The 16th March 2008 is the twentieth anniversary of the chemical bombing of Halabja in Kurdistan Iraq. Many references and photographs can be found across the internet to the catastrophic affects of the bombardment, and the numbers of sudden deaths of at least 5000 men, women and children on that one day. Survivors describe the smell of apples or lemons that filled the air on that day, inviting people to breathe deeply and so not protecting themselves against the chemicals in the air.
Having just come back from two weeks visiting Kurdistan Iraq, I visited the City of Halabja on two occasions: once to visit a family that I knew, and then again to visit as part of a group organised by WADI to visit the Womens' Centre in Halabja and the Free Radio station.
On my first visit, my friends took me to visit the Halabja Centre. Completed only a year ago, it was destroyed by rioting and fire on the day of the opening ceremony. There are many accusations about the destruction of the Centre depending upon who you speak to, but persuasively, the people of Halabja were of one opinion - that the people felt enraged to see the money that was spent on remembering the victims, when the living are still suffering and see no end to their suffering.
Everyone in the City remembers the bombardment of 1988. I visited homes which are still damaged by the bombing twenty years on. I visited the elderly who are living everyday with the grief that they hold in their hearts, for those that they love and have lost that day, or lost slowly and painfully over many days and months with the lingering death of chemical contamination. In 1988, as the bombs dropped, the people moved en masse to the borders of Iran ( perhaps only eight kilometres away) desparate for help. I spoke with survivors who moved amongst the injured with a bag of antidotes, injecting as many as they could through their clothes and into the skin. It was many years before people returned to their homes, and tried to rebuild their lives.
It was in response to this grief that America and Europe opened their purses, sending money to rebuild the homes, hospitals, schools and community. Yet, here I stood, amongst the muddy, uneven roads of Halabja, looking at the homes which largely consist of maybe one or two rooms and an outside flat toilet. The people of Halabja express warmth as they offer all that they have to make this curious visitor welcome. Homes still broken, no sign of the great wealth of the area improving the lives or homes of these people. Everyone wants to open their homes and their hearts to offer bottomless hospitality.
Where is the evidence of the money from the West? Where is the infrastructure that could make lives different and less challenging for these people? Most people do not have access to water in their homes. In this oil rich country, where the very air smells of petrol, I was impressed with how quickly the families turn to kerosin lamps and heaters as the electricity goes off several times a night. Everyone shakes their head with that expression "what can I do?" Everyone laughed when I asked if someone had the job of switching the electricity on and off each night.
Kurdsat television reported on a speech made by mayor of Halabja, Mr. Khidr Karim, "on behalf of Halabja " on November 23 2007 at the World Municipalities' Organization for Peace in Florence.
He is quoted as saying:
“In our city of Halabja more than 5 thousand innocent people were suffocated and burnt with Chemical Gas by the former Iraqi regime. The chemical bombing resulted in wounding thousands of people who still suffer from various kinds of diseases.”
http://www.kurdsat.tv/E_Zyatir.aspx?CoriHewal=EnfaluHelebce&Rizbendi=994
He made no mention of the lack of hospitals, resources for schools, work, services ( electricity and water, sanitation), nor of the arrangements made for surviving casualties of the Anfal to be treated out of the country because even after twenty years they do not have the medical personnel able to treat the survivors, nor the children of the survivors who are also affected.
I can see why the people would be angry. I wanted to photograph the Memorial Centre. The day that I visited with my friends, themselves survivors with a disabled daughter, we were told no photographs. It was not permissable to photograph the damage, or the ruins. Nothing had been done for almost a year, to repair the centre, glass was still dropping from the damaged roof. Everything that had been inside was burnt or destroyed. The centre's cinema was stripped of its seating and the dark walls were still blackened by smoke.
