dollar and fifty cents.
I’m asked what Arab women are doing in these critical times. They are doing what they’ve always done: toughing it out, spreading themselves thin, doing their work, making ends meet, trying to protect their children and support their men, turning to their sisters and their mothers for solidarity and laughs. There was a time, I guess, when women’s political action was born of choice, of a desire to change the world. Now, simply to hold on to our world action is thrust upon us.
F is an Egyptian architect. She has always been active in women’s organizations. She did voluntary literacy work with poor urban women and her book on mothers and children was published by the UNDP. Her husband is one of the fourteen anti-war activists detained recently in Cairo. Last Monday she and her two daughters, both engineering students, went to visit him in Tora jail. Her daughters were astounded at the hundreds of women and children waiting to visit political detainees. Children were waiting to visit grandfathers in their seventies. F’s husband is from the left but the majority of the detainees are Islamists. The majority are unofficially detained. They have never been to court and there is no document that gives them prisoner status. They are not allowed to give power of attorney to anyone. Without documents wives cannot draw their husband’s salaries, cannot travel, cannot marry off a daughter or even bury a child. Because of the conditions in the jail, the detainees’ families have to provide them with food, clothes, books, cigarettes. The distance from the centre of Cairo to Tora jail is twenty miles. Because the detainees have no official status there is no agreed system for visits. The women show up and hope that they and their provisions will be allowed in. If they are not they have to come back the next day. F and her colleagues now find themselves campaigning at least for the proper application of the hated emergency laws under which Egyptians have laboured since 1981. In the Arab world today, the human rights of women are indivisible from those of men.
The emergency laws proscribe demonstrations or unauthorized public gatherings. Five of the marches that have taken place in Cairo over the last two weeks have been women’s marches called by women’s NGOs and timed with the Women in Black demonstrations across the world. Unlike marches involving men they managed to reach both the American and Israeli embassies. Men who demonstrate get shot before they come anywhere near these, but the authorities are still wary of brutalizing women in public. It seems, though, that their patience may be wearing thin; the latest demo saw 150 women cornered by some 2,000 riot police so their protest took place in front of Shepheard’s Hotel round the corner from the American embassy. Today’s demonstration in front of the Arab League headquarters will link Iraq and Palestine, for while the world’s attention is on Iraq, Ariel Sharon’s army shoots at ambulances and bulldozes houses down on top of pregnant women. Since November 2000, 51 Palestinian women have had to give birth at checkpoints. Twenty-nine of these 51 babies died.
And yet Palestinian women continue to have babies. Is that a political choice? At the centre of most women’s lives ate the children. Soha, a nursing student, breaks down and cries in her home in Aida Camp when a rocket whizzes through her kitchen window at supper-time and out through the facing wall into the mercifully empty bedroom. Her mother tells her to buck up and not scare the children. It is sobering to note that the first Palestinian woman to make the political decision to become a human bomb was a nurse, caring daily for children injured or maimed by Israeli bullets. In between these two extremes – the giving and the giving up of life – hundreds of thousands of women go on about their business as best they can.
A great many of the cultural workers in the West Bank and Gaza are women. Marina Burhan operates a childrens’ theatre out of Beit Jala despite her roof having been blown off. Carol Michel keeps the small cultural centre in Bethlehem working – curfews permitting. Suad al-Amiri restores houses in the old city of al-Khalil (Hebron) and takes the Israeli army to court when they try to demolish her work. Tania Nasir researches traditional embroidery patterns. Adila Laidi stages concerts and painting competitions in Ramallah despite her computers being ripped apart and excrement smeared on her walls again by the army. ‘By responding to the occupation, interpreting it through art, we are no longer its victims, we work our own will upon it.’ She says. Vera and Tania take advantage of a sudden lifting of curfew to slip out and have highlights put in their hair. They say it makes them feel stronger and able to cope with the soldiers.
Karma, though sixty years younger than our Baghdad friend, does not walk the streets of Ramallah. She sits at home and compiles the Hearpalestine newsletter and website, recording what she can of the daily demolitions, expropriations, arrests and killings. Keeping the children alive. Keeping culture alive. Preserving history and telling the story – these seem to be at the heart of our women’s concerns right now.
Peter Hansen, writing in the paper last Wednesday of the terrible hunger in Gaza, says that ‘the Palestinian extended family and community network have saved the territories from...absolute collapse.’ Women are the backbone of these families and networks and they are performing the same function in Iraq. Families who have, share with those who have not, through the agency of the churches and the mosques.
