don't stop the presses

My little brother is a newspaper reporter. About three years ago, without telling any of his family, he went to Baghdad to cover the war. For a kid who works with words, he was the king of the understatement. His first email said something like, “I should let you know I’m in Iraq. I may need our cousin’s phone number so I can find a place to stay.”

Another time, right as the violence was beginning to escalate rapidly, he anticipated what we would see on the nightly news and simply wrote: “Something big blew up here today. Didn’t want you to worry.”

Once he told me that sometimes the Army would fly groups of reporters to different sites to cover an event. The television reporters would get out of the Blackhawk helicopters and have to fix their hair, dust off their clothes, and tidy up their makeup. My brother and the other print reporters, with a five o'clock shadow and in the same clothes since yesterday, would light up a cigarette and call out, “Print media rules!”

Only after he came home did he tell us of the bombs, bullets and bodies he encountered. His was dangerous work in a dangerous place. But it was, and still is, so very vital and necessary.

The news media often gets a bad wrap, especially where I live in the Bible Belt. But for all of its flaws (real and perceived) I hate to think of where we would be without it. Especially in places like the Middle East, where reporters and photographers risk their lives to be a window into the horrors of war and the humanity of suffering. We need the press in places like Gaza and Baghdad, for without them we are ignorant, there is no accountability, stories we need to hear are silenced, and many of those created in the image of God will have no voice.

Today the BBC (one of the most trusted of all news sources) marks 100 days since their own Alan Johnston was kidnapped in Gaza. He was the only Western reporter permanently based in a place that is in desperate need for its story to be told.

I know that when my little brother was reporting from the Middle East I worried every day. Our prayers are with Mr. Johnston’s family and colleagues during this time. We call for his immediate release, and we condemn the act of hostage taking as a way to advance any cause.

A press that is free to tell us the story, even if we don’t always like what they have to say, is just as vital and important to the causes of freedom and justice as any military or institution. As of today, at least 184 members of the press have been killed in Iraq. First Born Son supports their vocation and is grateful for their sacrifice.

(On a related note, the BBC has an online petition calling for Mr. Johnston's release. There are literally tens of thousands of signatures so far. What is interesting to note is the significant number of Arab and Muslim names on the lists, many of them from different countries throughout the Middle East. I believe this helps show that most Arabs and Muslims do not support violence or terrorism. For those who are always asking where are the Muslim voices opposing terrorism... here you go.)

paradise lost and found

I recently watched two movies that I want to recommend to all the First Born readers out there.


The first is Everything is Illuminated, and it tells the story of a young Jewish-American (played by Elijah Wood) who travels to the Ukraine in search of the woman who saved his grandfather’s life from the Nazis in 1942. There are some bizarre and funny moments, but the focus rests on the lasting impact of the horror of the Holocaust.





The second is Paradise Now, which tells the story of two best friends in Palestine who are chosen to carry out a suicide-mission in Israel. The movie was filmed in the West Bank and is entirely in Arabic (with subtitles). This is not a light-hearted movie at all. This story struggles with the never-ending question of “what could drive someone to be a suicide-bomber?” and the immense chasm between life for Palestinians and life for Israelis.




The strongest features of both of these movies are that they are personal, and they are messy. These are not situated as commentaries or history lessons. Instead they tell the personal stories of the few characters in each movie. And because of this we get to see real people, with real lives, try to be human in inhumane situations. And neither story provides a neat and tidy ending, or answers to the questions they raise.

And most importantly, the movies need to be seen together, because in a very really sense they are connected… two parts in the larger story of the cycle of violence. In Everything is Illuminated we catch a glimpse of the horror done to the Jews, and in Paradise Now we catch a glimpse of the inhumanity of daily life for Palestinians. These stories are so connected because the one directly impacts the other: Because of the inhumanity done to one people group, the reaction to make sure that it never happens again has lead to a different inhumanity for another people group. And the cycle of becoming a monster to defeat a monster continues.

Watch these two movies and ponder: How do we dismantle the machines of violence, as well as pursue and foster confession, forgiveness, reconciliation, and peace… before there is enough material for a third movie? And how does the death and ressurection of a Jew crucified in Palestine still make a way in the desert?

Salaam. Shalom. Peace.

no kidding

From today's Bloomberg News Agency:

UNITED NATIONS -- The U.S. and Russia have agreed to dismantle the U.N. agency that searched Iraq for weapons of mass destruction and affirm that Saddam Hussein's government had no such arms at the time of the American invasion in March 2003.

The Security Council will adopt a resolution the last week in June to close the U.N. Monitoring, Inspection and Verification Commission, created in 1999 to search Iraq for biological and chemical weapons, Belgian and British diplomats said. The measure will also end the U.N. nuclear watchdog agency's mandate to look for nuclear arms in Iraq.

U.N. inspectors found no banned weapons before or since the invasion.

(read the entire article here)

saturday morning caption contest

What do a Lutheran/Methodist President from Texas and a Catholic Pope from Germany talk about? This one is begging for some humor, especially with that classic look on the President's face.

Leave your entries in the comments. The winner gets the satisfaction of being the winner.

Have a beautiful weekend.
Salaam... Shalom... Peace.

laughing at the axis of (not so) evil

When I was a kid I got made fun of a lot. It wasn’t so much because of my lack of size or athletic ability, but because of my funny sounding name. An immigrant’s son in Texas with a deeply ethnic name has target painted on his self-esteem. There were lots of Asians and Hispanics, but at the time there were very few Middle-Easterners.

One could chart the increase in jokes. They always seemed to follow major events in the news coming out of the Middle East. When I was in junior high it was Libyan terrorists hijacking planes who were making the headlines, and the jabs flew.

