Issue date: December 17, 2000

In this article:
About Amanpour
You can help war's youngest victims: Red Cross donation for Mideast relief

Internal Strife

War correspondent. Dedicated journalist. Now add "new mother."

Here, CNN's Christiane Amanpour details for the first time how having a child profoundly alters the way she covers the world.

Jerusalem -- It was Thursday, Sept. 28, as I was sitting at home in London, when I realized I was in trouble.

I had just heard that Ariel Sharon, the leader of Israel's right-wing Likud Party, had walked onto the Temple Mount, sacred to Jews as the site of the second Israeli temple but also holy to Muslims as the spot from which they believe the prophet Mohammed ascended to heaven. The visit had immediately unleashed the pent-up fury among Palestinians.

But the politics were not my concern. The violence was. With all hell breaking loose, I knew, once again, my phone would ring and the assignment desk at CNN headquarters in Atlanta would want to get me out the door and on a plane to Israel.

After all, don't I specialize in precisely this kind of story? I've been shot at in Bosnia and dodged gunfire from hostile militias in Somalia and Rwanda. Now, the assignment was Israel. What was the big deal?

The big deal was that I did not know if I wanted to go this time. After a decade spent on front lines, in battle zones and besieged cities, chasing danger all over the world, my life had changed, and I had a new kind of responsibility.

Now I was not only a wife, but a mother, too. I had just come off maternity leave; my son was exactly 6 months old.

This was going to be the test. Could I continue being a war reporter and a mother? My line of work may be a little extreme, but like just about every mother in the world, I now faced the eternal dilemma: how to balance my professional and personal lives.

For the past 10 years, I had had little thought for my own safety. Nor was I inclined to have a serious personal relationship -- and certainly not a child because, as I had once told an interviewer, a mother had a responsibility to try to stay alive! I was passionate about my work, and I knew I could not split my loyalties.

Now my words were coming back to haunt me. I had been quite cavalier before, even throughout my pregnancy. When anyone asked me whether I would continue my crazy life, I would say, "Oh, yes, and I'm looking for bulletproof Snugglies for the baby, too!" I was determined to prove a professional woman can actually do it all.

Now I had to put aside the bravado and decide whether I would willingly place myself in harm's way again.

Reluctantly, I walked out of the house. I am able to dash off virtually at a moment's notice because I am lucky enough to have live-in help. My husband and I also agree to avoid traveling at the same time.

All the way on the flight to Israel my heart was pounding. I don't remember feeling this kind of fear before. And I knew what it was: I was afraid of leaving behind a motherless son. I was afraid of checking out of a home and family life that has become as important and satisfying as my work.

I became quite morbid, quite irrational, even imagining the plane would crash before I ever got to the war zone. I actually had to tell myself to get a grip.

Fortunately, once I hit the ground all the old instincts quickly kicked in, all my old passion for the job reawakened. I realized it is in my blood.

As a concession to my new status as a mother, I did something I had always hesitated to do: I put on my bulletproof jacket before heading off to work. On the way to cover the latest clashes between Palestinian demonstrators and Israeli soldiers, I even found myself on the mobile phone, calling home to organize baby sitters, play groups and menus!

Life had certainly changed.

Beyond the fear, which in the end is manageable, for a new mother this story is torture. There are just so many children on the front lines being hurt and killed.

Until you have your own child you never really understand the power of a parent's love and concern. My husband and I are always amazed by how we feel differently now, even watching movies or reading books about parents and children. For the first time we understand what it means to feel vulnerable.

You've all seen the pictures of Palestinian children throwing stones at Israeli army positions for the past two months. As a journalist, I know this intifada is different. This time, unlike the uprising that began in 1987, there is gunfire from both sides. This time, the violence is even more tragic, given how close a permanent peace seemed this summer when Israeli Prime Minister Ehud Barak offered unprecedented concessions to the Palestinians at Camp David.

As a journalist I know all that, but as a mother I am horrified by the daily death of children. Of about 240 people killed, mostly Palestinians -- the number as I write this -- 55 are under 18, according to a Palestinian Human Rights group tabulating the daily death toll. I find this particularly hard to take these days. Some of the dead are as young as 7, 9. A baby, 1 1/2 years old, was killed. All died of gunshot wounds, some in the head, others in the chest. One little boy died wearing his school uniform and backpack.

The rage has reached such a pitch that the kids have gotten swept up in the action. In the poverty-stricken Palestinian ghettos, it's almost become a game in which many children, like the adults, feel they have nothing left to lose.

