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THE VETERAN

Page 43
Download PDF of this full issue: v54n2.pdf (38.8 MB)

<< 42. Listening Post, December 23rd, 1968 (poem)44. Letter to the Editor >>

Dead Children

By Fred Samia

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Causes are ashes where children lie slain.—Stan Rogers

It's the eyes of the children that you never forget, as well as their smiles and laughter.

Palestinian kids are playing in the dusty streets of the tin roof and cement block shelters of their refugee camps. And playing or running family errands in Beirut's teeming neighborhoods or the alleyways of Damascus, the oldest continuously inhabited city in the world.

There is no fear, though there is reason enough for it, and the smiles are genuine, rising from the pure curiosity of innocence because all children are innocent—especially dead children.

I hear the reports, watch the shaky phone footage of so many more civilians killed today, and play a game with myself—I see those children who shared a minute or many with me, who guided me through the labyrinth of their streets to help me reach my destination. And I see them as they were then, still young, innocent, smiling, and laughing. Even though I know better, I refuse to consider that it could be them lying shattered under the rubble.

Because really, all children are innocent—especially dead children.

In those mnemonic vignettes, details emerge that, from this perspective, can be macabre—the logo T-shirts, "Beisbol," "McDonalds"; the appeals to "take me Amerika." And they are without judgment, even though I am, by my presence there, and as a "journalist," representative of a country whose government has demonized them, censured and sanctioned them, and blindly supports those who are killing them, they see and accept me as a person just like them, smiling and laughing, tripping on their language, in need of help.

Because really, all children are innocent—especially dead children.

Remembering from my safe world, I wish I had spent more time with each of them, learned all their names, the adults too, who were no less genuinely friendly and helpful, and in one instance, when I was surrounded by angry armed young men at a Palestinian funeral in the south of Lebanon, saved not only my camera gear but me as well. I should have shared more of myself and let them know that I intended no harm and that not all Americans hate them—but I realize that's looking for redemption for not doing more to save them from a fate I don't want to consider.

Because really, all children are innocent—especially dead children

I've been telling friends that I want to get rid of all my material possessions, the accumulation of which we all do so well here, to the detriment of our souls and, in many instances, the well-being of others we don't even know. And once so divested, go to the Middle East again and find work with an NGO in some capacity to help, especially the children—but I fear that is just an attempt to assuage my conscience for not actively opposing the killing, not putting my body on the line.

Are they, those innocent children, alive in me and all whom they touched in a moment of sharing, and if so, does that mean perhaps that a little part of me dies with them? Because the death of every child diminishes us all.

Because really, all children are innocent—especially dead children.


Fred Samia is a freelance journalist who has worked in the Middle East. He served with A Co, 3rd Tanks, 3rd Mar Div, 1967-68; his eight decorations include the Purple Heart. He has been a member of VVAW since 1970.



Girls in Beirut, Lebanon.

Boys in Damascus, Syria.

<< 42. Listening Post, December 23rd, 1968 (poem)44. Letter to the Editor >>