The '90 Occupation - Student, Female Volunteers: The Kuwaiti Spirit Of Yesteryear
Reprinted From The Correspondent (The American Business Council Magazine) Summer 2011
In the early morning of August 3rd, 1990, the day after Kuwait was invaded by Iraq, Kuwaitis from areas around Washington, DC converged in front of the White House to hold a demonstration asking President George Bush Senior for his help for their country. Most Kuwaitis, their friends and families who marched that day, held faces which revealed much; bloodshot eyes and blank, lifeless stares. Their world had just been changed overnight. Many people were crying softly. It was solemnly quiet and the air was full of grief. "Have you heard from....?" "How do I find out about...?" "I think my mother was going to travel..." "What do we do now?"
It was the beginning of a long desperate seven months of agony, rumors, and the unknown. No one knew how their families and friends were faring inside Kuwait; none knew their future. None of the students that day knew what would happen next. Phone lines to Kuwait were down. It was too soon to know what the legitimate government of Kuwait would do.
True to the nature of Kuwaitis who use humor at even the most difficult of moments (often to fight off discomfort); Jasim K marched along side of his friends asking if they thought they could get jobs in the 7-11. They didn't know if they would receive salaries or how they would live.
Some of my friends, like former MP Basil Al-Rashed, blindly boarded planes went to join Kuwaiti forces in Saudi Arabia during the first few weeks following the invasion. I heard later that MP Al-Rashed served with the Kuwaitis on the Saudi border. I am incredibly proud of him (as are others) for taking the initiative to pioneer it alone during those early days of uncertainty.
These were not the days of the internet. E-mail didn't become popular until after the war was long over. The phone lines to the Kuwaiti embassy in Washington DC were jammed and information was hard to come by. However, almost immediately offices were set up to form assistance teams. Information trickled out of Kuwait, sometimes from people escaping; sometimes from ham radio operators. Lists were compiled of people, their whereabouts and their circumstances (including, heartbreakingly, names of those who had been tortured or taken as hostages). Grass roots newspapers like, "Ku-waiting for News" (which was written and distributed by an American woman married to a Kuwaiti) provided information in English to friends/relatives of Kuwaitis in the States. These were the days of no e-mail; distribution was by fax or "snail mail" system. People made copies and copies of copies and the information proved invaluable to those, like me, who were waiting to hear what was happening.
Citizens for a Free Kuwait (CFK) began operations to coordinate volunteer efforts. People started to flow in to show their support and to see how they could help. I walked in and the volunteer behind the reception desk thanked for my gesture, but responded that they didn't require additional volunteers. I stayed (by force of will) and worked with CFK throughout the occupation (and any other organization that I thought I could assist) in any way I could.
Other small entities popped up; including my own, Kuwait Link. I ran a 24 hour phone line (which was really just my home phone next to my bed) and linked people with inquiries to resources. Some of my greatest accomplishments during the 7 month occupation came through phone calls I received (often in the middle of the night) from people who needed assistance or from the media (like CNN) wanting to speak to Kuwaitis for stories. Everyone who had a love for Kuwait during that time did what they could: Kuwaiti Association to Defend War Victims, Solidarity International for Kuwait, to name a few. The Kuwait Emergency Recovery Program started long before the ground war ever started. In an office on K Street in Washington, DC, Dr. Rola Dashti often spent her nights sleeping behind her desk in a sleeping bag on the floor, and starting her work again in the morning.
I made friends with many people during that time and I either I never took their names or I didn't want to; believing that the cause was more important than anything. Most didn't want credit for their individual actions; collectively they were named as a united group of people who supported the liberation of Kuwait.
There was a group of women that I met during this time who were some of the strongest people I have ever known; many of whom are still nameless to me and many who are not written about in Kuwaiti history books nor mentioned in speeches.
I volunteered with some of these women during the early days at CFK. We later went on to join others who wanted to go to Kuwait to help. We had no idea how we would go; or how we would help, but we began taking emergency first aid and trauma courses at the American Red Cross (through sponsorship and blessing of the Kuwaiti embassy). Lail Dehrab was my training partner. Her friend, Mandy Hakim, was also in our group. We learned how to handle a variety of battlefield traumas like gunshot wounds and burns. Some volunteered at local ER's to gain experience and quick knowledge.
We were later taken to Quantico Marine Corps Base to learn how to fire various types of small weapons that we might encounter on the ground in Kuwait for our personal security. I still have a scar on my right hand from improper use of a Magnum 44 during the training: It is my only "battle" wound, but I am proud of it. Base officials looked on our group with genuine concern and compassion. At the base, Um Salah, MP Dr. Rola Dashti's mother, fired her machine gun on rapid fire next to me (she had one son in Kuwait with the Resistance and another son who went with the US forces as a volunteer and wanted to be prepared to assist if she could). Balkhees, a small woman who was the daughter of a Kuwaiti Brigadier General, walked over to the biggest, meanest marine she could find and asked him to teach her how to fight. Twenty years later, I still remember that tiny 19 year old woman and the raw determination on her face. All the Kuwaiti women I knew at the time were adamant to help in any way that they could. Several faced opposition from their families, but they continued regardless.
In 1991, at the McLean Hilton in Virginia, Kuwaiti students from around the US gathered to volunteer as interpreters with the US forces headed for Kuwait. I was the only American to go with my group of female friends. The students walked away from their lifestyles and their educations in the States and boarded busses headed to Fort Dix in New Jersey for basic training.
After it all, I was not allowed to go because, as an American, I would have been a liability to the group. I would have to join the military for at least 4 years and probably never get to Kuwait . I said goodbye and watched what happened in the news. I prayed for all.
Cindus Al-Sarraf was pictured on the front page of a newspaper shortly thereafter. Another slight woman, holding a grenade in her hand and running around a barricade; she was the face of Kuwaitis (especially the women) who went to fight for their country. I later asked Lail Dehrab what the most difficult part of the basic training was, "The gas tent. They made us take off our gas masks and breathe to get used to it and to know what it was like. It was awful. Everybody got sick," she said with a giggle.
It is a little-known fact that twenty five Kuwaiti women volunteered as interpreters with the US Forces. Like their Kuwaiti brothers, they were all bestowed with the honorary rank of "Sergeant" by the Kuwaiti military during their service. Most of these women are now mothers and wives (some still hold onto their dog tags and combat boots). Seeing them now, you would never imagine (with their manicured nails and tidy hairstyles) what their lives were like during the occupation or what they did for Kuwait. I still find it hard to believe, but it was a different time and a different country.
As we sit today and have lunch or talk about recent events in Kuwait, all of us who remember (men and women alike) have a hard time believing how much has changed since then and what we have all lived through. I sometimes look at Kuwaiti students now and wonder what they would do for their country.... but I already know the answer: You do what you have to do. You go on and you hope that someday you have a chance to thank others who have worked or fought by your side.
...And, twenty years later, you might be able to write an article and remind a few people of what you remember from those days.
