ONE IS BLACK, OTHERS ALL WHITE

Saturday, 15 November 2008
ONE IS BLACK, OTHERS ALL WHITE



ONE IS BLACK, OTHERS ALL WHITE

(by Karunakaran)

When Barak Obama was elected as president of United States of America, all of us were talking about a new Era. Electing, first time in history of USA, a Black as a president was the story. The joy. And, then came the memoirs of Abraham Lincoln. Slavery. With that I remembered Steven Spielberg’s films on Blacks. (Do you remember those films?).


I am working in Kuwait. Kuwait was the launching pad of two wars in Iraq. American military is there. Saddam Husain is not there. But war is there. As well as the killings and deaths.

I used to follow the news of Iraq. Now no. In fact, nothing much to follows a war already forgotten: in your memory, I assure you, death is simply a cry. A sound like. You do not have to worry much about it. But living like a dead in a war zone is a life one will not choose: people love to eat, drink, fuck, and of course they love to write stories, poems, or at least draw a line or a circle in WC which they use peacefully. I remember a trip of mine through Iraq in 1990, just days after the Iraqi Occupation of Kuwait. The bus stopped in a petrol pump in Basra. A cold evening. From the darkness, suddenly, a group of children came to our bus begging. They were asking for anything one can offer: Coin or banana. A piece of bread or a pencil. Then we saw a lady in black. She stood there looking at the bus, like a dead waiting for a trip to heaven. I do not know anybody went with her to the heaven. But the war was, war is a hell.

We do not know Obama, the next president of America, will withdraw his troops from Iraq. Probably Yes. Most probably No. However, the countless deaths occur in Iraq is a daily life a man cannot ignore: Even if a President does. A president always a head of a system. Systems always look for its survival. And, the survival is the sad story of the failures. Failure in a war is not simply a lose in a fight. It is like a fist you put above your head and disappears in air. That is why we all look at sky when we lose something: a love, a job, a fortune.


I just told you about the countless deaths in Iraq. It is not at all news, as my colleague from Iraq says: he gets worry when his phone does not reach his family. And, I get worry when he goes for a short vacation in Bagdad. War, who says, may bring love with your close ones – even with your enemy who fought for his fist. But it does not bring a life which one does not live with his heart.


I do not know Obama could hear the cry of the living. Not the dead.