Eastern Ghouta: Nearly 300 killed in 2 days.
Please, please take a few minutes to read what doctor Housam Adnan wrote from #EasternGhouta yesterday:
From the womb of the dead For more than twenty years, the scalpel was my companion Dancing between my fingers, while I do my work very quietly At the end of each day I whisper to it: You did very well, and we saved many together But everything changed now The scalpel wasn’t what it used to be, lately My fingers can’t handle it anymore As if a part of my soul was taken into its teeth, and it can’t bear the wounds it witnesses anymore Children without parts Without eyes Without faces Women and families covered by sheets full of soil from the home land, with more of her children’s blood The smell of gunpowder and its abhorred black color hangs over those hungry, withered faces The screams of children, the wailing of women, the oppression of men, the impotence of doctors, reached my dead scalpel, creating a spirit of the misery inside it, that it stopped working after what it witnessed, but those cries did not reach the hearts of the world to awake it
Today, all those who came to us are slim skinny bodies that haven’t tasted food for days. Buried with their children under the rubble of those barrels that do not distinguish between stones and human Today from under the rubble of our homeland they brought to me a mother in her seventh month of pregnancy, with two of her children If I told you that the misery of the world came together in the eyes of those children, I wouldn’t be describing enough The first child without a right leg and has a broken arm. The other has lost his eye and shrapnel entered his chest, and the mother is struggling to survive. The shrapnel has broken all of her slim body sending to our hands to witness her last breath. I see her struggling for survival, her eyes are fixed on her little ones being in that situation The father left them, dead, a few months ago They brought them to me in one cover, because we lost our Patient stretchers, we used them as beds, because beds are full I beg you to imagine with me, just for a moment that scene and that torn, torn blanket that carried the four lives: the mother, her fetus and her two children.
A colleague whispered in my ear Maybe we can save her baby For the first time, I sat down thinking with my head down “do we save him, or leave him happy with his mother without seeing the ugliness of this world, Do I let him go with her No.. no My mission is to save him I looked around Her torn children Her soul that’s leaving her body The noise of planes and exploding barrels Children’s crying that burns the heart And my colleague whispering: What are you waiting for Come on
There’s a life we should get out I looked at my scalpel and friend To what life will you get him out? The world of barrels, fire and disappointment? The world of orphanhood, oppression and hunger? Who will breastfeed him? Who will change his pampers? Who will rock him? Who will hear his weeping? Yes, he has a god that won’t give up on him, but I became unable, along with my scalpel, to even think My colleague’s voice awoke me from my fantasies “her heart stopped” I’ll take him out now, with her dead And for the first time in my life, I couldn’t do it, my scalpel stopped me. I put it on the table, and left in silence. My colleague continued his work, his eyes full of tears, while looking at me in surprise All that incident took only a few minutes, but it marked a years-long wound, a wound made of defeat and impotence. I didn’t imagine I’d read in the stories of Tatars’ massacres, inquisition stories, or even the pharaoh’s tales.
World, leaders and kings of the world: Your silence over these massacres affecting hundreds of thousands of innocent civilians, who did nothing except being on a land called “Al Ghouta of Damascus” is a shame I’m not going to ask you to save #Ghouta, but to save your humanity Save your people Your children And be sure, this baby coming out of his martyr mother is your responsibility Feed him Keep him warm Give him his right in living a decent life Stop these sky monsters with the barrels of death Come and join the children of Ghouta Touch their faces, listen to their hungry stomach’s noises Aren’t they humans? Announce that you care about all humans, not only your blood like, this would save what’s left of god’s spirit in you