|
The Dismantling of War Under normal circumstances I couldn't tell you about my experience with this patient.
Ethics of confidentiality would prohibit such confessions. But Ali is a public figure now; he belongs to the world. Besides,
war does not exactly qualify as “under normal circumstances.” Sometimes the ethics of the universe transcend the ethics of
human beings. I want you to know what I saw when I looked into that child's eyes. I want you to feel what I felt when I spoke
with this child's uncle, the only relative left alive to take Ali into his care. I saw all the pain of humankind in Ali's bleary eyes. I saw the degrading manner in which real,
flesh and blood human solutions rob us of joy. I saw that I had absolutely no response to his probing, to his searching for
answers. He wasn't afraid of the way in which the evil eye might have infiltrated my blue eyes. He stared me down until I felt
completely stripped of my own flesh. Superstitions are child's play to someone who has seen all of their loved ones blown to smitherings.
And pat answers are repulsive to someone who is writhing in broiled pain. Ali forced me to be humble. His tortured eyes became
a mirror for me to see how little I truly understand about life. Just when I think I have it all figured out I discover that I
don't know anything at all. So much of life is a mystery and so much of life is slipping away in useless decay, despite my
best intentions. The only thing I had to give Ali during his moment of need was this profound recognition that I can, of myself,
do nothing. It is only through the Creator that healing is possible, that sense can be made out of complete chaos, that beauty
can be restored to that which is permanently scarred for life. That's what I communicated to Ali with my cat-like eyes, that's
what hope I held onto as he bravely confronted every inch of my American being. As I held letters, gifts, emails, cards, and prayers sent to him from around the world, I realized
that the Divine One would go to all extremes to assure this fragile, frightened, abandoned child that he is not alone. As I
exchanged words with his uncle, through an Arab translator, I took my one, and probably only chance, to make amends. As he
described the way in which the American missile blew up 16 homes and left so many children orphaned and deformed, I stayed with
him in his pain. As he angrily, cooly said “Ali is only one child; there are others,” I nodded with compassion. As health care personnel around me, due to their own discomfort, adamantly urged me to leave the poor
man alone I said “No! Words must be said.” I lingered on and told the uncle that on behalf of all my family and friends, on
behalf of my country, I was so sorry for the loss that had come to him, his family, his country. I told him that every American
I know would feel the same compassion I was feeling for he and his nephew. After he vented his quiet rage, after we struggled
through a very difficult conversation, our eyes locked and through both of our tears, a divine presence suddenly was felt.
It was Allah in our midst. You could feel it. It was the incredible, indelible sign of the presence of the divine. |
“If the whole world got down on its knees one day and begged the Creator, begged the universe itself, for new life, new solutions to our problems, we just might take a quantum leap in our consciousness and find a creative alternative to battlefields and brigades. And then, maybe, we could celebrate the permanent dismantling of war. ” |
|