Letters to editor June 1995

• Walls of peace
• Thinking about human rights
• Candles and tubs

Walls of peace

Question: Where did 10,000 people live a peaceful and stable agricultural existence 5,000 Years ago? Answer: The Ceide Fields in the north of County Mayo. It is the largest known stone age enclosed site in the world. An estimated 10,000 people lived for several centuries on 3,000 acres of farmland which they had enclosed with stone walls to keep their animals in. There is no evidence of fortification or defences, and homes were scattered. Some of the walls have been excavated from the blanket bog which covered it and which also preserved the stone remains in their original form.

from Rob Fairmichael, Belfast

Thinking about human rights

Since my fifth visit to Iraq since the Gulf War, in January, I have thought much about human rights.

On my first day in Baghdad I drove, in a deathtrap of a car (no spare parts) on tyres re-stitched by the local shoe mender (rubber factory bombed during the war) to deliver a woefully inadequate quantity of medicines to the Ibn Baldy hospital. In a poor area of the city, this hospital had been a flagship institution, tailored to local needs.

As we pulled in, two women, near-demented in grief, ran into the sunlight, through the street traders--clearly oblivious to anything but their pain. "Yasmin, Yasmin, Yasmin ..." they screamed, through a torrent of tears.

Yasmin, named after the sweet-scented yellow bush, was seven years old. A minor heart defect had been diagnosed just after the war. Soon, when the embargo is lifted and there are appropriate facilities again, we will operate and she will recover fully, her parents were told.

In four years, a minor defect had become a major one and her damaged little heart could no longer sustain her fragile body. My companion, a gentle, generous man and an old friend said, with sudden bitterness of shocking force: "I hope they explained to her, before she die, that she had failed to comply with United Nations resolutions."

Inside the hospital, the generators for the air conditioning system were kept from overheating by two freestanding fans. "What happens if they break down?" I asked. The engineer picked up a piece of cardboard from the floor and made a fanning motion with his hand. He was not altogether joking.

The central oxygen system had long been irreparable. All that was available were huge, rusting, old-fashioned cylinders nearly two metres high. They had to be carried the two storeys to the wards by malnourished porters. The lifts, too, were broken.

The Ibn Baldy could be a metaphor for what has become of Iraq and for the "collateral damage" of the day-by-day tragedies of life under the embargo.

Children faint in school from lack of food. Parents sell their all -- and then the windows, doors, and even bricks of their homes-- to try and provide in a land where a tray of eggs and a kilo of onions exceeds a university professor's monthly salary. A land where families take their pets to the zoo in the hope they will be fed--and their children to orphanages for the same reason.

On my last night in Baghdad, I was invited to a dinner. There was no meat, cheese, fish, or eggs. Wonders had been done with next to nothing--and everyone in the neighbourhood had contributed. It was a hot, balmy night, yet in a surreal scene, all the guests wore scarves, heavy coats, and all had great grey-circled eyes and an unforgettable pallor. These were professionals, formerly relatively wealthy. They were chronically malnourished.

Back in Amman, Jordan, I met a broken man. Trying to escape the images in my head, I went on a fantasy "shopping spree" in the gold quarter. Turning from treasures in one impossibly expensive and beautiful shop, I was approached by a crumpled, down-at-heel, ancient. He put out his hand and as I reached into my pocket, he said his name. He had been a senior engineer for Iraqi Airways, seconded to Japan Airlines, Lufthansa, and British Airways because of his unusual brilliance.

There is no Iraqi Airways now. And little work for engineers, due to lack of parts. He had gone to Jordan to seek work, to support his family, but unable to obtain a work permit in a small country still overwhelmed by the refugees from the Gulf War, could find none. His money had run out, he was unable to stay, yet could not provide by going home. Could I do anything? I asked. He straightened up: no, something would happen. It had to.

It was time to leave. I watched him walk away, bent again, silhouetted against the fading light. Suddenly he turned and came back. "You can do something, you can adopt my son" he said. He was 47, his son 7.

Yes, I have thought a lot about human rights recently.

from Felicity Arbuthnot, London

Candles and tubs

We in Salisbury have found that the most successful and picturesque way is by floating the lighted candles in clear plastic tubs, of which we use between 150 and 200. Other folk use considerably fewer, depending on local street lighting.

I still have plenty of tubs of an appropriate size for sale at a cost of 8p each, postage paid. They are reusable year after year, as long as you fish them out of the water after the display. If you would also like a sheet with many tips we have found useful, please say so and I will enclose a copy with the tubs.

from Martin Mottram, 2 Guilder Lane, Salisbury SP1 1HW, England