A small act of solidarity
by David Smith-Ferri

Somehow, in response to the terrible acts that destroyed the World Trade Center and killed several thousand people, our government is involving our nation in more violence. Instead of helping us mourn effectively and move out of the darkness of violence – the fear, hatred, and withdrawal – our government is holding an unsubstantiated threat of foreign attack before our eyes, where it clouds our vision like a cataract and traps us in the darkness. Instead of leading us in a national examination of conscience, it is leading us into war, promising that military action will bring us into the light of a safer world.

As I read the gospels today, seeking guidance, I am struck by two things. First, Christ’s promise to be near, something that even death cannot prevent. Second, by the example he set that we likewise stand alongside people who are in darkness – prisoners, the "naked," the "hungry."

I write this as I prepare to travel with eight other Americans on a Voices in the Wilderness fact-finding delegation to Iraq, a country that faces an imposed and perpetual darkness. A country that has been stripped naked and imprisoned by 12 years of international sanctions. What do the people of Iraq – parents and children, shopkeepers, teachers, doctors – think about the foreign threat to overthrow their government, a threat made by the most powerful country in the world? How has this threat affected their lives? Whom and what do they reach out to for assurances in the face of this threat? And how will these people be affected if there is an invasion? These are some of the questions I take with me on this trip.

When I was asked to participate in this delegation, the intent to overthrow the Iraqi government was well known. Accepting the invitation would mean standing publicly in opposition to that intention, and traveling to a country that was under threat of invasion. Less well known were the $10,000 fines that the U.S. government recently assessed on two Americans for bringing medicine to Iraq without permission. More than a slap on the wrist. Suddenly, I was thrown into the dark. What to do?

In the face of this uncertainty, I have reached out for assurances. To begin with, my wife and I have made this decision together. It was not simple or easy. But when I leave for Iraq I know that this is a joint project. Not only are the consequences of this trip, positive and negative, ones we will share, but so are the belief in its value and the work that makes it possible. In Iraq, I will carry her strength with me. It’s one way to guard against the darkness.

Similarly, I go to Iraq as a representative of a "community." When I return, I will show slides and make presentations to people in various communities across northern California. To be vibrant, our communities need all kinds of talent and skills and knowledge. Our diversity is in fact our strength. I travel to Iraq so that I can be a resource to communities here, a small part of the exchange and interchange that make us vibrant. The connection with these communities is another layer of assurance for me.

Lastly, I go to Iraq as a small act of solidarity with the Iraqi people. It is part of living up to the promise to "be nearby" as they face this darkness. This too gives me strength. Standing nearby when someone is facing the darkness always means facing the darkness oneself, and this is always more possible when something vital is at stake.

(Voices in the Wilderness is a campaign to end the economic sanctions against Iraq. It has taken over 40 delegations of American and British citizens to Iraq to witness the effects of the international embargo and of war on Iraqi society.)