Akila...
There was an attempt yesterday on Akila Al-Hashimi's life. We heard about yesterday morning and have been listening for news ever since. She lives in Jihad Quarter and was leaving for work yesterday when two pick-up trucks with armed men cut off her car and opened fire on her and her 'bodyguards'- her brothers. Neighbors heard the commotion, armed themselves and went out to see what it was. The neighbors and the gang began shooting at eachother.

Akila was taken to Al-Yarmuk hospital where her stomach was operated upon and then shipped off in an American army ambulance to no one knows where, but people say it was probably the hospital they have set up in Baghdad Airport. They say she was wounded in the foot, the shoulder and the stomach- her condition is critical, but stable.

It's depressing because she was actually one of the decent members on the council. She was living in Iraq and worked extensively in foreign affairs in the past. It's also depressing because of what it signifies- that no female is safe, no matter how high up she is...

Everyone has their own conjectures on who it could have been. Ahmad Al-Chalabi, of course, right off, before they even started investigations said, "It was Saddam and his loyalists!"- he's beginning to sound like a broken record... but no one listens to him anyway. The FBI in Iraq who examined the site said they had no idea yet who it could be. Why would it be Ba'athists if Akila herself was once a Ba'athist and handled relations with international organizations in the Ministry of Foreign Affairs before the occupation? Choosing her was one of the smartest thing the CPA did since they got here. It was through her contacts and extensive knowledge of current Iraqi foreign affairs that Al-Chalabi and Al-Pachichi were received at the UN as 'representatives' of the Iraqi people. She was recently chosen as one of three from the Governing Council, along with Al-Pachichi, to work as a sort of political buffer between the Governing Council and the new cabinet of ministers.

But there has been bitterness towards her by some of the more extreme members of the Governing Council- not only is she female, wears no hijab and was the first actual 'foreign representative' of the new government, but she was also a prominent part of the former government. The technique used sounds like the same used with those school principals who were killed and the same used with that brilliant female electrician who was assassinated... I wonder if Akila got a 'warning letter'. She should have had better protection. If they are not going to protect one of only 3 female members of the Governing Council, then who are they going to protect? Who is deemed worthy of protection?

Yeah, Baghdad is real safe when armed men can ride around in SUVs and pick-ups throwing grenades and opening fire on the Governing Council, of all people.

I really hope they find whoever did this, and I hope the punishment is severe.

- posted by river @ 2:07 PM

 
Terrorists...
The weather has 'broken' these last few days. It's still intolerably hot, but there's a wind. It's a heavy, dusty wind more reminiscent of a gust from a blow-dryer than an actual breeze. But it is none-the-less a wind, and we are properly grateful.

The electrical situation is bizarre. For every 6 hours of electricity, three hours of darkness. I wish they would give us electricity all night and cut it off during the day. During the day it's hotter, but at least you can keep busy with something like housework or a book. At night the darkness brings along all the fears, the doubts and… the mosquitoes. All the sounds are amplified. It's strange how when you can see, you can't hear so many things… or maybe you just stop listening.

Everyone is worried about raids lately. We hear about them from friends and relatives, we watch them on tv, outraged, and try to guess where the next set of raids are going to occur.

Anything can happen. Some raids are no more than seemingly standard weapons checks. Three or four troops knock on the door and march in. One of them keeps an eye of the 'family' while the rest take a look around the house. They check bedrooms, kitchens, bathrooms and gardens. They look under beds, behind curtains, inside closets and cupboards. All you have to do is stifle your feelings of humiliation, anger and resentment at having foreign troops from an occupying army search your home.

Some raids are, quite simply, raids. The door is broken down in the middle of the night, troops swarm in by the dozens. Families are marched outside, hands behind their backs and bags upon their heads. Fathers and sons are pushed down on to the ground, a booted foot on their head or back.

Other raids go horribly wrong. We constantly hear about families who are raided in the small hours of the morning. The father, or son, picks up a weapon- thinking they are being attacked by looters- and all hell breaks loose. Family members are shot, others are detained and often women and children are left behind wailing.

I first witnessed a raid back in May. The heat was just starting to become unbearable and we were spending the whole night without electricity. I remember lying in my bed, falling in and out of a light sleep. We still weren't sleeping on the roof because the whole night you could hear gunshots and machinegun fire not very far away- the looters still hadn't organized themselves into gangs and mafias.

At around 3 am, I distinctly heard the sound of helicopters hovering not far above the area. I ran out of the room and into the kitchen and found E. pressing his face to the kitchen window, trying to get a glimpse of the black sky.

"What's going on?!" I asked, running to stand next to him.
"I don't know… a raid? But it's not an ordinary raid… there are helicopters and cars, I think…"

I stopped focusing on the helicopters long enough to listen to the cars. No, not cars- big, heavy vehicles that made a humming, whining sound. E. and I looked at one another, speechless- tanks?! E. turned on his heel and ran upstairs, taking the steps two at a time. I followed him clumsily, feeling for the banister all the way up, my mind a jumble of thoughts and conjectures.

