In the 5th grade, I remember having a picture of Saddam Hussein on the door of my room. It was covered in pen marks, made during my moments of anger and frustration. Alongside the picture was an article on an atrocity, one of many, committed by his brutal regime. It was my way of showing the hatred I felt towards the monsters wielding power in Iraq. I did not quite understand the dynamics of Iraqi politics, let alone Middle East politics, but I knew the lives of Iraqis to be one of no political openness and no freedom of speech. A constant fear emanated from Iraqis who knew the consequences of relating their opinions of the government.

The frequent visits to my grandparent’s house in Laguna often included me spending the night, asking my grandmother to “goolee qusa haqiqia,” tell me a true story! I would always ask to hear about the country I was originally from, but never had the chance to see for myself. She would always tell me of her childhood in Iraq, how hot it would get at night and, on those particularly hot days, how she and her sisters would sleep on the roof. She told me happy stories, as well as an equal amount of disturbing ones. One that really kept me up at night was the story of a little girl who was in preschool. Saddam Hussein was visiting the school and, when he approached the little girl, she told him that her dad spat on his face whenever it appeared on TV. The following day, Saddam’s secret police were at the door of this little girl’s house; they shot her father in front of both her and her mother.

As I grew older, I came to know of the different events in Iraqi history: the monarchy put in by the British, the Kennedy administration financing the coup that put the Ba’athists in power, the Iran-Iraq War, the complicity of the United States when giving him the green light to squall resistance from the Kurds and Shias, the Gulf War, the 15 year sanctions that slowly killed 500,000 children (something Madeline Albright thought was “worth it”) and so on. I was confused as to why the U.S., a supposed beacon of justice and democracy, would be in support of such a violent regime that terrorized its own people. I learned to not be so naïve after learning about Pinochet of Chile, Batista of Cuba, Botha of South Africa, etc. Economic interests were at stake—that was the concern that determined U.S. foreign policy and the main objective was not a humanitarian one, contrary to what those in the White House claim.

In 2003, when the U.S. invaded Iraq, my family held the opinion that was shared by many other Iraqi families living here. We wanted Saddam out of power and tried for his brutality, but we did not want Iraq to be occupied and feared that a puppet regime would be installed to serve the economic interests of the U.S. rather than serve its own people. We were torn by the pluses and minuses and desperately wanted a democratic government that was free of corruption. We wanted a government that was genuinely concerned about the welfare of the Iraqi people rather than being concerned only with how much money they could smuggle into their pockets without being detected.

The day Saddam Hussein was captured, I think every Iraqi family in Orange County contacted one another, celebrating over the phone and excited for Iraq’s seemingly new chapter. We soon found that what ensued was not what we had hoped. Conditions in Iraq grew worse and innocents were killed in the hundreds, weekly.

A while ago, No More Victims presented at a mosque in Costa Mesa. I happened to be there and was awed by what they were doing to help the children of Iraq, but could not see how I could help. My dad encouraged me to get involved and I had gone to the website, but did not know where to start. A friend who also attends Mission Viejo High School told me about the new club she started. Interestingly, it was a No More Victims club and I recognized the name and was happy to have an opportunity to get involved. Prior to that I had been saving money and holding fundraisers for Iraqi orphans in general and, now that I knew an effective way to raise money, I was eager to help out in an individual case—that of Mustafa Sadiq’s.

When Zahide told me about Mustafa’s story, I was angry. I was angry about how much was taken from Mustafa at such a young age. Everything U.S. soldiers do in Iraq is in our name, in the name of “protecting” the United States. I could not feel less than obligated to help improve the situation of Mustafa and his family, victims of U.S. militarization and occupation. They have been so strong in handling what misfortune has befallen them and I could never imagine any American family going through a similar situation. I feel that I owe it to Mustafa to help him and his family have a better life. I am living in a country that spends a ridiculous amount of money for “defense.” My taxes go to funding the Iraq war. I feel as if I paid for the bullet that had shot through Mustafa’s skull. And I’m angry with our government for doing this in our name because this is not what the majority of us want. We want to provide assistance for our fellow brothers and sisters in Iraq and what happened to Mustafa, what happened to the 17 innocent people murdered by Blackwater… this is detrimental to the “cause” our president has taken up. All these tragedies have caused the Iraqi people to harbor resentment and frustration, and justifiably so. I share the same feelings and the result is my venting anger into action, hoping to do whatever is in my power to reverse the damage done to the spirit of the Iraqi people. They are a strong people that have taken on so much. Enough sanctions, enough war… these people deserve the right to live free of occupation, free of an exploitative government, and free of unnecessary casualties that is currently at a higher annual rate than it was during the 30 years of Saddam’s dictatorship.