By: Azza Maghur*
Allow me, Hamza, to address you by your name, and I’m not
certain if uncle Mustafa Al-Treki, the renowned fisherman in Tripoli and my father’s friend, is related to you. If so, he was also close to my father, may Allah rest his soul, as they both used to fish together and spend time by the walls of Sidi Abdelwahab mosque in Tripoli.
Allow me, Hamza, to share the pain that you have suffered throughout this unbearable war. A war that has no roots in our country, but we’ve let each other down and allowed them to take our land away from us, almost let them steal our honor as well. I do not know if the youth in this war are well trained and well equipped, or if they’re left to rely on their courage and rifles. Little is known to us.
I heard your story from my youngest sister over the phone this morning, that you lost a leg in this godforsaken war, and are still suffering in the hospital. However, this hasn’t stopped you from posting “have a blessed Iftar” on your Facebook page. I scrolled down on your profile and saw pictures of you standing on your feet in front of the steam station in Sirte’s desert along with two of your friends. Your souls were beaming with hope, and filled with the prospect of victory. But it is war, my brother, it is a tragedy, is there anything more bitter and sad? It is where politics are fueled by corpses; the dead become numbers, statistics, reduced to a jacket or a shoe covered in blood.
Hamza, my brother. In the picture you were standing with your friends, wearing a pair of jeans with no helmets or bulletproof vests. I do not know if you were wearing combat boots in preparation. War requires bravery, but also strategy and equipment. The enemy is ruthless, and the country is no longer a country.
War requires diligent political management, media, organization, rehabilitation, hospitals, ambulances, gear, and ammunition. And the fight against terrorism is one for the whole world, one that requires everyone to be involved, for it poses a threat not only on a moral level, but is also a danger to life as we know it on this earth.
Were these ingredients part of the war against the Islamic State? Or was it the usual enthusiastic, youth driven, body-burning procedure?
What do we tell your mothers that birthed you, fed you, took care of you in times of sickness, raised you, spoiled you, worried for you? The sleepless nights, the winters and summers, the Ramadan meals spent with you, what do we tell them?
A fruitless war with no stable government, failed policies, corruption, a decline in money as well as people, an overwhelming darkness surrounding cities, assassinations, kidnappings and torture, a denial of justice and the destruction of any future.
Hamza, and allow me to address you by your name, that harsh picture in which I saw you laying down bleeding in a truck with your leg laying on your side beside you, is that how the war on terrorism should be? Shame on those who sign documents and do not set foot on the battlefield, shame on politicians who brag about their body count to gain political momentum, shame on them for their complacency and constant failure.
Respect to you Hamza, respect to a family on the Iftar table while their son is absent, respect to a fasting mother who is praying for her son to return walking, smiling with a bright future ahead of him, yet you return to them in a coffin. Peace to you, and be safe Hamza.
*A Libyan lawyer and writer
Translated By LIBYAPROSPECT: Source