Two days later I am back with an NGO working in the area. This time we are escorted by party officials and an armed guard. I mentioned that I had visited the Memorial but had not been able to take photographs and that I couldnt understand why. Next thing I know I am driven to the Memorial and invited to take all the photographs I want. This time the building is busy with workmen on every wall. Work has begun and I can take photos of this. This seems to be typical of the area. The rules depend upon who you are with or who you know.
Having just come back from two weeks visiting Kurdistan Iraq, I visited the City of Halabja on two occasions: once to visit a family that I knew, and then again to visit as part of a group organised by WADI to visit the Womens' Centre in Halabja and the Free Radio station.
On my first visit, my friends took me to visit the Halabja Centre. Completed only a year ago, it was destroyed by rioting and fire on the day of the opening ceremony. There are many accusations about the destruction of the Centre depending upon who you speak to, but persuasively, the people of Halabja were of one opinion - that the people felt enraged to see the money that was spent on remembering the victims, when the living are still suffering and see no end to their suffering.
Everyone in the City remembers the bombardment of 1988. I visited homes which are still damaged by the bombing twenty years on. I visited the elderly who are living everyday with the grief that they hold in their hearts, for those that they love and have lost that day, or lost slowly and painfully over many days and months with the lingering death of chemical contamination. In 1988, as the bombs dropped, the people moved en masse to the borders of Iran ( perhaps only eight kilometres away) desparate for help. I spoke with survivors who moved amongst the injured with a bag of antidotes, injecting as many as they could through their clothes and into the skin. It was many years before people returned to their homes, and tried to rebuild their lives.
It was in response to this grief that America and Europe opened their purses, sending money to rebuild the homes, hospitals, schools and community. Yet, here I stood, amongst the muddy, uneven roads of Halabja, looking at the homes which largely consist of maybe one or two rooms and an outside flat toilet. The people of Halabja express warmth as they offer all that they have to make this curious visitor welcome. Homes still broken, no sign of the great wealth of the area improving the lives or homes of these people. Everyone wants to open their homes and their hearts to offer bottomless hospitality.
Where is the evidence of the money from the West? Where is the infrastructure that could make lives different and less challenging for these people? Most people do not have access to water in their homes. In this oil rich country, where the very air smells of petrol, I was impressed with how quickly the families turn to kerosin lamps and heaters as the electricity goes off several times a night. Everyone shakes their head with that expression "what can I do?" Everyone laughed when I asked if someone had the job of switching the electricity on and off each night.
Kurdsat television reported on a speech made by mayor of Halabja, Mr. Khidr Karim, "on behalf of Halabja " on November 23 2007 at the World Municipalities' Organization for Peace in Florence.
He is quoted as saying:
“In our city of Halabja more than 5 thousand innocent people were suffocated and burnt with Chemical Gas by the former Iraqi regime. The chemical bombing resulted in wounding thousands of people who still suffer from various kinds of diseases.”
http://www.kurdsat.tv/E_Zyatir.aspx?CoriHewal=EnfaluHelebce&Rizbendi=994
He made no mention of the lack of hospitals, resources for schools, work, services ( electricity and water, sanitation), nor of the arrangements made for surviving casualties of the Anfal to be treated out of the country because even after twenty years they do not have the medical personnel able to treat the survivors, nor the children of the survivors who are also affected.
I can see why the people would be angry. I wanted to photograph the Memorial Centre. The day that I visited with my friends, themselves survivors with a disabled daughter, we were told no photographs. It was not permissable to photograph the damage, or the ruins. Nothing had been done for almost a year, to repair the centre, glass was still dropping from the damaged roof. Everything that had been inside was burnt or destroyed. The centre's cinema was stripped of its seating and the dark walls were still blackened by smoke.
Two days later I am back with an NGO working in the area. This time we are escorted by party officials and an armed guard. I mentioned that I had visited the Memorial but had not been able to take photographs and that I couldnt understand why. Next thing I know I am driven to the Memorial and invited to take all the photographs I want. This time the building is busy with workmen on every wall. Work has begun and I can take photos of this. This seems to be typical of the area. The rules depend upon who you are with or who you know.
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