On Saturday 27 April The
Canberra Times published an opinion piece by Kellie Merritt, an Iraq war widow, social worker and mother.
Her husband Flight Lieutenant Paul Pardoel was an Australian navigator who
served with the RAAF for 15 years, before transferring to the RAF in 2002. Paul
was killed with nine other British service members when their Hercules was shot
down in Iraq on January 30, 2005.
It is a powerful and thoughtful piece with some important
reflections on the responsibilities of governments contemplating deploying
their armed forces into international armed conflict.
What price humanitarian war?
Justification for war in Iraq was tenuous in
2003. A decade later it is even more so, writes war widow KELLIE MERRITT.
I did what I
did. It's all on the public record and I feel very good about it … If I had to
do it over again, I'd do it in a minute.
- Dick Cheney
If we hadn't removed Saddam from power just
think, what would be happening if these Arab revolutions were continuing now …
Think of the consequences of leaving that regime in power.
- Tony Blair
That was the thing about the Howard
government: we stood for something. And one of the things we stood for was
freedom.
- Alexander Downer
Perhaps it is a
little unfair to quote out of context, but these quotes illuminate the thinking
of three men who dodged and re-shaped the principles, rules and norms that
limit and define the justifications for waging war. Although their reflections
mark the 10-year anniversary of the war they began, their reasoning seems more
elusive than ever.
The fluid narrative
of justification, liberation and self-congratulation is so removed from the
reasons they gave 10 years ago and so oblivious to the consequences 10 years
on, that it trivialises war. They ask us to consider the case for war on a
humanitarian platform, but on scaffolding underpinned by only half of the human
story. They use the misery of the Iraqi people under Saddam Hussein as a
framework but refuse to balance the platform by acknowledging the Iraqis'
suffering during and after the war; the result is a precarious structure.
Hundreds of
thousands of Iraqis have been killed. In 2006, one survey (The Lancet)
estimated 654,965 deaths had resulted from the war; millions more have been
injured. Close to 1.8 million Iraqis have fled their country since the war
began.
Another 1.6 million
make up the internally displaced. These ''humanitarian'' warriors view Iraq
through such a narrow lens that the image portrayed is self-serving and
deceptive. What about an authentic reflection on the reasons, both public and
private, for the war and the human cost? Is it unfair to ask?
I watched, listened
and read about the "shock and awe" campaign as it unfolded. I would
do it in private, mostly at night while my three children were in bed. They
missed their dad but they did not yet fear for his life. Paul had already been
coming and going from Afghanistan. He was now in Iraq, a country he would
ultimately not return alive from.
The experience of
my husband serving in two distinct wars was about to become both a blur and a
routine. On the home front, I buffered our children from unthinkable
possibilities, while it seemed that our political leaders were doing their own
form of buffering to all of us on the domestic and international fronts.
I was anxious, but
my anxiety was tempered by my conscience - my home was not being bombed, my
children were safe and my husband was a voluntary member of the military. Who
was I to feel afraid or complain? Now, as a military war widow, a public
conscience kicks in - what do I have to fear or complain about? The ceremonial
acknowledgments of sacrifice and remembrance are not new to a war widow and not
something to take for granted. However, I do wonder if I would sit more
comfortably or graciously in these settings had Paul been killed in Afghanistan
rather than Iraq?
Perhaps it is this
discomfort that fuels my reflections on the Iraq war and the leaders who still
do not seem to entertain any doubt about their decisions. I get that the
military-political relationship is a central element of a functioning Western
democracy. I know that the protection and promotion of democracy and effective
use of the military falls to our elected politicians.
We have all seen
governments call on their military to kill and be killed for political,
ideological and moral reasons. The context of most wars is complex but the
institutions and processes which transform disapproval into sanctions,
sanctions into conflict and conflict into invasion seem all too malleable.
Even so, I still
can't understand how the case for a unilateral pre-emptive war on Iraq was
sustainable at the time, let alone with the benefit of hindsight. As
''meaningful'' factors - in the case of Iraq - such as, a UN Security Council
resolution, continuing UN weapons inspections, evidence of al-Qaeda links to
Saddam Hussein and weapons of mass destruction fell by the wayside, a vacuum
was created. That vacuum was filled by political rhetoric and an artificial
notion of urgency - and so the war proceeded. If my powers of comprehension
were tested by the reasons for going to war, the deeply flawed and chaotic
post-invasion nation-building strategy didn't help.
As my children and
I have been forced to restructure our lives without Paul, I have watched the
restructured Iraq still in turmoil and its wounded people still mired in
confusion and dispossession. Free of the Saddam regime's brutality, certainly -
but not of their own making - and by no means free of further conflict,
bloodshed and uncertainty.
That this debacle
could be one of the catalysts for the re-election of Howard, Bush and Blair was
exasperating. It illustrated to me how pervasive a non-critical view of war
could become when a nation's electorate is not - by and large - affected by its
ravages; I finally got that I was naive.
In 2004, I started to reflect - in the context of Iraq - on the fairness of the military-political relationship. I began to struggle with the concept and implications of military service, balanced with the toll it took on our young family. Was it worth it … worth Paul's life? I talked with Paul about resigning - which he did - the resignation process would take 12 months. Paul died - with nine of his military friends - on his last deployment to Iraq on January 30, 2005. That day marked the first ''free'' election day in Iraq, a day of liberation, or so the politicians said in their condolence letters.
Paul's Hercules was
shot down over the Tigris River, somewhere between Baghdad and Balad. Clearly,
the virtues of democracy delivered by an occupying force were not worth
celebrating for the Sunni Iraqis who pulled the trigger.
If I had responded
to the condolence letters sent by various politicians I would have thanked them
for their letters. I would have said that my family honoured the expectations
and obligations that are implicit between military families and their
governments; that we put the needs of country and defence before our own.
I would have said
that, in turn, governments owe a duty of care to military families that was
undermined in the pursuit of a pre-emptive war. I would have asked them why
they didn't reaffirm the reasons they gave to invade Iraq.
I would have said
that while I shared their noble hope that Iraq would be free and liberated,
their post-invasion nation-building strategy was palpably inconsistent with
this commitment. I would have said that the condolence that Paul died bringing
peace and freedom to the Iraqi people would have been reassuring if it wasn't
so misleading, but that my pride in Paul was unshakable.
We need to learn
about what happened in Iraq and the reasoning behind it, because the
reflections of Cheney, Blair and Downer (and Howard's reflections during his
address at Lowy Institute more recently) 10 years on suggest that they have
forgotten. It is no longer appropriate for these men to continue to shape and
dominate the political and rhetorical landscape - on Iraq - as they did 10
years ago.
Their thoughts and
recollections - 10 years on - only seem like attempts to shape their jealously
guarded historical legacies. I think we deserve better than that.
The decision to
wage war requires a nation's attention, (not just from its political elite). It
is time now for the Australian people and their government to hold a
transparent and frank inquiry into the Iraq War and to give that inquiry the
attention it deserves.
Perhaps my
imaginary letter back to government would also have included my hope for such
an inquiry to be held; my hope that this inquiry leads to Australians
reconsidering their acquiescence in this tragic war and my hope that such an
inquiry bears witness to the war's human cost and brings some small redemption
for those killed and injured in Iraq.
For the original article as published in the online
version of The Canberra Times see What price humanitarian war?