Last night IK told me that her mother, in Baghdad, has sold the Virgin’s golf. An icon of the Virgin that has been in the family for more than 300 years. A neighbour in trouble – Christian, Jew or Muslim – would come and whisper a prayer, perhaps make a pledge. When the afflicted was healed, the traveler berthed, the child conceived, the neighbour would fulfil the pledge. Over the decades the Virgin was adorned with the most delicate filaments of gold. To her children’s appalled protests that the gold was not hers to sell, their mother replied that the Virgin had no need of gold when there were people in the city who were starving. But what comes next? Where do you go after you’ve sold the Virgin’s gold?
* The Guardian, 13 March 2003 published this in a shorter form. The full essay appeared for the first time in Mezzaterra, 2004.
In Baghdad on any given day you might come across her. I will not tell you her name – but you’ll recognize her. She is tall and slim, has silver hair and dresses in black with black trainers and thick black socks. Her husband, now dead, used long ago to be an Iraqi ambassador. Now she sets out from her home every morning and walks. She walks through the streets looking and listening and asking questions. Her project is to memorise what is happening to the people and the daily life of her country. She’s eighty-eight and doesn’t have much time.
None of us has much time.
Have you ever seen a patched book? Here it is: SJ’s slim volume The Poet. SJ has a Ph.D. in Arabic literature from Baghdad University. The ancient piece of machinery coaxed into printing her book either dries up or floods. On pages where the damage is too bad SJ writes out the missing words by hand on a piece of paper and glues it in place. ‘War gives birth,’ she writes, ‘and mothers do the bringing up.’ She sells The Poet at 125 dinars a copy, hoping eventually to pay back the 3,000 dinars it’s cost to produce. Three thousand dinars equal one dollar and fifty cents.
I’m asked what Arab women are doing in these critical times. They are doing what they’ve always done: toughing it out, spreading themselves thin, doing their work, making ends meet, trying to protect their children and support their men, turning to their sisters and their mothers for solidarity and laughs. There was a time, I guess, when women’s political action was born of choice, of a desire to change the world. Now, simply to hold on to our world action is thrust upon us.
F is an Egyptian architect. She has always been active in women’s organizations. She did voluntary literacy work with poor urban women and her book on mothers and children was published by the UNDP. Her husband is one of the fourteen anti-war activists detained recently in Cairo. Last Monday she and her two daughters, both engineering students, went to visit him in Tora jail. Her daughters were astounded at the hundreds of women and children waiting to visit political detainees. Children were waiting to visit grandfathers in their seventies. F’s husband is from the left but the majority of the detainees are Islamists. The majority are unofficially detained. They have never been to court and there is no document that gives them prisoner status. They are not allowed to give power of attorney to anyone. Without documents wives cannot draw their husband’s salaries, cannot travel, cannot marry off a daughter or even bury a child. Because of the conditions in the jail, the detainees’ families have to provide them with food, clothes, books, cigarettes. The distance from the centre of Cairo to Tora jail is twenty miles. Because the detainees have no official status there is no agreed system for visits. The women show up and hope that they and their provisions will be allowed in. If they are not they have to come back the next day. F and her colleagues now find themselves campaigning at least for the proper application of the hated emergency laws under which Egyptians have laboured since 1981. In the Arab world today, the human rights of women are indivisible from those of men.
The emergency laws proscribe demonstrations or unauthorized public gatherings. Five of the marches that have taken place in Cairo over the last two weeks have been women’s marches called by women’s NGOs and timed with the Women in Black demonstrations across the world. Unlike marches involving men they managed to reach both the American and Israeli embassies. Men who demonstrate get shot before they come anywhere near these, but the authorities are still wary of brutalizing women in public. It seems, though, that their patience may be wearing thin; the latest demo saw 150 women cornered by some 2,000 riot police so their protest took place in front of Shepheard’s Hotel round the corner from the American embassy. Today’s demonstration in front of the Arab League headquarters will link Iraq and Palestine, for while the world’s attention is on Iraq, Ariel Sharon’s army shoots at ambulances and bulldozes houses down on top of pregnant women. Since November 2000, 51 Palestinian women have had to give birth at checkpoints. Twenty-nine of these 51 babies died.
And yet Palestinian women continue to have babies. Is that a political choice? At the centre of most women’s lives ate the children. Soha, a nursing student, breaks down and cries in her home in Aida Camp when a rocket whizzes through her kitchen window at supper-time and out through the facing wall into the mercifully empty bedroom. Her mother tells her to buck up and not scare the children. It is sobering to note that the first Palestinian woman to make the political decision to become a human bomb was a nurse, caring daily for children injured or maimed by Israeli bullets. In between these two extremes – the giving and the giving up of life – hundreds of thousands of women go on about their business as best they can.