I covered the funerals of three young men in the Gaza Strip, one 13 years old. His face looked so innocent. I wondered whether he had ever really understood that he could end up dead.

My driver, Abu-Ali, made me realize how difficult it is to be a parent in this worn-torn region. He had just called home to make sure everyone was safe, only to be told that his 6-year-old son had been out with the demonstrators. He yelled at his son, told him to stay home or he would give him a good hiding. The little boy, in all his innocence, told him, "But Dad, I was just defending my country." Sweet, perhaps, and terribly, terribly sad. A 6-year-old swept up in rhetoric and passions he has yet to fully comprehend. All I could think was: What would I do if that had been my son? Near Jerusalem, a class of Jewish kindergartners had to cower beneath their tables during a gun battle outside.

In the past decade, I have witnessed the effect of war on children from Africa to Afghanistan, Bosnia to Kosovo, and now in the Middle East. Too often, they are victims of their parents' wars. My reporting always has been affected by the sight of children who have been hurt or killed. But now, as any mother reading this will understand, it's sheer torture to enter a ward full of moaning, wounded children. I am so much more aware that this kind of trauma suffered by children, wherever they are, could sow the seeds of sadness and strife for at least another generation.

No matter what your faith, Jerusalem is a profoundly spiritual place. It's a city in which to ponder not just the politics and religion of this region, but also to reflect on the big questions you may have about your own life and work.

For me, the questions are coming fast and furious now. I had a terrible shock back in May, when I was still on maternity leave and my son was 6 weeks old. Two of my best friends and colleagues were killed in an ambush while on assignment in Sierra Leone. I thought about how easily that could have been me. But I was also angry, because these days American news organizations are retreating from coverage of foreign news, retreating from the kinds of stories my colleagues and I risk our lives for.

This trend is perhaps the single biggest frustration in my life today. Why do we keep coming to all these places, abandoning our comfortable homes, leaving our husbands and sons, when we don't even know whether the news we cover, the stories we tell, will ever make it onto your television screens or into your newspapers?

Our bosses tell us that you, the American readers and viewers, don't care about anything that takes place in the rest of the world. I do not believe that. From the letters and calls I get, I have found Americans to be decent, compassionate people who do care when human rights are being trampled, when children are being killed, when people are starving, no matter where in the world that happens. I also believe strongly that if Americans rightly believe in promoting their democratic values and morals around the world, then they do need to know about the world.

All these thoughts were going through my mind as I landed in Israel, and in the days and weeks to come in my new role as working mother.

People may wonder why I continue doing this. They may even fault me. Believe me, I have asked that question of myself many, many times. My answer is this: I have to. I deeply believe that my profession is among the most noble.

When my son is old enough to look me in the eye and ask me, "Mummy, why do you go to those dangerous places? What will happen to me if you get killed?" I hope I will be able to say, "Because I have to. Because if the storytellers quit, the bad people will win." Then again, he has not yet asked me, and I really don't know what I will say when he does.

About Amanpour

Age: 42. Born in London to British and Iranian parents. Has University of Rhode Island journalism degree.

Lives in London with her husband, ex-U.S. State Department spokesman Jamie Rubin, 40. Married in 1998; her friend JFK Jr. attended wedding.

Son Darius, 7 months, is named for an ancient Persian king.

Started at CNN in 1983 as assistant on foreign desk. Became familiar face while covering 1991 Gulf War. Now chief foreign correspondent, reporting from all the world's hot spots.

Has won many reporting awards. Also contributes to CBS' 60 Minutes.

-- Michele Hatty

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You can help war's youngest victims

As Amanpour's story dramatically reminds us, children too often are caught at the violent center of headline-grabbing hostilities. Because of this, USA WEEKEND is teaming up with the American Red Cross to support emergency relief for young victims and their families. That aid could include such essentials as medical supplies and blankets.

Secure contributions can be made online at
https://www.redcross.org/donate/donation-form.asp
(within the "Gift Amount and Fund" option, highlight "Middle East Crisis Fund").

To make a secure credit-card donation over the phone, call the Red Cross at 1-800-HELP NOW (435-7669) and ask specifically to give to the USA WEEKEND Mideast Relief Project. (Spanish speakers, call 1-800-257-7575.) Or send a check, payable to the American Red Cross, to:

USA WEEKEND Mideast Relief Project
c/o American Red Cross
P.O. Box 37243
Washington, D.C. 20013

(Write "USA WEEKEND" in the check's memo line so we can keep track of donations.)