I
left for Baghdad from my home in Oxford last August 18. I remember
waving and smiling at Annie, my wife, from the window of the bus
to London's Heathrow airport. The last words I shouted to her
from inside the bus were "I'll see you in a week!" In a little
over 24 hours I was crushed, covered in dust and fighting for
my life in the rubble that had been the United Nations headquarters
in Iraq.
I had gone to Baghdad with Arthur Helton of the Council on Foreign
Relations, a foreign policy research institute in New York. I
was a senior fellow at the International Institute for Strategic
Studies, a policy research think tank in London. We were in Iraq
to assess the human cost of the war and occupation and were planning
to report our findings and recommendations to the United Nations,
the Coalition Provisional Authority and NGOs (nongovermental organizations).
Both of us were experts on refugees and humanitarian issues
and had traveled to far-flung parts of the world for decades to
do field work and to meet with others who cared passionately about
refugees and other vulnerable people. Over the past 20 years I
had spent some long days and nights in refugee camps throughout
Africa, South and Southeast Asia, and Central America, sometimes
in precarious and dangerous situations. I had always returned
home safely and relatively unscathed. This time, however, things
would be different.
On our arrival, we went directly to see U.S. Ambassador Paul
Bremer, head of the Coalition Provisional Authority. His office
is in Saddam Hussein's former palace in Baghdad. Later that afternoon
we were taken to the U.N. headquarters at the Canal Hotel in central
Baghdad. We went straightaway to the third floor office of Sergio
Vieira de Mello, the U.N. envoy to Iraq.
At exactly the same time, a cement truck driven by a suicide
bomber and loaded with explosives was circling the compound, looking
for a way in. As Arthur and I exchanged greetings with Sergio
and with several members of his staff, the suicide attacker was
able to turn into the space directly under Sergio's office and
detonate his bomb.
The deafening explosion collapsed the ceiling of the third floor
upon us and crushed to death several of the people in the room.
Others were killed or severely injured when the bomb shattered
the windows of the building, sending fragments flying everywhere.
The bomb killed Arthur Helton and 21 others and left 150 people
wounded. Sergio de Mello survived for nearly three hours while
medics attempted to rescue him, but he died before they could
get him out. I was the only survivor in the most devastated part
of the building. I lost both my legs above the knees, severely
damaged my right hand and suffered numerous shrapnel wounds (see
picture above).
I am incredibly lucky to still be alive. The massive explosion
had catapulted us all down to the first floor, and everyone but
me was buried in the rubble. I lay trapped, hanging by my ruined
legs that were caught between the floor and the collapsed ceiling
of Sergio's office.
Somehow I regained consciousness. One thought dominated my mind:
I was determined not to die in the rubble; I would survive and
return home to my family. I did not realize that I was but a few
feet from Sergio, who was using his cell phone to direct rescuers
toward himself and me. Soon I was able to get the attention of
an emergency medical officer who was peering down a shaft at me
from what remained of the third floor.
I drifted in and out of consciousness during much of the rescue
effort. Apart from initially regaining consciousness after the
blast, signaling for help and then telling the rescuer my name,
I don't remember a lot. Since the incident, one of the U.S. Army
medics who worked to save me has told me details of the rescue
effort. The medics faced many obstacles. The building was collapsing
around us, and a mudslide caused by a drainage leak was inhibiting
their desperate attempts to rescue Sergio. With considerable effort
the medics were able to release my crushed legs, apply tourniquets
and inject me with morphine.
Later I was to learn that I didn't bleed to death because I
was hanging upside down. When one medic tried to pull me onto
the stretcher, he grabbed for my badly shattered right hand. He
told me he balked at doing this because he did not want to damage
it further. But almost immediately, he related, I put my left
arm tightly around his shoulder. This enabled him to pull me out
and onto the stretcher. So after about three hours I was pulled
out of the shaft and rushed to a U.S. military field hospital.
I remembered nothing else for nearly a month.
My hopelessly injured legs were amputated above the knees. My
right hand, which appeared to be almost impossibly damaged, was
not amputated on the small chance that a surgeon further down
the line could deal with it. The shrapnel wounds to my face were
stitched and particular attention was paid to repairing my upper
lip, part of which was missing.
Within hours of the blast I was flown to a U.S. military hospital
in Germany where my condition was stabilized and where I was reunited
with my frantic family. These were pretty scary days for Annie
and our two daughters. I was in critical condition, and doctors
gave me only a 25 percent chance of survival. But my family remained
determined to see me through this crisis. They felt sustained
by the hundreds of messages of support and prayers sent by family
and friends over the weeks that followed.
After two and a half weeks, I was flown to the emergency care
unit at John Radcliffe Hospital in Oxford. At this stage I was
still on a respirator and intravenous drips. There were several
more operations, including some incredible reconstructive surgery
to my right hand. The morphine was slowly withdrawn, and I began
to regain consciousness. Soon afterward I was taken completely
off the morphine, and my only painkiller thereafter was acetaminophen.
When I could breathe unassisted, I was transferred to the plastic
surgery ward at the Radcliffe Infirmary.
My doctors are amazed at the speed and extent of my recovery.
No one thought I would return home before Christmas. But beating
all predictions and with incredible support from my family, I
left the hospital and arrived home on Halloween. The next Monday
I started my prosthetics treatment at the Nuffield Orthopedic
Centre in Oxford and took my first steps on very short legs that
day. I get stronger day by day and am now walking with two crutches
at the orthopedic center. My goal is to be walking independently
at home by Easter.
It is difficult to fully explain why this awful event happened
or to place myself in the minds of the attackers. The continuing
conflict in Iraq involves a mindset on the parts of all the antagonists
of "either you're with us or against us." This attitude leaves
little room for independent, neutral action on the part of the
United Nations and humanitarian agencies. The United Nations is
identified by local opposition to the occupation as taking sides
and collaborating with the United States. This does not excuse
either this reprehensible attack on the United Nations last August
nor the later terrorist attacks on the International Committee
of the Red Cross. These actions aggressively flout widely held
international norms that protect civilians and noncombatants in
situations like Iraq.
Despite the injuries I sustained, I do not dwell on the past
but remain focused on the future. This attitude, combined with
my stubbornness and optimism, will help my recovery. I also draw
upon the courage and example of others. During my career, I have
had the great privilege of visiting refugees and displaced people
all over the world. I have learned a lot from their resilience
and optimism in the face of seemingly insuperable difficulties.
In my own recovery I try to draw upon my special experience of
knowing these people and appreciating their incredible inner strengths.
This tragic event has given me greater strength and a renewed
sense of commitment to continue studying and reporting on the
issues that mattered so much to Arthur Helton, Sergio Vieira de
Mello and to all those others who died that day while working
to ensure the survival of humanitarian norms.
As horrendous as this experience has been for the victims of
the blast and their families, the bombing of the U.N. headquarters
in Baghdad has had a huge impact on the United Nations and on
the future of humanitarian action generally. The Baghdad attack
was a devastating and cathartic event for the United Nations.
It was the U.N.'s "9-11," changing forever the way the United
Nations and its staff will view the world.
* * *
Gil Loescher, emeritus professor of political science, taught
international relations and peace studies at Notre Dame for 26
years.
(April 2004)