A great many of the cultural workers in the West Bank and Gaza are women. Marina Burhan operates a childrens’ theatre out of Beit Jala despite her roof having been blown off. Carol Michel keeps the small cultural centre in Bethlehem working – curfews permitting. Suad al-Amiri restores houses in the old city of al-Khalil (Hebron) and takes the Israeli army to court when they try to demolish her work. Tania Nasir researches traditional embroidery patterns. Adila Laidi stages concerts and painting competitions in Ramallah despite her computers being ripped apart and excrement smeared on her walls again by the army. ‘By responding to the occupation, interpreting it through art, we are no longer its victims, we work our own will upon it.’ She says. Vera and Tania take advantage of a sudden lifting of curfew to slip out and have highlights put in their hair. They say it makes them feel stronger and able to cope with the soldiers.
Karma, though sixty years younger than our Baghdad friend, does not walk the streets of Ramallah. She sits at home and compiles the Hearpalestine newsletter and website, recording what she can of the daily demolitions, expropriations, arrests and killings. Keeping the children alive. Keeping culture alive. Preserving history and telling the story – these seem to be at the heart of our women’s concerns right now.
Peter Hansen, writing in the paper last Wednesday of the terrible hunger in Gaza, says that ‘the Palestinian extended family and community network have saved the territories from...absolute collapse.’ Women are the backbone of these families and networks and they are performing the same function in Iraq. Families who have, share with those who have not, through the agency of the churches and the mosques.
Last night IK told me that her mother, in Baghdad, has sold the Virgin’s golf. An icon of the Virgin that has been in the family for more than 300 years. A neighbour in trouble – Christian, Jew or Muslim – would come and whisper a prayer, perhaps make a pledge. When the afflicted was healed, the traveler berthed, the child conceived, the neighbour would fulfil the pledge. Over the decades the Virgin was adorned with the most delicate filaments of gold. To her children’s appalled protests that the gold was not hers to sell, their mother replied that the Virgin had no need of gold when there were people in the city who were starving. But what comes next? Where do you go after you’ve sold the Virgin’s gold?
* The Guardian, 13 March 2003 published this in a shorter form. The full essay appeared for the first time in Mezzaterra, 2004.
Post Letter
This is the letter that I wrote after the bombings in Amman.
Hey Ya’ll,
How are things going in the US of A and around the world, wherever you may be stationed at this point in time ;o) This is a letter that I’ve been putting off writing, but here we go...
On Wed. November 9th at 9.30pm terrorists bombed the Radisson SAS, Hyatt Regency, and Days Inn. 57 people were killed and 100 were injured. The majority of the deaths came from a wedding party at the Radisson SAS, where a husband and wife wearing explosive belts walked into the party. Thankfully the wife’s belt did not detonate for whatever reason, so there were fewer deaths than what may have been. I do not know what stories you are receiving about this in America, and if it has even crossed your mind that I am here, because the Middle East is the Middle East and names blend together.
When the attack happened I was visiting Wadi Rum (the desert) and Petra (Indiana Jones movies), so I was very much removed from the scene (289 km). To many this isn’t much of a relief, since Jordan is still Jordan and distance melts when you really do not know what is going on with someone you care about.
Immediately we were informed of the attacks, and I suppose that is one of the aspects about this country that is more advanced than America, cell phones work literally everywhere. We (SIT) were in the Middle of the desert with nothing around for miles, but Bedouins, tents, camels, and lots of sand, but none the less we found out about the attack before many others in Jordan.
For me this strikes very close to home, because my host father owns the Amman Sheraton, and this very well could have happened in his hotel. As it is, one of the victims (and naturally the family that survives her) was a member of my family’s church that I attend. Lecturers have lost children, and in general Jordan as a whole has been affected in one way or another. While I may not be a citizen and I have only been here for 2 months, Jordan has become my home. This bombing is much closer to my heart than 9/11 or any of the other bombings, because it is personal, and I have no real connection to these other places or the people that inhabit them.
I have never been to the Days Inn or the Hyatt Regency, but the first day I met my family I attended a wedding at the Radisson SAS and went through the exact same motions as the wedding that ended in tragedy. I can see the men that park the cars, the tourists watching the jubilation in a state of awe, the waiters that diligently waited on the wealthy, and the beautifully decorated banquet hall that was destroyed. It was my first real Middle Eastern experience, and before any of this happened it was a vibrant memory, but now it has taken on a different tone that resounds with sadness.
Both the fathers of the bride and groom died in the blast, as well as one of their mothers. The groom spent days in the hospital, and entire families were destroyed, only leaving one or two members surviving, several of them lonely children - Bodies were carried out in luggage racks, guests treated other guests as best they could. In general the images that have emerged make every day seem a little different after viewing them; at times more precious and others a place where forks and spoons can become instruments of death to the unsuspecting.
