Two Decades on, War Victims of Saddam Hussein's Gas Attacks draw their Last Breath
Written by Mark Fletcher
Monday, 17 March 2008
Hadi Khosorojerdi lies on his bed in a Tehran hospital, a drip in his arm. In
a weak, breathless voice the former Revolutionary Guard recalls the day in
August 1987 that he was hit by shrapnel on Majnoon island during the Iran-Iraq
War. As he lay unconscious on the ground, the Iraqis unleashed mustard gas.
Mr Khosorojerdi was 19. Amazingly he survived, recovered and went on to marry
and have two children. But in recent years he has developed severe respiratory
problems and nine months ago was admitted to Sasan hospital. “I trust in God,”
he replies when asked his prognosis, but the nurse shakes her head sadly. “He
has lung cancer,” she says quietly. “He will die.”
Mr Khosorojerdi is not alone in his plight. Two dozen other victims of Saddam
Hussein's chemical weapon attacks fill the hospital's specially designated wards
— most are middle-aged men but there are women too. All are slowly dying.
Across Iran thousands more cases are emerging each year because the effects of
mustard gas poisoning can take a decade or two to surface. Although the war
ended 18 years ago, at least 55,000 Iranians are now being treated. Another
40,000, mostly civilians, need help but lack documents proving that they are war
victims. A million Iranian soldiers and civilians may have been exposed to
chemical agents during the 1980-88 conflict.
“The number of new cases is unbelievable,” says Shahriar Khateri, of the Society
for Chemical Weapons Victims Support. “We have new ones every day.”
Iraqi Kurds yesterday commemorated the 20th anniversary of Saddam's infamous
chemical weapon attacks on his own citizens in the town of Halabja, in northern
Iraq, but Dr Kahteri says that the Iranians are truly “the forgotten victims of
Saddam's war crimes” because of their country's pariah status.
Few foreigners know of their fate, he says. They cannot receive the medical care
available in the West. Sanctions and visa problems inhibit international
collaboration on research. “Regardless of political tensions between
governments, this is a humanitarian issue,” he insists. “There are many
scientists and experts in countries like the US and UK who could help these
victims, but unfortunately there's a political barrier...The situation is
getting worse and worse and we can't do anything.”
Dr Khateri, 37, is a victim himself. He went to the front line at 15, one of
thousands of teenagers who rushed to defend the new Islamic Republic from its
neighbour. He survived an attack with nerve agents by injecting himself with
atropine, but inhaled mustard gas in a second attack. In 2004 he developed
respiratory problems that he accepts will become progressively worse because
there is no cure.
Saddam launched more than 350 chemical weapon attacks across the border. Iraq
has since admitted using 1,800 tonnes of mustard gas and 740 tonnes of the
highly toxic nerve agents sarin and tabun. It was the worst use of mustard gas
since the First World War and the first use of nerve agents. Iranian soldiers
often had inadequate masks and little detection and decontamination equipment.
Civilians had nothing.
About 7,000 Iranians died immediately, most from nerve agents. Mustard gas
victims often develop symptoms years later. “The only thing we can do is slow
development of the disease,” says Hamid Jamali, a Sasan hospital doctor who has
watched many patients progress from coughing up blood and phlegm to the point
where they can no longer breathe. Other symptoms include eye damage, cancers,
weakened immune systems and congenital diseases. Dr Khateri says that victims of
chemical attacks also suffer disproportionately from psychological problems.
Sasan's patients are mostly former soldiers or members of the Basij, Iran's
religious volunteer militia. They all tell similar stories of rushing to the
front as teenagers fired with patriotic zeal, of gas attacks that smelt like
rotting vegetables, of feeling sick and dizzy with running eyes and noses.
Several returned to battle after short spells in hospital and survived second or
even third attacks. Years later they developed respiratory problems that left
them unable to work or exercise. Some pulled up pyjama tops to reveal torsos
covered in vivid red spots.
They have all seen colleagues die. They know that their days are numbered. But
they express little self-pity. Indeed, many say that they relish death. “It will
make me a martyr,” explains Mashollah Bababeighi, 43, a former Revolutionary
Guard with a thick cough and wheezy voice. “It will be the greatest source of
pride,” says Mostafa Hussein, 47, a former Basiji.
For Saddam, they feel only hatred. “Damn him,” Mr Khosorojerdi whispers as he
lies dying.
Source: Times Online
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