But there was also the steady stream of stereotypes. It was assumed that my father was either rich with oil, or worked in convince store. Either way, it was assumed he beat my mom.

I suppose that over the years I have blocked out or forgotten most of the remarks I grew up with. Most of the time it was people I knew well who made comments to my face. I suppose they thought that because we were friends or knew each other then it was okay to warn people when I walked in the room because “he might get his family to take us all hostage.” My parents used to try to tell me that the only reason people made fun of me was because they liked me. I’ve always thought that was crap.

But I always played along. What 13 year old, who is already tortured with a cracking voice, acne, and the discovery of the opposite sex needs one more insecurity. Just laugh along… maybe even make some deprecating comment as well. In the end it was attention, and if they were paying attention maybe it did mean they liked me. Looking back, I can also see that was crap, too.

I remember one event at church summer camp when I was in the 9th grade. The next to last night was a talent show, and one of the youth pastors was putting on a David Letterman type skit. At one point he started talking with people in the “audience.” Every year he did a shtick like this. He was a witty guy, and everything he said was comic gold.

I was sitting on the front row, and he noticed me. “Hey Omar! Tell your dad I got his Christmas card from the 7-11! Can he still get me free Slurpees?”

The 200 plus kids and youth workers roared in laughter, and so did I. Now that I think about it, I can’t believe he got away with it. If I were Hispanic he never would have said, “Can your uncle come mow my lawn?”

Where is the fine line between being funny and being a bigot? I have often noticed that when it comes to different cultures or ethnic backgrounds, there is room for humor, and even a lot to laugh with (not at). But I have also noticed that the “I can pick on my family, but you can’t” rule also seems to be in play. Chris Rock can say the things he does about African-Americans, but Jay Leno can’t.

So I think that is why I was very interested (and maybe even a little relieved) when I recently read about the first all Middle-Eastern comedy troupe here in America. They’re called the “Axis of Evil” and they are comprised of two Arab-Americans and one Persian-American.

I’m not totally sure what I think of these guys yet, but they’re worth a look. Let me know your thoughts. And until next time… Salaam, Shalom, Peace.

the human cost of supporting the troops

I was watching part of a series one evening on the weapons of modern warfare. This particular episode focused on anti-tank weapons used by the United States during the first Gulf War. At one point the show took a dark turn. The scene was the video footage from a helicopter as it took out Iraqi tanks one by one. The image on the screen was the classic “night vision” shot, showing us the same view that the pilot saw, complete with green lines, numbers, and arrows as he fired shot after shot at enemy tanks. On the horizon little black silhouettes of Iraqi tanks blew up one by one. The image was more like a video game, sanitizing the viewer from the horrific death and destruction going on inside of each steel chamber as they were turned into desert kilns.

The video footage also happened to include the audio transmissions of the pilot who was doing the shooting. As he scored a direct hit on each tank, he shouted out his victory chants: “Die mother-f*****!” “Got you, you f****** bastard!” “Go to hell, f******!”

Suddenly his declarations were cut short by someone shouting over the radio to “cease fire!” In the midst of the fireballs of his success against the Iraqi forces, he had just blown up a U.S. tank.

There was a long pause. No more missiles screamed across the black and green screen. Then someone who had not heard about the “friendly-fire” shot radioed in and wanted to know why he had stopped firing. In a stunned and sobbing voice he barked “Shut up! I think I just killed a human being!”

I recently thought of that story again when, at the wedding in Jordan, one of my cousins shared his story with me of his time in the Iraqi Army as a technician working on tanks during that first Gulf War. Every day they were bombed and shot at. “The B-52s… those were the worst. We were sitting ducks,” he remembered. It is a miracle he survived.

My cousin has a wife. He has three sons. He is a husband, a father, a brother, and a son. That night at the wedding, as we smoked cigars and danced, we laughed, we hugged, and we shared serious moments. We remembered shared stories, talked about the joys and difficulties of family and jobs, lamented losses, celebrated new beginnings, dreamed for the future. In other words, we were human beings.

Ironically, he is also an engineer. And until recently he was working in the Green Zone in Baghdad as a contractor with the U.S. Defense Department. As he put it, “I am now working for the very same people who once tried to kill me.”

Not too many weeks after I was with my cousin, my aunt on my mother’s side called. “I know you can related to this,” she said. “My cousin was killed in Iraq this week.” His helicopter had been shot down, and all aboard were killed. The event, and his picture, made the cover of Newsweek. He also had a wife. And a son. He was also a husband, a father, and a son. He had a degree, a job, and shared in the sorrows and joys of a past and a future. In other words, he was a human being.


This next Thanksgiving, when we all gather at the farm for food and fellowship, the horror of war will have finally reached both sides of my family.

There is a lot of debate today about supporting the troops. I have asked this before, and I continue to ask it again and again: What does that mean? I don’t have the luxury of raising one flag in my front yard and declaring that the men and women of that uniform are fighting for me. I cannot side with a uniform, a flag or a country. I can only side with humanity. So for me, to support the troops means to support human beings.

Like many others, I have grown tired of the idea that to “support the troops” one has to support the war. This has never been true. To support the troops means we have to look critically at the reasons they have been sent into battle, to be honest with the families and the country about their mission, to give them the tools and support they need when they go and when they come home, and above all else to do everything possible to make sure that a shot never has to be fired.

In every one of these aspects we have failed.

On the day we learned of the downed helicopter, one of my cousins on my mother’s side wrote me and said “respect is due.” He was right. Respect is due, and I give it. I give respect to human life. I give respect to an idea of supporting the troops that says that no human being, regardless of country, has to die because of lies, incompetence, and unjust wars.

The truth is that the Iraqis in those tanks were human beings, and did not have to die. The truth is that those Americans in that helicopter were human beings, and did not have to die.

I support the troops. I support humanity.