The following day there were rallies and peaceful demonstrations throughout Amman; Friday Palestine showed their support for their sister land and held their own. Iran, Palestine, Israel, Saudi Arabia, and other neighboring countries immediately issued statements of support and condemnation of the act. I have not heard of Syria and Iraq, but anything is open for them, and really I think immediate support would be surprising to people here from either of them. I am getting pictures of the rallies that a friend took and I will send those along soon. I wanted to view these occasions myself and show my support, but it just wasn’t a safe place for women in general and an American woman in particular.
The country was given Thursday off from school and government workers (Friday and Saturday are the weekend here; Sunday was King Hussein’s BDay, so everyone was already scheduled off for that), so families stayed close to home and dealt with their wounds in a very Middle Eastern fashion. Family and loved ones are really the most important thing here and everything revolves around them, everything. People returned to their family land or home, visited grandparents, aunts and uncles, and regained strength from their support. Other than rallies, religious gatherings, it really felt like the world had slowed to a near crawl. It was the first time since I’ve been here that I saw the very basic grocery stores, pharmacies, and stationary stores closed. Even during the Muslim holy days of Ramadan and Eid these stores were open for different periods of time.
Overall, things were just dealt with differently here. Today marks a week and the country is for the most part back to its normal working order. It is not that Arabs are cold and feel things less than Americans, because from what I have experienced, almost everything is tied to some strong emotion. It is just that they do not allow their emotions to carry them into a frenzy and they have already experienced so much heartache that anything else that happens in their lifetimes (or within easy remembrance, which a long time in this part of the world) is almost too deep to invoke tears and raw emotion.
There was an initial fear of nationalism going too far and people turning against the Iraqi refugees in the country. That has died down, and was only an initial response. The circles that direct the cities traffic are covered in flags, banners, and signs announcing Jordan’s unity. The bride of peace has become the symbol of the city, and she is being constantly contrasted with the female bomber.
Yes, I can honestly say that Amman is safe. Amman was always safe, just as America is safe...Actually; I have felt much safer here than I have usually felt within the States. Al Qaeda can strike anywhere, and no one’s security is going to completely stop them. Jordan has one of the best secret services in the world and they have found out every large scale attack that has been set against the country. Al Qaeda resorted to methods that were harder (near impossible) to trace in their simplicity. They have never targeted individual civilians (that is the work of the Syrian extremists), and go for things that will cause the world to look at them. In that aspect in makes me cringe to see Zarkarwi’s (Sorry don’t know how to spell it in English) name condemned on banners, because that in itself is acknowledging him and he must love the thought of his name being all over his homeland’s capital *sigh*
There might not be anything to be afraid of, but it is scary to see the once peaceful city on full alert. Before it was rare to see police officers, except for guiding traffic and responding to calls and the military guarded the embassies, palaces, etc, but now they are everywhere. When we first pulled into Amman from our trip there was a HUGE tank guarding the front of the American Embassy, and even though it is gone now, there is extra security everywhere. It is scary in a way that is useless, because there is nothing to be afraid of, but it is like watching something you love bristling in fear and your heart breaks for it, longing to calm the fears, but knowing you can’t.
Thinking about my safety, I have literally never felt threatened here and I know that if someone did try to hurt me I would just have to scream and there would be all kinds of men coming to help. It is haram (sin, shame) to hurt a woman in the streets, especially a stranger. I have been pinched a couple of times, but all it took was a look of disgust on my part to make them feel small, and to remind them that I am like their sister. Now, that would be haram!!
The biggest thing to fear here is the natural issues that can not be helped. Insects that cause illness, lack of water, or dirty water – All things related to poverty and developing nations. While Jordan may receive more money than the majority of other countries in the world from Aid and Relief organizations, there is a disparity that is disgusting, and of course the rich keep profiting from the game.
Ok, I want to leave you with a few paragraphs from the Jordan Times:
What We’re Made Of 11.11.05
A mix of shock, outrage and grief pervades minds and hearts as we try to pick up the pieces of so many shattered lives and come to terms with the cowardly brutality that took away so many loved ones on Wednesday night.
It is the deepest and most painful wound to have ever been inflicted on this nation. But we will recover, stronger in our resolve to defend our way of life, protect our security and stability, fight for the values and principles we all share as Jordanians – East and West Bankers, Muslims and Christians, Bedouins, Circassians, Chechens, Armenians.
We were attacked because of what Jordan stands for, because of what it represents in this region and beyond: A model of stability and security in a constantly turbulent area, an example of moderation and tolerance amidst bloody wars and religious and ethnic tensions, a success story of modernization in a gravely underdeveloped region.
Terrorists hit Jordan because it embodies what they despise the most; Peace. They hit us because we are the champions of the true Islam of tolerance, dignity, respect for human life and understanding of the other.
