I am an opponent of Saddam Hussein, but an opponent also, of the

Hear, O seeker of justice, the fiery words of George Galloway: “I am an opponent of Saddam Hussein, but an opponent also, of the sanctions that have killed a million Iraqi children and an opponent of the United States’ apparent desire to plunge the Middle East into a new and devastating war.” These words ring with both defiance and grief. They carry the weight of conscience, for Galloway spoke not as a defender of tyrants, but as one who saw the innocent crushed between the stones of great powers. His voice was a warning that the struggle against evil must never give birth to evils greater still.

The origin of this quote lies in the long shadow of the Gulf War and the sanctions imposed upon Iraq in the 1990s. After Saddam Hussein’s invasion of Kuwait, the world rallied to repel his forces, and once he was driven back, sanctions were placed upon his regime. These sanctions, meant to weaken the dictator, instead fell most heavily upon the weak, the poor, the children. Food grew scarce, medicine rarer still. Reports claimed that hundreds of thousands of Iraqi children died as a consequence. Galloway, a fierce critic of both Saddam and the West, named this truth: to fight tyranny with cruelty against innocents is to become a tyrant oneself.

Consider the image of a hospital in Baghdad, where children wasted away from malnutrition and disease, not because their land lacked food, but because the sanctions strangled supply. What crime had these children committed? Were they soldiers of Saddam? No—they were victims of both his rule and the world’s punishment. Here lies the essence of Galloway’s lament: when the instruments of justice destroy the innocent, they cease to be justice. The world’s wrath fell not only upon the guilty, but upon the most vulnerable.

History gives us echoes of this tragedy. Recall the siege of Leningrad during the Second World War, where civilians starved by the hundreds of thousands as armies encircled the city. There too, leaders claimed military necessity, yet the suffering was borne by the powerless. Sanctions, like sieges, claim lives indiscriminately. Galloway saw in Iraq a modern siege, stretching not for months, but for years. He feared that beyond this suffering, the thirst of the powerful would drive the region into further bloodshed—what he called a new and devastating war.

The deeper meaning of his words is this: one may oppose a tyrant without embracing the cruelty of empire. True moral vision sees beyond the simple division of friend and foe. It asks, always, “Who suffers most?” and if the answer is the innocent, then the policy is unjust. To oppose Saddam was righteous, but to crush children beneath the banner of opposing him was wickedness masquerading as virtue. Thus Galloway calls us to a higher standard: that in the fight against evil, one must never abandon compassion.

The lesson for us is clear: never allow hatred for one enemy to blind you to the suffering of others. Do not accept that the death of innocents is the unavoidable cost of politics. For the child in Baghdad, in Gaza, in Aleppo, or in Kyiv, knows nothing of geopolitics—they only know hunger, fear, and grief. If policies destroy them, those policies are crimes, no matter how noble the language in which they are dressed. Justice without mercy becomes cruelty, and war without conscience becomes murder.

Therefore, O listener, take this wisdom into your heart: when you oppose evil, oppose it with integrity. Speak against tyrants, but also against the cruelty of those who claim to fight tyranny while harming the weak. Support peace where war tempts you, and relief where sanctions starve the helpless. For as George Galloway declared, one may oppose the dictator and the empire alike, if both bring suffering upon the innocent. This is the way of true justice, and the path of compassion in a world too often blinded by rage.