It's my family they're bombing
Aida Kaisy, Advertising executive, Guardian News Service, London
It starts when I wake up. Until recently, I would get up and get ready for work. Now I get up much earlier, switch on the television news right away and try to catch up with what has happened the night before. As a British citizen from Iraq, I consume news vociferously. I check the Internet all day and watch the news until I force myself to go to bed.
Thousands of Iraqis in the United Kingdom have to watch to know if our family and friends are safe, but we're terrified of what we might see. I dread the bulletin that will show they've bombed my aunt's street. If the last Gulf war is anything to go by, soon it will be worse, soon there won't be any communication at all, and it could be months before we know if they are alive.
The morning after the first strikes on Iraq was awful. The graphics are disturbingly reminiscent of the first Gulf war. During 1991, I was studying in Britain, but my parents were in Baghdad and I had no way of knowing if they were alive. I know how horrific the living conditions were: No infrastructure to speak of, no running water or electricity, people in daily fear of their lives.
And yet already this war has become a spectacle, a subject of conversation. It's painfully clear how much the graphic departments of the newspapers and television are enjoying the war. Bombing Iraq has become one big competition to see who can come up with the best illustration of a Tomahawk. It's easy to find war exciting when it has no impact on your life.
If you catch yourself getting a bit of a kick out of seeing all the weaponry in action, try to remember that people live in the building you've just seen annihilated. A missile that "accurately" hits the ministry of defense could well flatten a school next door, and on the pavement outside there will be people carrying on with their lives as best they can.
People in Iraq have to venture outside at some point if they are to survive the coming weeks. Many of my family are doctors and medics, so they have no choice but to be out on Baghdad streets. When I see reports of the latest attack, my first thought is not what amazing new technology America has, but which member of my family lives or works in that area.
When you're watching this evening's news, slightly frustrated that night vision isn't as clear as it is on your Playstation 2, spare a moment for the people in their beds, in whose direction that red dot is heading. If you hear someone waxing lyrical about it being a "clean" war, gently remind them that just because you don't see lost limbs on your TV screen doesn't mean they aren't there. If the thought of watching a snuff video disgusts you, then why not the aerial bombardment of Baghdad? Is war porn really any better than any other kind?
Like most Iraqis living in the west, I now think twice before telling strangers where I'm from. "My parents live in Jordan", or "I'm from the Middle East," is a much easier option. Patriotism, no matter how misplaced, is unpredictable, and you have no idea how someone will react when you tell them you're Iraqi. I am not usually one to shy from political debate, but under the current circumstances, you can assume I'd rather not discuss it with you.
Thankfully, people have stopped asking my opinion. And yet when I hear someone pontificating about the war I want to interrupt and point out they haven't got a clue what they are talking about. How can you sit there and discuss winning or losing like it's the results of an election or a football match?
How can someone sit there and say they are pro-war, when it doesn't affect their lives? Would they be so unambivalently pro- war if it was their family being bombed in their sleep?
Thankfully, my parents are now living in Jordan. My mother rings me regularly in tears. Last week she managed to get through to her sister in Baghdad. At the end of the conversation, my aunt said to my mother: "Well this is probably the last time I'm ever going to speak to you." Is that really so exciting?