They hit us because we have always been at the forefront in the fight against terrorism, long before September 11, long before the “war on terror: became as integral part of US policy, long before Washington and all other Western capitals had ever even heard of Al Qaeda and Osama bin Laden.
The response of the state to the heinous crimes of Wednesday night is swift and firm. As His Majesty King Abdullah vowed immediately after the blasts, those responsible will be brought to justice.
We take pride in our unrivalled security services and our highly professional law enforcement agencies; they have won countless battles and will win this one too.
We also take pride in the exemplary response of the Jordanian people, in the dignity they show as they bury their dead, in the resolve with which they stand united in the face of terror, hatred and violence.
By early Thursday morning, some had already draped windows and balconies with Jordanian flags. Others had hoisted the country’s banner on their cars. Most companies regularly opened for business, reflecting the determination to go on with the productive and peaceful lives of which terrorists tried to deprive us. Families went about their usual business, renewing their trust in the security forces and their allegiance to the principles this country represents.
This is how we respond to those who try to take from us what we hold dearest: By upholding it more strongly and firmly than ever.
That is the best description of Jordanian emotion I think exists in English. Very well stated – Anywho that is my life right now. Tomorrow is the last day of classes for me and then I start on my Independent Study Project. Hopefully I will be moving to Jabal Amman into an apartment that a fellow student and myself found. We are still waiting to hear back from the owner who was in Lebanon. It will be awesome to be so close to the city center and to be able to better observe the life of the city. I live so far out in the suburbs now it is a bit difficult at times to get anywhere without spending a lot on taxis (relatively speaking). More will follow as life continues, but I will be home in almost exactly a month, so hopefully there will be time to catch up with people before the semester begins.
Lotsa Luv from Amman
–Danie
داني
Hey Ya’ll,
How are things going in the US of A and around the world, wherever you may be stationed at this point in time ;o) This is a letter that I’ve been putting off writing, but here we go...
On Wed. November 9th at 9.30pm terrorists bombed the Radisson SAS, Hyatt Regency, and Days Inn. 57 people were killed and 100 were injured. The majority of the deaths came from a wedding party at the Radisson SAS, where a husband and wife wearing explosive belts walked into the party. Thankfully the wife’s belt did not detonate for whatever reason, so there were fewer deaths than what may have been. I do not know what stories you are receiving about this in America, and if it has even crossed your mind that I am here, because the Middle East is the Middle East and names blend together.
When the attack happened I was visiting Wadi Rum (the desert) and Petra (Indiana Jones movies), so I was very much removed from the scene (289 km). To many this isn’t much of a relief, since Jordan is still Jordan and distance melts when you really do not know what is going on with someone you care about.
Immediately we were informed of the attacks, and I suppose that is one of the aspects about this country that is more advanced than America, cell phones work literally everywhere. We (SIT) were in the Middle of the desert with nothing around for miles, but Bedouins, tents, camels, and lots of sand, but none the less we found out about the attack before many others in Jordan.
For me this strikes very close to home, because my host father owns the Amman Sheraton, and this very well could have happened in his hotel. As it is, one of the victims (and naturally the family that survives her) was a member of my family’s church that I attend. Lecturers have lost children, and in general Jordan as a whole has been affected in one way or another. While I may not be a citizen and I have only been here for 2 months, Jordan has become my home. This bombing is much closer to my heart than 9/11 or any of the other bombings, because it is personal, and I have no real connection to these other places or the people that inhabit them.
I have never been to the Days Inn or the Hyatt Regency, but the first day I met my family I attended a wedding at the Radisson SAS and went through the exact same motions as the wedding that ended in tragedy. I can see the men that park the cars, the tourists watching the jubilation in a state of awe, the waiters that diligently waited on the wealthy, and the beautifully decorated banquet hall that was destroyed. It was my first real Middle Eastern experience, and before any of this happened it was a vibrant memory, but now it has taken on a different tone that resounds with sadness.
Both the fathers of the bride and groom died in the blast, as well as one of their mothers. The groom spent days in the hospital, and entire families were destroyed, only leaving one or two members surviving, several of them lonely children - Bodies were carried out in luggage racks, guests treated other guests as best they could. In general the images that have emerged make every day seem a little different after viewing them; at times more precious and others a place where forks and spoons can become instruments of death to the unsuspecting.
The following day there were rallies and peaceful demonstrations throughout Amman; Friday Palestine showed their support for their sister land and held their own. Iran, Palestine, Israel, Saudi Arabia, and other neighboring countries immediately issued statements of support and condemnation of the act. I have not heard of Syria and Iraq, but anything is open for them, and really I think immediate support would be surprising to people here from either of them. I am getting pictures of the rallies that a friend took and I will send those along soon. I wanted to view these occasions myself and show my support, but it just wasn’t a safe place for women in general and an American woman in particular.
