[Column] In Lebanon, we are lambs to the slaughter

Reem Haddad, contributing writer, is a Lebanese mother with two children, and a former reporter for Lebanese newspaper The Daily Star

I have never felt that my life is expendable. It was a shock to realize that my life and that of my children are actually quite worthless. Condoleezza Rice may as well have said that. She continues to reiterate her government's position of opposing any immediate ceasefire. I wonder, Ms. Rice, if you would feel that way if you and yours were being shelled. One extra second. Once extra minute. One extra hour of bombardment makes all the difference between life and death. And as you, Ms Rice, are taking your time calling for a ceasefire -- which Israel will immediately apply -- let me ask you a question: do you have enough milk for your children? Are your little ones trembling with fear when the windows of your home keep shaking? Perhaps you are not a mother and therefore lack this very important maternal instinct. It is called love. And when you have this instinct, when a child -- any child -- is killed, your heart feels like it has been wrenched from its place.

Perhaps had you graced us with an immediate ceasefire, 60 civilians wouldn't have been killed yesterday as they huddled for safety in the basement of their home in the southern village of Qana. Most of them were children. I couldn't stop crying as television footage showed child after child being pulled from the rubble. They were so little. My four-year-old daughter, Yasmine, managed to glimpse a few scenes before I quickly turned the television off.

"Why are they sleeping?" she asked me. "It's still sunny outside."

I haven't yet introduced the concept of death to her, let alone a massacre.

"They're very tired," I replied curtly, adding that I somehow managed to catch a cold as tears continued to roll down my cheeks.

Yasmine looked at me skeptically. I didn't know what else to say. My childhood was stolen away from me during Lebanon's 16-year-long civil war and I desperately wanted to preserve my children's innocence. And so I lied. And I continue to lie.

But she is not fooled. She burst into tears and clung on to a visitor who came to check on us yesterday after we took refuge in the mountains.

"I want you to be my prince," she told him. "I am a princess. I am a pink princess."

Perhaps I have allowed Disney stories too much into our home. For in all the fairytales, the prince ends up saving the princess and taking her away.

I stared helplessly at my distraught little girl and silently cursed Rice. This could end this minute, this second, if only she would say the words.

Instead, the US expressed their "shock" over the Qana attack but did not condemn it. If anything, they seemed to listen patiently as Israel calmly said they needed another "10 to 14 days" to complete their mission in Lebanon. We could all be dead in 10 to 14 days. My journalist husband covering the news could be dead in 10 to 14 days. Our home could be destroyed in 10 to 14 days. More children will be burned alive in 10 to 14 days. My children could be psychologically traumatized forever in 10 to 14 days.

But - and I have realized this with a certain amount of shock - we don't matter. Rice's life will continue as it is, whether we are dead or alive.

We are but lambs to be sacrificed.