Angels of Baghdad (Rant 105)

Angels with dirty faces. Not the title of an old Hollywood movie – there is one – but an image vividly conjured up thanks to the Baghdad cherub, Justin Alexander. The young Englishman currently running a great blog (a sort of cyberdiary) from the wrecked Iraqi capital. Indefatigable campaigner for Jubilee Iraq, a global network arguing for the cancellation of Iraq’s crippling foreign debt, Justin writes movingly of the many ragged street urchins begging from foreigners around hotels and public buildings.



Surely little pests, Fr Frank, aren’t they? You’ve lived in the Middle East. You must know the darned nuisance of these street hasslers…



Hold it right there! You’ve got the wrong end of the stick, mate. The kids in question are orphans. They used to live in institutions, now either destroyed by bombing or looted or collapsed in the appalling chaos caused by Western ‘liberation’. In an Arab society, where the family is the basic unit of care, support and protection, being bereaved of parents and relatives is the greatest misfortune. Orphans have no option but to starve or beg. Or steal. Or prostitute themselves. And that is what those Baghdad children are doing - at increasing risk to their own lives. Children are usually much safer in Muslim countries than they are in the West but, in violent, anarchic post-Saddam Baghdad, everybody is too busy with self-survival to care about dirty, dangerous street beggars.



‘I lack the time, skill and resources to do something about these kids’, confesses Justin. He suggests there might be a job for someone here – maybe you?



Reader, are you listening?



Indeed, Fr Frank, message received. But what about yourself?



A good point. I wish I was another Father Borrelli.



Eh? Who he?



A Neapolitan priest. A real person described in Morris West’s wonderful book, Children of the Sun. About another set of abandoned street urchins, Napoli’s post-WWII scugnizzi. A dirty, lawless lot roaming the streets, sleeping rough, stealing from shopkeepers, tourists and fighting rival gangs. Detested and shunned by respectable people and uncared for by society, the scugnizzi seemed beyond redemption until… Fr Borrelli turned up. (Rather, God sent him.)



Hmm, typical do-gooder, I suppose.



At first, more of a do-badder. Young enough to pass for a scugnizzo, Fr Borrelli did something both daring and dangerous. Donning civilian clothes, he disguised himself as a homeless vagabond and joined the boys’ gangs. Went as far to go with them on minor criminal expeditions. In so doing, he gained their confidence. The greatest risk he took when it came to revealing his real identity. Would the kids have felt betrayed? Thought him a police spy? Stabbed him to death? Real possibilities. But the gamble paid off. The boys recognised the priest’s good motives. Eventually, Fr Borrelli was able to offer them a chance to get off the streets. A home. Acceptance. Job-training. Values. Faith. A new, better life.



What a fine, heart-warming story, Fr Frank!



More than that. A parable. You see, the priest’s decision to become one with the urchins in order to save them mirrors the supernatural Christian narrative. Don’t Christians believe God, to save us, out of tremendous love, had to become one of us? At the greatest cost to himself – the Cross?



Gosh, hadn’t thought of that. But how well would that go down in Muslim Baghdad?



Islam rejects the Incarnation, of course. Indeed, it could be called a religion of protest against it. But the Qur’an commends justice and enjoins care for the poor and the orphans - the Prophet Muhammad himself was an orphan. Selfless sacrifice, no doubt, is appreciated in downtown Baghdad as much as in Naples or New York or Banjul. High theology apart, everybody understands love. And love – practical, concrete, helpful love - is what the Baghdad’s angels with dirty faces need right now.



So, Fr Frank, what are you waiting? Perhaps God calls you to be another Fr Borrelli…



Well, not exactly like him, alas. I doubt I’d be able to look like one of those kids. Their grandfather, more likely. And my Arabic is pitiful. This is a job for someone with real skills and experience of what is involved, not for romantic, idealistic dreamers (like me). Which is not to say that I am closed to the call of the Holy Spirit – however reckless that may appear to be. Writes the beloved disciple: “The Spirit blows where it wills. You hear the sound of it but you do not know whence it comes and where it goes. So it is with everyone moved by the Spirit.”(St John 3:8) Or, in Frankie Lane’s demotic paraphrase, “I must go where the wild goose goes”.



Cool. Well, it’s good Fr Borrelli’s story has a happy ending, anyway.



Again, not quite. Despite his apparent success, he found the Bishop and the Church less than helpful – I know the feeling. Slowly, he was ostracised. Had he gone too far? Was he too much of a Christian? (Always a tricky thing for a priest…) In the end, Fr Borrelli left the priesthood. I seem to remember he married an Australian lass called Jill. But he is not the real point of all this. The kids are. I wish I knew how many of them really succeeded in pulling out of a life of petty crime for good or were dragged back into it.



Too stark, Fr Frank. At least the priest gave them a chance. Surely they liked him.



True. As I said, it might have gone very differently. Love does not always beget love. Often, quite the opposite – see the Cross. Baghdad’s gory Muslim martyrology illustrates this. The Sufi saint Al-Hallaj was flogged, savagely mutilated, impaled and then left to die on a cross-like gibbet in the scorching Baghdad sun by right-thinking fellow believers – and all this because he loved God too much.



Gulp… ranging disturbingly far and wide as usual, Fr Frank. Where do we go from here?



Back to the goodly cherub of Baghdad, my friend Justin Alexander. Check out his weblog. Let us see whether we can support the ordinary people of Iraq to recover from the triple ordeal of tyranny, war and occupation. Let us pool out intellectual and practical resources. I believe in collaborative philanthropy. Can we come up with some good ideas how to help the children of Baghdad? We must. And, Insh’allah, we will.