The country was given Thursday off from school and government workers (Friday and Saturday are the weekend here; Sunday was King Hussein’s BDay, so everyone was already scheduled off for that), so families stayed close to home and dealt with their wounds in a very Middle Eastern fashion. Family and loved ones are really the most important thing here and everything revolves around them, everything. People returned to their family land or home, visited grandparents, aunts and uncles, and regained strength from their support. Other than rallies, religious gatherings, it really felt like the world had slowed to a near crawl. It was the first time since I’ve been here that I saw the very basic grocery stores, pharmacies, and stationary stores closed. Even during the Muslim holy days of Ramadan and Eid these stores were open for different periods of time.
Overall, things were just dealt with differently here. Today marks a week and the country is for the most part back to its normal working order. It is not that Arabs are cold and feel things less than Americans, because from what I have experienced, almost everything is tied to some strong emotion. It is just that they do not allow their emotions to carry them into a frenzy and they have already experienced so much heartache that anything else that happens in their lifetimes (or within easy remembrance, which a long time in this part of the world) is almost too deep to invoke tears and raw emotion.
There was an initial fear of nationalism going too far and people turning against the Iraqi refugees in the country. That has died down, and was only an initial response. The circles that direct the cities traffic are covered in flags, banners, and signs announcing Jordan’s unity. The bride of peace has become the symbol of the city, and she is being constantly contrasted with the female bomber.
Yes, I can honestly say that Amman is safe. Amman was always safe, just as America is safe...Actually; I have felt much safer here than I have usually felt within the States. Al Qaeda can strike anywhere, and no one’s security is going to completely stop them. Jordan has one of the best secret services in the world and they have found out every large scale attack that has been set against the country. Al Qaeda resorted to methods that were harder (near impossible) to trace in their simplicity. They have never targeted individual civilians (that is the work of the Syrian extremists), and go for things that will cause the world to look at them. In that aspect in makes me cringe to see Zarkarwi’s (Sorry don’t know how to spell it in English) name condemned on banners, because that in itself is acknowledging him and he must love the thought of his name being all over his homeland’s capital *sigh*
There might not be anything to be afraid of, but it is scary to see the once peaceful city on full alert. Before it was rare to see police officers, except for guiding traffic and responding to calls and the military guarded the embassies, palaces, etc, but now they are everywhere. When we first pulled into Amman from our trip there was a HUGE tank guarding the front of the American Embassy, and even though it is gone now, there is extra security everywhere. It is scary in a way that is useless, because there is nothing to be afraid of, but it is like watching something you love bristling in fear and your heart breaks for it, longing to calm the fears, but knowing you can’t.
Thinking about my safety, I have literally never felt threatened here and I know that if someone did try to hurt me I would just have to scream and there would be all kinds of men coming to help. It is haram (sin, shame) to hurt a woman in the streets, especially a stranger. I have been pinched a couple of times, but all it took was a look of disgust on my part to make them feel small, and to remind them that I am like their sister. Now, that would be haram!!
The biggest thing to fear here is the natural issues that can not be helped. Insects that cause illness, lack of water, or dirty water – All things related to poverty and developing nations. While Jordan may receive more money than the majority of other countries in the world from Aid and Relief organizations, there is a disparity that is disgusting, and of course the rich keep profiting from the game.
Ok, I want to leave you with a few paragraphs from the Jordan Times:
What We’re Made Of 11.11.05
A mix of shock, outrage and grief pervades minds and hearts as we try to pick up the pieces of so many shattered lives and come to terms with the cowardly brutality that took away so many loved ones on Wednesday night.
It is the deepest and most painful wound to have ever been inflicted on this nation. But we will recover, stronger in our resolve to defend our way of life, protect our security and stability, fight for the values and principles we all share as Jordanians – East and West Bankers, Muslims and Christians, Bedouins, Circassians, Chechens, Armenians.
We were attacked because of what Jordan stands for, because of what it represents in this region and beyond: A model of stability and security in a constantly turbulent area, an example of moderation and tolerance amidst bloody wars and religious and ethnic tensions, a success story of modernization in a gravely underdeveloped region.
Terrorists hit Jordan because it embodies what they despise the most; Peace. They hit us because we are the champions of the true Islam of tolerance, dignity, respect for human life and understanding of the other.
They hit us because we have always been at the forefront in the fight against terrorism, long before September 11, long before the “war on terror: became as integral part of US policy, long before Washington and all other Western capitals had ever even heard of Al Qaeda and Osama bin Laden.
The response of the state to the heinous crimes of Wednesday night is swift and firm. As His Majesty King Abdullah vowed immediately after the blasts, those responsible will be brought to justice.
We take pride in our unrivalled security services and our highly professional law enforcement agencies; they have won countless battles and will win this one too.
