If ignorance is bliss, then poison is a vitamin

For those who do not know much about the recent Israeli aggression against Lebanon, here are powerful personal accounts from Hanady Salman, an editor of Assafir newspaper in Beruit.

Powerful excerpts from Hanady’s accounts

Unspoken Pain

I don’t know if any of you are reporters who covered wars in their homeland. But it’s really weird.

Editors crying while reading their reporters’ stories, photographers breaking down, colleagues calling their kids in the middle of the night after seeing pictures from the south, weird sounds during editorial meetings (you know how men like to hide their tears and emotions), women wearing black as a “natural reflex”.

In the morning, we don’t greet each other anymore; we just look deep into each other’s eyes. No one wants to tell what they see, no one wants to hear it. We write while crying, we read it and cry, but we never talk about it. Saada had tears in her eyes yesterday in her office. I came in and spoke to her and she answered back and her tears kept coming but we both behaved as if nothing was happening. I didn’t see her tears, and she wasn’t crying.


From Harsh to Harsher

We’re still alive, despite last night.

They were busy bombing Gaza, South Lebanon and Baalback , until 3:14 am , that was when they started hitting the outskirts of Beirut.

12, 13 air strikes? I stopped counting at the 12th strike and fell asleep. Don’t ask me how, I don’t know.

This morning, it turned they hit fisherman’s spots, 2 or 3 associations for orphans and people with special needs, and a place where The Rabab Sadr Charity Association keeps donations (clothes, medicine etc …)

Reports say the 3 coming days will be very harsh. (harsher?)


Innocent Victims

The workers killed today in Qaa had just finished collecting apples, packing them to be put on board of a truck, and they were having lunch. The Israelis wasted 2 air strikes onthem. The first one hit some of them. The second hit the others that gathered to try and help out the wounded and take the dead bodies out. Israel loves to kill those who help others. Israel loves to kill poor people. They're its’ favorite target, second best if you count kids.



Trapped and Helpless

She was 80? 75? She was wearing a black and white dress, a scarf hardly covering her white hair. The most striking thing about her were her eyes. They were wide opened, as if they were screaming. They were so opened. Terrified, she looked terrified. I’m sorry, her eyes looked terrified. There were Red Cross rescuers helping her out of her house.

Someone was talking to me in the room, but I had my eyes glued on that lady’s eyes, and I was trying to hear what the correspondent in the south was saying about her. SHE WAS BLIND, he said. The poor lady was blind, stuck in her house, alone, for ten days, not knowing what was going on, not knowing what she should do.

Were her eyes were open like this because she’s blind, or because they were reflecting her feelings? THE POOR LADY WAS THERE, ALONE, BLIND, FOR TEN DAYS, UNDER THE SHELLING, NOT KNOWING WHAT TO DO, NOR WHERE TO GO.

I did not sleep that night.

And every time I remember this lady I feel I’m suffocating.


It’s Not War, It’s Extermination

One suggestion I need any of you to transmit to the Israelis: I offer you all of us. Our flesh, our scalps, our inner parts to exhibit live on TV screens, our bare feet eaten by wolves during the night in ex- villages, our blood flooding in the streets, our kids, our mothers, our fathers , our brothers, sisters, grandparents , every single one of us. KILL US ALL.

JUST KILL US. DO NOT LEAVE US BEHIND. DO NOT LEAVE US TO WATCH. Tens of kids everyday, toddlers, elderly, killed in their houses, in their shelters, on the roads trying to flee, in the centers where they took refuge.

Blood is all what you have to offer, it has always been that way. Blood you shall have. As much blood as your planes can get. As much blood as your fantasies imply.

Did you have enough blood for today? Only in the afternoon, in Ghazyeh, in Ghassanieh, in Houla, in Britel, in Chmestar, in Ali Nahri, in Hezzine, in Tyre, in Bayyada, in Qassmieh, and those you killed a few minutes ago in Shayyah, in the southern suburb.

Kill as much as you can. This is not just another war. This is extermination.


Unanswered Cries
Baby Waad was in her mother’s arms. She stayed there when the building fell on them. It was the rescuer who separated them. Waad died in one piece. Too small to be cut in two: she is, was, ten days old. From the mother, only one arm remained.
They killed baby Hadi too. They killed baby Manal. Baby Mohamad, baby Ali, baby every single name in the Arabic language. Those they missed here, they killed in Palestine.
“ya Ali” , the man was calling in Srifa. “Ya Ali, Ya batal” . That’s how he was calling his son, “hero”. The hero never answered back. The hero was under the rubble. Among others who are still under the rubble in Srifa. Among others who are still under the rubble in Houla, Aynatha, Aytaroun, Hallousiyeh, Taybeh, Maroon el Ras, Bint Jbeil. People are rotting under the rubble in every single village south of the Litany River in Southern Lebanon.
Pity the living, pity those who are left behind. Pity those who are dreading the day when it will be their turn to run down the streets, screaming, collecting the legs and arms of their loved ones, calling their names so loud their voices would reach the skies.

We Will Prevail
I feel we’re falling apart, one town after the other, one house after the other, one person after the other.
But I know that deep inside, none of us lost faith : we know who our enemy is, we know what it’s capable of, and we know that this enemy knows that no matter what it does we will prevail.