Saturday, May 15, 2004
Human Costs of War in Iraq
Seeing Another Gulf War, Photographs & Text by Peter Turnley
An excerpt from the introduction:
During the month I was in Iraq I worked independently of the military. I had consciously made this choice hoping it would give me the opportunity to have the broadest exposure to the war, including its effects on the people of Iraq.
One memory will always haunt me. On April 14th, I walked into a hospital room of the Al Asskan Hospital in Baghdad. ... On another bed lay diagonally, a 10 yr. old girl, Worood Nasiaf,with curly brown hair. She was dressed in a small shirt and pants, and her feet wore only little white socks. Her head was pulled back on the side of the bed. One doctor held it in his hands, and another doctor, from the other side of the bed, pushed violently on her chest with repetitive strokes. Both doctors had looks of determined intensity in their faces, and their energy offered a great sense of hope. After many minutes of cardiac massage, one of the doctors stopped and waited a few seconds and put his stethoscope to her chest and listened.
I thought I saw breathing, and a leap of joy lifted me. Then several seconds later, the doctor continued to push on her chest. Suddenly, after what seemed to be at least ten minutes, in one almost violent gesture, one of the doctors stopped and put his hand over her face, and the other stood up and put her tiny hands together over her chest. In the next instant, he pulled a towel over her face. Both doctors turned to walk out of the room shaking their heads, and I realized I had just seen this beautiful little girl"s life evaporate. I stopped one of the doctors and asked him her name and what she had died from. With perfect English, the Iraqi doctor gave me her name and explained that she had died from pulmonary pneumonia, and that it could have been easily treated. Her father could not bring her to the hospital because of the impossible dangerous traveling conditions caused by the war. He then said to me with bitter resignation, "I am sorry, I have no more time to talk, there is too much work left for me to do here. "A few minutes later, a man walked into the room and removed the towel from her face. It was her father. Holding her hands, he stood and sobbed."
***
Note: There's lots of other great photojournalism at that Digital Journalist site.
Seeing Another Gulf War, Photographs & Text by Peter Turnley
An excerpt from the introduction:
During the month I was in Iraq I worked independently of the military. I had consciously made this choice hoping it would give me the opportunity to have the broadest exposure to the war, including its effects on the people of Iraq.
One memory will always haunt me. On April 14th, I walked into a hospital room of the Al Asskan Hospital in Baghdad. ... On another bed lay diagonally, a 10 yr. old girl, Worood Nasiaf,with curly brown hair. She was dressed in a small shirt and pants, and her feet wore only little white socks. Her head was pulled back on the side of the bed. One doctor held it in his hands, and another doctor, from the other side of the bed, pushed violently on her chest with repetitive strokes. Both doctors had looks of determined intensity in their faces, and their energy offered a great sense of hope. After many minutes of cardiac massage, one of the doctors stopped and waited a few seconds and put his stethoscope to her chest and listened.
I thought I saw breathing, and a leap of joy lifted me. Then several seconds later, the doctor continued to push on her chest. Suddenly, after what seemed to be at least ten minutes, in one almost violent gesture, one of the doctors stopped and put his hand over her face, and the other stood up and put her tiny hands together over her chest. In the next instant, he pulled a towel over her face. Both doctors turned to walk out of the room shaking their heads, and I realized I had just seen this beautiful little girl"s life evaporate. I stopped one of the doctors and asked him her name and what she had died from. With perfect English, the Iraqi doctor gave me her name and explained that she had died from pulmonary pneumonia, and that it could have been easily treated. Her father could not bring her to the hospital because of the impossible dangerous traveling conditions caused by the war. He then said to me with bitter resignation, "I am sorry, I have no more time to talk, there is too much work left for me to do here. "A few minutes later, a man walked into the room and removed the towel from her face. It was her father. Holding her hands, he stood and sobbed."
***
Note: There's lots of other great photojournalism at that Digital Journalist site.
Labels: war
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