Korean Job Discussion Forums

[stevemcgarrett]

Dear Youssif,

I wanted to send this to you, but I knew it would never make it to your hospital room. And even if it did get past the piles of mail bags, it'd probably get lost in all the flowers and other offerings of well-wishers.

Right now you can't listen to it translated to Farsi anyway because the pain of the surgery has numbed your senses.

But then the three savage and cowardly thugs that doused you in gasoline and lit your face afire had already managed to steal your senses and your innocence with it.

Go gently into that good night, little lad. Go gently. Heal and grow strong and know that millions each day think of your plight.

And when you have had enough of their prayers and well-wishing, and general concern, when your own family's worry is more than enough to sustain you through this painful metamorphosis, then with a swishing of your small hands, as you would bat away flies (well-meaning though these particular sort surely are) or the blowing away of flames from candles on your first birthday in a new land, send these handwritten hopes back home, to those in Iraq and the rest of the Middle East who daily long for a decent life.

And when you are old enough to know the world as it really is, understand this:

somewhere in Gaza amid the insanity of the Hamas thuggery are families who want only to be left alone in peace;

in the West Bank there are Fatah followers ready to make peace with Israel who would cherish half a loaf of the decent life;

far from Hizbollah, those running dogs of Syria and Iran, in the heart of east Beirut, among the Arabs who are Christian, there are many who clamor for a decent respect of life;

indeed, the whole of Lebanon longs to surge into the present day modern world, to once again be a beacon of democracy in a region which has known almost none--and these Lebanese wish for a return to the decent life stolen from them by other Arabs in Damascus;

in the Gulf States life grows prosperous and modern without violence, though the governments remain austere in their views on social progress--yet still all their peoples have decent lives in their grasp already and are poised to possess in mind and spirit what the Lebanese are reclaiming for themselves;

know that in Cairo there are countless families who remember Anwar Sadat and who hope for leaders of his magnanimous stature to guide them from a past in pyramids they could never want again despite its glory and because of its slavery;

know that in Amman, most Jordanian families value the stability of the monarchy, though its former great leader faltered in supporting the tyrant who once ruled your parents and grandparents;

know, too, that despite the millions of your fellow citizens killed at the hands of Iranian soldiers, that in Tehran and Isfahan and countless towns there were families who then and now resent the return to fundamentalism, to hate-mongering, and the support of terrorism--these are the same families who care not whether your family is Shi'a or Sunni, who long for a return to the modern path, but not with an ayatollah or shah, but a leader like Mossadegh from your great grandparent's time;

in that land that you often heard some of your neighbors speak of with contempt, know that millions of Jews also wish for your recovery, and the day when they no longer need to wonder whether the Star of David will shine tomorrow;

and, finally, of course never forget that in your own land, though besieged by terrorists and common thugs who murder and maim for a narrow cause, never forget that they, like you, long for a time of tranquility, and the makings of a decent life.

Tell your mother--no, gently reassure her--that there are indeed Iraqis who care as much about you as the Americans in this hospital, only they've misplaced their concern and don't yet know where to find it, having struggled through decade after decade of fear and betrayal.

Burns, all the doctors say, never full heal. Neither do the memories of the travesties committed in the name of Allah. But even the wounds from burns can close, hide from daily view the grotesque aspects of our human existence.

When the last bandages from the last operation have been removed and you can hear your inner voice again, listen. Do you still recall what you told the reporter on the scary ride through that Hollywood amusement park just days before going under the knife?

"I am not afraid of anything anymore."

Never be afraid, Youssef, and you will hold in your heart a weapon more powerful than the largest sword, or the threats of the most vile terrorist.

Cling to this courage now and from now on as you do your mother and father for the days ahead, back in the vast land of sands.

It will serve you well enough.