Out on the roof, the sky was black streaked with light. Helicopters were hovering above, circling the area. E. was leaning over the railing, trying to see into the street below. I approached tentatively and he turned back to me, "It's a raid… on Abu A.'s house!" He pointed three houses down the road.

Abu A. was an old, respected army general who had retired in the mid '80s. He lived a quiet life in his two-storey house on our street. All I knew about him was that he had four kids- two daughters and two sons. The daughters were both married. One of them was living in London with her husband and the other one was somewhere in Baghdad. The one in Baghdad had a 3-year-old son we'll call L. I know this because, without fail, ever since L. was six months old, Abu A. would proudly parade him up and down our street in a blue and white striped stroller.

It was a scene I came to expect every Friday evening: the tall, worn, old man pushing the small blue stroller holding the round, pink, drooling L.

I had never talked to Abu A. until last year. I was watering the little patch of grass in front of the wall around our garden and trying not to stare at the tall old man walking alongside the tottering toddler. Everything my mother had taught me about how impolite it was to ogle people ran around in my brain. I turned my back to the twosome as they came down the street and casually drowned the flowers growing on the edge of the plot of grass.

Suddenly, a voice asked, "Can we wash ourselves?" I turned around, stupefied. Abu A. and L. stood there, smeared with enough chocolate to qualify for a detergent commercial. I handed over the hose, almost drenching them in the process, and watched as the old man washed L.'s sticky, little fingers and wiped clean the pursed lips while saying, "His mother can't see him like this!"

And after handing back the hose, they were off on their way, once again… I watched them go down the remainder of the street to Abu A.'s home- stopping every few steps so L. could look down at some insect that had caught his attention.

That was last year… or maybe 9 months ago… or maybe a 100 years ago. Tonight, the armored cars were pulling up to Abu A.'s house, the helicopters were circling above, and the whole area was suddenly a mess of noise and lights.

E. and I went back downstairs. My mother stood anxiously by the open kitchen door, looking out at my father who was standing at the gate. E. and I ran outside to join him and watch the scene unfolding only 3 houses away. There was shouting and screaming- the deep, angry tones of the troops mixed with the shriller voices of the family and neighbors- the whole symphony boding of calamity and fear.

"What are they doing? Who are they taking?!" I asked no one in particular, gripping the warm, iron gate and searching the street for some clue. The area was awash with the glaring white of headlights and spotlights and dozens of troops stood in front of the house, weapons pointed- tense and ready. It wasn't long before they started coming out: first it was his son, the 20-year-old translation student. His hands were behind his back and he was gripped by two troops, one on either side. His head kept twisting back anxiously as they marched him out of the house, barefoot. Next, Umm A., Abu A.'s wife, was brought out, sobbing, begging them not to hurt anyone, pleading for an answer… I couldn't hear what she was saying, but I saw her looking left and right in confusion and I said the words instead of her, "What's going on? Why are they doing this?! Who are they here for?"

Abu A. was out next. He stood tall and erect, looking around him in anger. His voice resonated in the street, above all the other sounds. He was barking out questions- demanding answers from the troops, and the bystanders. His oldest son A. followed behind with some more escorts. The last family member out of the house was Reem, A.'s wife of only 4 months. She was being led firmly out into the street by two troops, one gripping each thin arm.

I'll never forget that scene. She stood, 22 years old, shivering in the warm, black night. The sleeveless nightgown that hung just below her knees exposed trembling limbs- you got the sense that the troops were holding her by the arms because if they let go for just a moment, she would fall senseless to the ground. I couldn't see her face because her head was bent and her hair fell down around it. It was the first time I had seen her hair… under normal circumstances, she wore a hijab.

That moment I wanted to cry… to scream… to throw something at the chaos down the street. I could feel Reem's humiliation as she stood there, head hanging with shame- exposed to the world, in the middle of the night.

One of the neighbors, closer to the scene, moved forward timidly and tried to communicate with one of the soldiers. The soldier immediately pointed his gun at the man and yelled at him to keep back. The man held up an 'abaya', a black cloak-like garment some females choose to wear, and pointed at the shivering girl. The soldier nodded curtly and told him to, "Move back!". "Please," came the tentative reply, "Cover her…" He gently put the abaya on the ground and went back to stand at his gate. The soldier looking unsure, walked over, picked it up and awkwardly put it on the girl's shoulders.

I gripped at the gate as my knees weakened, crying… trying to make sense of the mess. I could see many of the neighbors, standing around, looking on in dismay. Abu A.'s neighbor, Abu Ali, was trying to communicate with one of the troops. He was waving his arm at Umm A. and Reem, and pointing to his own house, obviously trying to allow them to take the women inside his home. The troop waved over another soldier who, apparently, was a translator. During raids, a translator hovers in the background inconspicuously- they don't bring him forward right away to communicate with terrified people because they are hoping someone will accidentally say something vital, in Arabic, thinking the troops won't understand, like, "Honey, did you bury the nuclear bomb in the garden like I told you?!"

