روزی که شروعش کردم فکر نمیکردم وقتی تمومش میکنم ممکنه اینقدر نزدیک جنگ باشیم. این کتاب خاطرات یه جراح عروق پزشکان بدون مرز بود که به صورت داوطلبانه خیلی جاها رفته بود.
حالا قاطی با متن کتاب نظرمو مینویسم:
تو مسیر شغلیش به یه سری مورالیتی کانفلیکت ها هم برخورده بود:
▪ I was reminded of a bomb-maker I’d had to work on while I was in Pakistan: a Taliban fighter who’d been injured making improvised explosive devices (IEDs) for use against coalition forces across the border in Afghanistan. He came in and I operated on him, and saved his life.
I am often asked how I can square my humanitarian work with saving the life of someone who might go on to make something that kills British soldiers or innocent civilians. It’s a valid point, of course, and every war surgeon has to wrestle with the conundrum at some stage. But actually it’s quite simple: I don’t get to choose who I work on. I can only try to intervene to save the life of the person in front of me who is in desperate need of help. Usually I have no idea who they are or what they have done until afterwards anyway – but even if I did know, nothing would change. I rationalize it by thinking, Well, maybe that Taliban guy or this ISIS fighter will find out his life was saved by a Western, Christian doctor, and that might make him change his outlook. Some people may consider this is naive, but that’s how it is.
اون وسط ها میفهمه این تکی خیلی کار ها رو نمیرسه کنه و از طرفی کلی آدم هستند که میخوان کمک کنند ولی چون مثلا تو انگلیس و آمریکا و جاهای خیلی با تجهیزات تر و تو شرایط آروم تری کار کردن رو یاد گرفتن اصلا متوجه نیستن تو این شرایط فورس و در حالیکه که بالا سرت داره بمب پرتاب میشه عروق یکی که تیر خورده رو چطور جراحی کنی زنده بمونه و خیلی ها از بین میرفتن اون وسط؛ در نتیجه تصمیم میگیره هرجا میره به پزشکای اونجا و کسایی که داوطلب شدن اومدن نحوه منیج تو اون شرایط رو یاد بده. و کلا اصلا میاد با خانمش سازمانی درست میکنن و هنوز به این کار ادامه میده.
▪ I had to do more than just operate on whoever happened to be put in front of me. That would help one person, but there was a much bigger goal in trying to improve the whole system. Too many volunteers with good intentions were being put in situations outside their normal experience, and were making poor decisions as a result. I had to try to change the whole modus operandi of the surgeons there.
▪ I had become increasingly aware that surgical training in the developed world was becoming more and more specialized – so specialized, in fact, that I feared surgeons would no longer be able to do humanitarian work. They simply wouldn’t have the array of skills necessary to treat the full gamut of injuries a single war surgeon would see in the field.
اولاش که تعریف میکنه حس ترس و ایناش خیلی کمه و معطوف به دیگرانه بیشتر؛ ولی از یه جا به بعد، بخصوص از سوریه به بعد کم کم وحشت جنگ به سمت خودش هم میاد و میفهمه پروتکشن از طرف سازمان ملل و اینا برا یه سری کشور ها و رژیم ها تو یه سری موقعیت ها کشکه.
بعد پیتیاسدی بدی میگیره برمیگرده. اون وسط یه جا کلی تلاش میکنه دکترای دیگه زیر حمله رو نجات بده.
فصلای اول توصیفات محل و شرایط رو داره:
War zones are completely different from routine life at home, and it is very easy to become blinkered and not to take care of oneself, such is the focus on the patients. But extra precautions must be taken at all times to try to limit the risk of getting caught out. You have to have a different bit of your head switched on – you can’t take your normal NHS mindset to a war. In more well-established hospitals everyone would be checked for weapons with a hand-held metal detector before being allowed in – in one of the hospitals where I had worked in northern Pakistan a few months before going to Syria, even the volunteer doctors and nurses were checked when they arrived. But we didn’t have one in Atmeh, and had to deal with whoever came in, whoever they were.
همچنان اولاست ولی کم کم داره میفهمه بعد های دیگه جای جنگ زده چطوریه:
It was like an initiation. I felt for the first time like a tiny cog in the vast machinery of war. My idealism was challenged, shaken; I was hardened by it, and understood more of the intense pressure my colleagues had been under, for so much longer than I had had to endure. The boy’s death turned me into a person marked by war: it was the Sarajevo equivalent of a campaign medal, although not one to wear with pride. It manifested not so much in a tough exterior as a tough interior, a little place in my heart, or soul, that closed like a fist and iced over. It was arguably the first in a series of experiences that I bottled away, thinking I’d put them behind me, until a trip to Syria twenty years later.
▪ ‘You don’t know what it’s like!’ he shouted. ‘You don’t know what it’s like to live in a war zone! I’m going to show you!’