We also take pride in the exemplary response of the Jordanian people, in the dignity they show as they bury their dead, in the resolve with which they stand united in the face of terror, hatred and violence.
By early Thursday morning, some had already draped windows and balconies with Jordanian flags. Others had hoisted the country’s banner on their cars. Most companies regularly opened for business, reflecting the determination to go on with the productive and peaceful lives of which terrorists tried to deprive us. Families went about their usual business, renewing their trust in the security forces and their allegiance to the principles this country represents.
This is how we respond to those who try to take from us what we hold dearest: By upholding it more strongly and firmly than ever.
That is the best description of Jordanian emotion I think exists in English. Very well stated – Anywho that is my life right now. Tomorrow is the last day of classes for me and then I start on my Independent Study Project. Hopefully I will be moving to Jabal Amman into an apartment that a fellow student and myself found. We are still waiting to hear back from the owner who was in Lebanon. It will be awesome to be so close to the city center and to be able to better observe the life of the city. I live so far out in the suburbs now it is a bit difficult at times to get anywhere without spending a lot on taxis (relatively speaking). More will follow as life continues, but I will be home in almost exactly a month, so hopefully there will be time to catch up with people before the semester begins.
Lotsa Luv from Amman
–Danie
داني
16 March 2006
First
I found my old typed letters that I sent to a professor during my stay in Jordan. Here is my first...
September 2005
The first sight when you walk into the SIT – Study Abroad office is this awesome Turkish rug in muted earth tones. It is not Islamic, with the classic tower pointing towards Mecca, but rather a tribal design, and made of durable cotton. The first few days it was mentioned in passing as a thing of beauty and something that every student would enjoy returning home with in December. As the days passed a white tag began to slowly emerge from beneath the carpet, and eventually the name, “Pier One Imports” was visible for all to see.
That “Turkish” rug reminds me a great deal of this place. On the outside something might look oriental, but eventually the tag appears and shows it is a Western representation of the real thing. Of course the opposite is true as well; something can very well appear Western and be an Eastern imitation. In saying, nothing is as it appears. Nothing is especially what an American can imagine that has never been outside of the Western world. In thinking about this I think that perhaps the Middle East is the most poorly represented area of our time. If you search you can find, maybe not easily, but you can find information that examines the real state of a nation from a citizen’s perspective on just about anywhere in the world; books, movies, etc can be found on any subject, except for when it comes to the Middle East. Excuse me, I forgot – Terrorism and Palestine, no, let me correct myself Israel produce countless works, very often from people who have never stepped foot in the Middle East or read the entire Koran – Once again, like the rug, appearing to be real, but in fact an imitation.
So after all of that I bet you are wondering what does exist in the Middle East? A world of beauty, mystique, virtue, religion, passion…Should I go on? Or should I stop and give you time to challenge your perceptions? Honestly, when I arrived here I didn’t know what to expect. I had spent the entire summer reading the Jordan Times (www.jordantimes.com), but what did it tell me besides what the government was up to and how the educated people who wrote for the paper felt about it? Usually, the statements of critique towards the government were based on foreign policy (sound familiar) and the government spending too much time worrying about what the rest of the world thinks, and not the common Jordanian. Basically, I stepped unknowingly into a world that was totally different than anything I’ve ever socially known.
Let me tell you about today, which is pretty normal in my run of days: I woke up at 6am, hurriedly dressed and went downstairs for Turkish coffee and cake with my host parents and little sister. I made lunch to take with me to class and then I was out the door by 7am with Baba (dad) and Merna, my little sis. At 7.15 I am dropped off at the Abdoun exit and from there I take a taxi to my school, and I have to speak to the taxi driver completely in Arabic, because he (it is always a he) 90% of the time doesn’t speak English. I didn’t know Arabic before 3 weeks ago, so some days are better than others, and some days I can’t remember anything to say. I am at my school by 7.30 and then I wait for Jumanna, one of my Arabic teachers, to arrive and unlock the door because I am always the first person there. Jumanna and I talk until class begins at 8.30 when we have Arabic until noon. After lunch there is a lecture by a prominent Jordanian and then we are free for the rest of the day. Today I took a taxi from school to the little stores around my house in Khalda and bought a few school supplies before I went home. When I get home there will be another “real” lunch waiting for me, and then I am free to either take a nap (which almost every Jordanian does in the afternoon) or study. The evenings are studying, coffee time, dinner, tea time, and more studying. Sometimes I go out to the internet café and other times the mall, Swofeah to shop, or the park, but my family gets upset when I am home late, so I tend to come home as early as possible.
My family is Greek Orthodox Christian and fairly strict with me, as they accept me as one of their daughters and I have basically the same rules as they do.
