 Stunned
Why did that little boy, with his mummy
and daddy's heads blown open in their front seats affect me so
much?
Siamack Salari
January 25, 2005
iranian.com
I am in turmoil and it serves me right. Any person who is as none judgemental
as me deserves to suffer the consequences of his actions. My action was to open
The Times newspaper last week and view pictures of an incident which had taken
place in Iraq a few days before.
The series of pictures showed a car with bullet holed windscreen
and two bloodied (and very dead) front seat occupants. The remaining
pictures showed 5 children, all siblings ranging from 2 to 14 and
covered in their dead parent's blood -- all visibly stunned. The
oldest was in tears and the youngest, a little boy, looked at the
camera, incomprehensibly. He wasn't crying and I doubt he understood
that his mummy and daddy had just been taken from him forever.
The US soldiers looked stunned too. They had signalled for the
driver to stop but for some unknown reason he continued towards
them without even slowing. Fearing a car bomb attack the soldiers
opened fire. It must have happened in an instant. A few short,
sharp rounds followed by silence and then screams from the eldest
daughter.
"We were driving home," she screamed, "We had
no guns!"
The soldiers took all of the children to hospital for check-ups.
All were unhurt, physically. The soldiers were not beasts. They
were as much victims as the orphaned children. How can I say that
you might ask... keep reading.
My eyes fell back on the picture of the stunned toddler whose
unforgettable expression was lit up by a torch in his face. I suddenly
had a stomach wrenching urge to pick up and hold my twin boys tightly;
to kiss them and smell their skin. But I couldn't. They were being
looked after by their grandparents while Varinder and I were on
a work trip.
 I turned the newspaper to Varinder who was eating her toast.
I had decided to ruin her day too.
"Have you seen these?"
She looked quickly. She looked at me with a pained expression.
I felt she had stopped looking in order to preserve her cheerful
mood that day. I, on the other hand, had allowed the images o envelope
me like a dark mist.
"It really cuts me up," I said. As I spoke I heard
my voice falter. I surprised myself at how upset I sounded. Perhaps
in my old age (40 this year) my emotions are rising closer to the
surface.
Varinder took the paper from me and folded it up.
I wish I could have felt angry instead of tearful. I thought
about how many other innocents had been killed, orphaned and tortured
in wars which had nothing to do with them. I thought about the
soldiers who almost certainly didn't even want to be in Iraq. I
thought of the politicians who can justify any situation and have
answers for everything.
But why did that little boy, with his mummy
and daddy's heads blown open in their front seats affect me so
much? Was it because the little boy in the picture is the same
age as my twins? Was it because I see Varinder hugging and kissing
our boys and know that he will never know a mother's love again?
Was it because he is innocent? Perhaps it is all of these things
and more.
 A week has gone by and I cannot erase the face of that little
boy from my mind. He is the last thing I think about before I fall
asleep. He is my little boys when I kiss them and love them. May
that little boy and his brothers and sisters one day find it in
their hearts to forgive and love, rather than hate, those who took
their parents away from them.
In the meantime, the knot of anxiety in my stomach tightens.
How many more will die and when will there be peace?
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