And with that, he reached over for the switch, turned out the lights in the restaurant and started banging his chair on the floor and going around the room hammering his fists on the wall.
این یه تایمی اون وسط میره افغانستان و توصیفاتش از اونجا:
▪ When I returned there in early 2001, this time working in the Taliban’s spiritual birthplace of Kandahar, I was able to see for myself the impact this had on the country and its people.
It was like going back to medieval times. Women were confined to their homes, children were not allowed out and were forbidden to play with toys, especially of Western origin. Education was banned apart from studying the Koran, and innocent pleasures like kite-flying or playing music were also banned as they took children away from the study of Islam. Women had to cover themselves from head to toe in sky-blue burkas, with crochet mesh covering even their eyes, and men were not allowed to shave their beards.
بعد حالا این ها به کنار یه چیز فاجعه دیگه که داشت این بود که یه طالبان گذاشته بودن تو بیمارستان (غیر متخصص و اصلا هیچ اطلاعی از پزشکی و سلامت و سواد نداشت) و ایشون باید تصمیم میگرفت کی رو درمان کنن یا نکنن.
▪ Every day, a Taliban policeman wearing a large black turban stood inside the entrance to the operating theatre. He was there to give consent for us to operate on patients, and make sure we were not contravening any of the strict religious codes imposed by the regime. We had to ask him if he would allow us to operate on this or that patient, knowing he had no medical knowledge whatsoever and probably couldn’t read or write either. A simple wave of his hand would submit patients to life-saving surgery or sentence them to death.
بعد این اولا فکر میکنه این فرمالیتهس و خب قاعدتا این آدمه باید به همه اجازه درمان بده دیگه وقتی رسیده و دکتر بالا سرشه و .... ولی خب این اقا خیلی راحت و بر حسب هیچی برا خودش تصمیم میگرفت نمیذاشت دکترا یا پرستاران برن سراغ نجات یه سری ها.
▪ Where does it say in the Koran that you can play God?
جلو تر که میره، میرسه به لحظه ای که چهره اسلام رو میبینه:
▪ Because we worked for an aid agency, we were permitted to go to the city’s football stadium to witness the enforcement of Sharia law, Taliban-style. Idiotically, I went along one day only to witness terrible and unforgettable acts of barbarism: women being stoned to death after being buried up to their necks in sand; women being placed beside a wall they had built with their bare hands and killed after a truck was driven at the wall at high speed. There were also revenge killings, where the victim’s relatives were allowed to shoot and kill the supposed perpetrator. I felt like a spectator at some brutal entertainment from ancient Rome, and was reminded of a bullfight I’d once seen in Provence, where I had been appalled by the killing of those magnificent animals. But this was far, far worse.
The images of what I saw all those years ago still flash through my head sometimes: so easy to view, so hard to shake.
I often wonder now why I went. I think it was because I simply didn’t believe what I’d been told about what went on there. I also couldn’t believe that what purported to be legal in Sharia law was nothing more than outright murder and torture. I was astonished and sickened by the cruelty that one human being could bring to bear on another, and it filled me with revulsion. The football stadium was full of people watching and I wondered what they all felt. Were they completely inured to it? Or just curious?
آخراش هم میرسه به اونجا که دیگه کم آورده (آهان این موضوع رو ذکر کنم که این آدم باز به فراخوان والنتیر شدن نه نمیتونست بگه و باز میرفت ولی هی اثرات مخربش روش بیشتر میشد.)
▪ What did it mean to carry on? How many lives saved was enough? Who was even keeping count? I had seen so much death, so many horrific sights; no one in their right mind could remain unaffected by it.
از چیزایی که باعث تلنگرای دیگه بهش شد:
▪ One morning in early October someone came in and said, ‘Oh, Henning’s been killed, do you want to see?’ And like an idiot, I did see, and watched the terrible footage of his execution. I think it was happened to another Brit, a volunteer just like me, not very far away
یه جا از بچه هایی که وسط جنگ میارن میگه و خیلی راست میگه، ما یه سری شرایط خیلییی ساده ار از این فجایع رو داشتیم که بچه اینقدر ضربه روانی بزرگی میخوره یه جا فقط زل میزنه و درد فیزیکی رو نمیفهمه.
▪ He was silent on the operating table. Many children are like this – often because they have lost a lot of blood, but in some cases they are simply mute from the psychological trauma.
▪ What happened to humanity when women children and elders walk on foot between bombs, some died on the road and left alone for animals to eat them . . . Some reach regime region where allies are ready to arrest men and put them again on the front lines
خلاصه که برام کتاب جذابی بود چون از آرزوهای دوران کودکیم این بوده که برم اینجاها و این مدل دکتر بشم(حالا شاید الان نه).
توصیفات تروماها و مدل منیج و جراحیش برام خیلی جذاب بود؛ ولی خاطراتش به طور کلی باعث شد از یه دید دیگه ای به یه سری چیز نگاه کنم.