I’ve been lucky and not gotten sick *knock on wood* since I’ve been here, but other people have gotten stomach viruses or similar illnesses and had to go to the hospital. The biggest worry here is dehydration, because you can do next to nothing and still dehydrate and you never even knew it was happening. Example of the dryness here is with road kill, back home it disintegrates pretty fast because of all the humidity that is in the air, but here things tend to mummify instead…There is a dead cat on the edge of the road by my house that has looked exactly the same since the moment I have arrived 3 weeks ago. It is that hot and dry. My biggest health issue has been the mosquitoes. I am apparently having an allergic reaction to them and swelling into these huge hives from the bites. They are small to the point that they are nearly invisible, but they leave welts that are killer.
September 2005
The first sight when you walk into the SIT – Study Abroad office is this awesome Turkish rug in muted earth tones. It is not Islamic, with the classic tower pointing towards Mecca, but rather a tribal design, and made of durable cotton. The first few days it was mentioned in passing as a thing of beauty and something that every student would enjoy returning home with in December. As the days passed a white tag began to slowly emerge from beneath the carpet, and eventually the name, “Pier One Imports” was visible for all to see.
That “Turkish” rug reminds me a great deal of this place. On the outside something might look oriental, but eventually the tag appears and shows it is a Western representation of the real thing. Of course the opposite is true as well; something can very well appear Western and be an Eastern imitation. In saying, nothing is as it appears. Nothing is especially what an American can imagine that has never been outside of the Western world. In thinking about this I think that perhaps the Middle East is the most poorly represented area of our time. If you search you can find, maybe not easily, but you can find information that examines the real state of a nation from a citizen’s perspective on just about anywhere in the world; books, movies, etc can be found on any subject, except for when it comes to the Middle East. Excuse me, I forgot – Terrorism and Palestine, no, let me correct myself Israel produce countless works, very often from people who have never stepped foot in the Middle East or read the entire Koran – Once again, like the rug, appearing to be real, but in fact an imitation.
So after all of that I bet you are wondering what does exist in the Middle East? A world of beauty, mystique, virtue, religion, passion…Should I go on? Or should I stop and give you time to challenge your perceptions? Honestly, when I arrived here I didn’t know what to expect. I had spent the entire summer reading the Jordan Times (www.jordantimes.com), but what did it tell me besides what the government was up to and how the educated people who wrote for the paper felt about it? Usually, the statements of critique towards the government were based on foreign policy (sound familiar) and the government spending too much time worrying about what the rest of the world thinks, and not the common Jordanian. Basically, I stepped unknowingly into a world that was totally different than anything I’ve ever socially known.
Let me tell you about today, which is pretty normal in my run of days: I woke up at 6am, hurriedly dressed and went downstairs for Turkish coffee and cake with my host parents and little sister. I made lunch to take with me to class and then I was out the door by 7am with Baba (dad) and Merna, my little sis. At 7.15 I am dropped off at the Abdoun exit and from there I take a taxi to my school, and I have to speak to the taxi driver completely in Arabic, because he (it is always a he) 90% of the time doesn’t speak English. I didn’t know Arabic before 3 weeks ago, so some days are better than others, and some days I can’t remember anything to say. I am at my school by 7.30 and then I wait for Jumanna, one of my Arabic teachers, to arrive and unlock the door because I am always the first person there. Jumanna and I talk until class begins at 8.30 when we have Arabic until noon. After lunch there is a lecture by a prominent Jordanian and then we are free for the rest of the day. Today I took a taxi from school to the little stores around my house in Khalda and bought a few school supplies before I went home. When I get home there will be another “real” lunch waiting for me, and then I am free to either take a nap (which almost every Jordanian does in the afternoon) or study. The evenings are studying, coffee time, dinner, tea time, and more studying. Sometimes I go out to the internet café and other times the mall, Swofeah to shop, or the park, but my family gets upset when I am home late, so I tend to come home as early as possible.
My family is Greek Orthodox Christian and fairly strict with me, as they accept me as one of their daughters and I have basically the same rules as they do.
I’ve been lucky and not gotten sick *knock on wood* since I’ve been here, but other people have gotten stomach viruses or similar illnesses and had to go to the hospital. The biggest worry here is dehydration, because you can do next to nothing and still dehydrate and you never even knew it was happening. Example of the dryness here is with road kill, back home it disintegrates pretty fast because of all the humidity that is in the air, but here things tend to mummify instead…There is a dead cat on the edge of the road by my house that has looked exactly the same since the moment I have arrived 3 weeks ago. It is that hot and dry. My biggest health issue has been the mosquitoes. I am apparently having an allergic reaction to them and swelling into these huge hives from the bites. They are small to the point that they are nearly invisible, but they leave welts that are killer.
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