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April 17th, 2005
Sunday, April 16th, another brave soul and humanitarian worker in Iraq was killed. I learned from a friend that Marla Ruzicka of Campaign for Innocent Victims in Conflict (CIVIC) was killed with her driver on the infamous Baghdad airport road. My friend knew that too many times I found out about a death of another aid worker through the cold ink on a paper, or the matter of fact announcement on one of the satellite channels. This time she wanted to make sure I heard the news of Marla from a friend. I felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude recalling how I first learned of another aide worker Margaret Hasan's alleged death.
I hung up the phone. I continued my meeting, and went home. I woke up early the next day and went to another meeting to organize Women for Women International’s conference on how women can negotiate their rights in the Iraqi constitution. Throughout the day I went from meeting to meeting, and continued my work.
Now, less than 24 hours later, I allow myself to think about Marla. I cannot say I knew Marla but I knew of her legendary commitment to Iraq and securing Iraqi families’ rights, and that nothing could keep her from her work. Marla's death was another incredible loss not only for Iraq, but for all those who work in the humanitarian field.
It has been over a year since the first deaths of international civilians in Iraq. For each death, we, the remaining internationals working or traveling into Iraq, had an excuse - an indirect way to blame the dead. She worked too closely with the US government. She was in Iraq for a long time and caused waves. She refused to travel with security. She stayed out too late. She pushed too hard. She trusted the wrong people. We find any excuse to distance ourselves from the reality that we may be next. Instead of growing more and more horrified about the deaths, I felt a part of me had grown numb.
When I heard the news of Fern Holland and Salwa Omaishi assassination, I nearly collapsed, and could not function for days. As news filtered in for more people, the reality of death that has always been around us now stood firmly in our face. And over time something inside of me began to accept it. So when I heard the news of Marla, I continued my day. Nonetheless, the numbness and the sense of emptiness in my heart weighed me down.
Many people have asked me how I deal with the events in Iraq. More and more I realize I simply don't. I take one day at a time, and do whatever needs to be done to ensure our work moves forward. When my friend shared the news that Marla had been killed, we were both speechless. Strangely, only those working in Iraq can appreciate our consolation was that Marla’s was a "wrong place, wrong time" death, not a kidnapping or targeted killing.
Being based outside in Amman and commuting into Iraq makes things even more difficult, more traumatic, for me. At least inside you can’t see the forest for the trees, and the mission of helping Iraqi women becomes the most important objective. Recently, my Women for Women International team in Iraq had to travel through what is known as the Triangle of Death. The night before they left I could not sleep, eat, or drink. I stayed up and called them before they left Baghdad, and could not rest until I received the email assuring me of their safe arrival. As much danger and death as we face as internationals in Iraq, for Iraqis it grows exponentially. Yet the Iraqis continue. I relish in their hopes and dreams of a better future. It is contagious. My Iraq team’s trip yet again reminded me of the dangers our Iraqi local staff faces on the frontlines every day. Marla was among the few who remained by their side to the very last minute. In many ways, I envy her inner strength.
I do not want to intrude on Marla’s family with my personal condolences. Nothing I would say would be enough. But what I believe is that everyone should know about Marla’s dedication. Her tenacity was priceless, not just for the Iraqi people, but for anyone who works in the field. Marla was not only fighting for Iraqis, but her presence was a call for humanitarian workers to be there and be active and not merely to be in a secure compound or hotel surrounded by military, but to reach out as truly neutral humanitarian aid givers who works directly with the Iraqi people. Perhaps Marla’s vision could not fit the reality of Iraq. The problem, I see, remains with the reality, and not with the vision.
Earlier on Sunday, I was in a discussion about where the international community had gone wrong. How did the international NGOs and humanitarian workers lose the space and access needed to show Iraqis another face? Was the policy of international NGOs going low profile one that allowed others to define their mission? I do not know the answer, but one of the greatest tragedies of the situation in Iraq is my firm belief that it did not have to be this way.
There was a clear failure on the part of all those involved, and now we are suffering the consequences. This is the root of frequent discussions among international aid workers: why do we keep going back to Iraq? It’s not for money we put ourselves at risk. It’s not a cowboy mentality, not for the high, and not because we are emergency junkies. Instead, there is a clear pull for those of us who have been in Iraq over the last two years to either come back or find a way to stay involved. Whether it’s the US soldier who goes back home and works for Iraq from afar or the international aid worker who keeps returning to Iraq to work within the community - the pull to Iraq is strong.
I cannot speak for all aid workers, but I know for myself I can never completely leave Iraq until I feel my mission is complete. Iraqis have sacrificed so much, and to abandon is something I personally refuse to accept on a moral level. It doesn’t mean international aid workers need to live in Iraq. Iraqis are doing rebuilding on their own. Iraqis are on the frontline. They should not have to do it on their own nor should have to rely on military forces and private coalition contractors to rebuild their country. The international community owes it to the Iraqi people to assist them in their struggle to rebuild their nation. While the conditions are treacherous, a sense of humanitarian solidarity is something that must be created. Over the past two years, international aid workers’ mobility and access has severely been limited, to the point of making us handicapped. Marla was not ready to give up that right so easily. Unless we stay engaged, I fear our work in humanitarian aid and development assistance will be discredited for decades to come. And our work, my work, Marla’s work would be discredited. We can not allow that to happen.
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