Iraqi Schoolyard Rhymes [May 4, 2004]
A quick reminder to my rapidly-diminishing cadre of loyal readers: I'll be appearing tonight on The Majority Report, the Air America Radio program hosted by Janeane Garofalo and Sam Seder. I'm on at 9 PM Eastern time. Other guests will include, I kid you not, Joan Jett and Ivy Meerapol, the granddaughter of Julius and Ethel Rosenberg. They skimmed the cream first, obviously, and I'm the coffee grounds at the bottom of the filter. Tune in for hilarity!
Now for today's original content. Since I restarted this site about a month ago, I've been in constant contact with Raul, the last Iraqi teenager with access to the Internet. Raul has grown a lot since the United States illegally invaded his country, bombed his apartment building, killed 75 percent of his family, and tortured two of the members of his punk band, Baghdad 123, in the Abu Ghraib prison. He's also worked as personal assistant to both Jay Garner and L. Paul Bremer, moonlighted with a private U.S. security firm, and accidentally joined a local chapter of the al-Sadr brigade.
It's been quite an adventure for young Raul! The boy has become a man. Most recently, he took a job as a teacher at a newly-opened grade school in a Baghdad suburb. Here's a letter I received from him recently.
"Dear Neal: It's my second week here at the Richard Perle Academy, and I've never been happier. These children are so bright and willing to learn. I can see the hunger for knowledge in their faces as I instruct them about the essential tenets of democratic life: Pluralism, tolerance, equal treatment under the law, and love for the Lord. I try to mute the last tenet a bit, but it's hard because the Coalition always has a Supervisor in my classroom.
Though the students are eager and quick to master their lessons, the reality of their non-school lives sometimes seep in. I've lately been taking a tape recorder to the playground to capture their schoolyard chants. They reveal, I think, some disturbing truths about the occupation. Children never lie. We must listen to the children. I publish several of the chants now:
Abid Kufti, dressed in mufti,
Went to Najaf cause he was goofy
Bought a plate
Ate a date
Took up arms ‘gainst the United States
Hey Ahmad!
Hey what?
Hey Ahmad!
Hey what?
Get down from the box!
No way!
Get down from the box!
OK!
C-A-C-I
Said that's the way you get down
Miss Mary Mack, Mack, Mack
All dressed in black, black, black
Rubbed Hamid’s penis, penis, penis
On Khalid’s back, back, back
She asked her sergeant, sergeant, sergeant
For fifty volts, volts, volts
To see the prisoner, prisoner, prisoner
Get fifty jolts, jolts, jolts
He got so scared, scared, scared
He crapped his pants, pants, pants
They fed his corpse, corpse, corpse
To the fire ants, ants, ants
Fatimah had a baby
She named him Suliman
She took him to her neighbor’s house for all to gaze upon
The rockets started falling
The shrapnel it did fly
A bullet hit him in the throat, it looked like he might die
Fatimah called the doctor
Fatimah called the nurse
Fatimah called on Allah to remove this awful curse
The ambulance was wreckage
The nurse had fled the town
The hospital on fire and almost falling down
Fatimah cried for mercy
Fatimah cried for help.
Fatimah heard her baby give his last pathetic yelp.
I see Chalabi
I see Bremer
I see Cheney’s tiny…
Whoops, boys, this is three-card monte
Look out, here comes Negroponte!
It makes me sad, Neal, to think that our children have been exposed to such violent realities. I long for an end to these troubles, when our people can once again be friends. In particular, I want to visit you in the United States, so you can take me to the Schlitterbahn, the enormous water park just of I-35 between Austin and San Antonio. Floating down a river in an inner tube with a bunch of teenage girls slathered in cocoa butter sounds pretty good to me right now. I must go hide. A convoy has been attacked in front of my house, and I don't want to get shot by accident. Be well.
Your friend,
Raul"
There you have it. Thank you, Raul. Air America tonight!