Finally, Umm A. and Reem were allowed inside of Abu Ali's house, escorted by troops. Reem walked automatically, as if dazed, while Umm A. was hectic. She stood her ground, begging to know what was going to happen… wondering where they were taking her husband and boys… Abu Ali urged her inside.

The house was ransacked… searched thoroughly for no one knows what- vases were broken, tables overturned, clothes emptied from closets…

By 6 am the last cars had pulled out. The area was once more calm and quiet. I didn't sleep that night, that day or the night after. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Abu A. and his grandson L. and Reem… I saw Umm A., crying with terror, begging for an explanation.

Abu A. hasn't come back yet. The Red Cross facilitates communication between him and his family… L. no longer walks down our street on Fridays, covered in chocolate, and I'm wondering how old he will be before he ever sees his grandfather again…








- posted by river @ 2:09 AM

 
Bushmail
Feeling much better today... but the thing that cheered me up the most was some 'fanmail' from George W. 'hisself' so I thought I would share it with y'all ...
(Thank you Bob Fredrick- you know how to make a girl smile)

***

Dear Iraqi Person,

Could y'all please stop killin' each other? The folks over here are startin' to
git madder than a feller in a canoe what done forgot his paddle! Wuts worse,
the more y'all keep tellin' folks on that com-putter thing-a-ma-bob wuts goin'
on down there, the more they don't pay no attention to my TV reporter guys on
Fox to tell 'em wut they need to know! Next thing ya know, I'll be out on my
butt come next eleckshun an' Daddy'll hafta start me another oil company so I
can look like I'm an important guy who is reely smart!

At the last meetin' I got to go to with Daddy & all his friends, Mr. Ashcroft
said wut we need to do is git Iraq some of them "Patriot Act" freedoms so we can
start lockin' more people up, but Mr. Powell told him to "keep it in his pants"
wut ever that means. Daddy & Mr. Cheney wuz laughin' an' havin a good ole time
cuz they just read some kind of profit paper fer Mr. Cheney's company that he
ain't sposed to work for anymore . uh.Halyberton or sumptin like that..Then they
wuz about to go inta whut we're gonna do in Iraq, but Mr. Cheney reminded Daddy
that it was my bed time, so I had to leave.

So, if ya'll could do me a favor, please stop all that killin' and when ya see
camera or reporter guys, just smile and tell'em just how much yer lives have
gotten better since us 'mericans came and liverated ya'll! Keep it up and Daddy
tells me after I'm re-elektid, we can liverate Iran & Syria next! Ain't that
cool!

Yer Bestest Buddy,

George W. Bush,

Pres. Of Texas & 'Merica

(Note: All spelling errors are original to the soon-to-be-unemployed chimp that
wrote them.)


- posted by river @ 12:10 AM

 
Girl Power and Post-War Iraq
I've been a bit sick these last few days. I seem to have come down with something similar to the flu that has left me red-eyed, runny-nosed and feverish. I didn't actually realize I was sick until the electricity went off the day before yesterday: there was a collective groan as the heat instantly settled down upon us like a wool blanket and all I could say was, "What heat?!"

The family looked at me like maybe I was crazy- or feverish- and it finally hit me why the room took to dancing around before my eyes every few minutes... why the sunlight made me wince and squint in pain, rather like a bat.

So I spent yesterday on a couch in the living room, surrounded by tissues and Flu-Out (a favorite Iraqi flu medication). I watched tv whenever it was available and even managed to drag myself to the computer two or three times. The screen would move in waves in front of my bleary eyes so I'd give up trying to make sense of the dancing letters after a few minutes.

At night I focused enough to watch "For Females Only", a weekly program on Al-Jazeera. It left me feeling enraged and depressed. The subject was, as usual, Iraq. The program was hosting three Iraqi females: Dr. Shatha Jaffar, Yanar Mohammed and Iman Abdul Jabar.

Yanar Mohammed is an architect who has been living in Canada ever since 1993, as far as I know. She is the founder of the "Organization of Women's Freedom in Iraq" which was based in Canada until a couple of months ago. Dr. Shatha Jaffar I haven't heard of. I think she left Iraq at the age of 15 (she is now in her 40s) and is also heading some sort of Iraqi women's movement, although the caption under her name said, "Women's Rights Activist". Iman Abdul Jabar was apparently representative of some sort of Islamic women's movement and was, as far as I could tell, living in Iraq the whole time.

Iman and Yanar both had a distinctive advantage over Shatha because they were both actually living in Iraq. The discussion was regarding how much women's rights in Iraq had been affected after the occupation- how females were being abducted, raped and forced into a certain form of dress or action.

Yanar claimed that women's equality couldn't be achieved except through a secular government because an Islamic government would definitely hurt women's rights. I don't necessarily agree with that. If there were an Islamic government based purely on the teachings of Islam, women would be ensured of certain nonnegotiable rights like inheritance, the right to an education, the right to work and earn money, the right to marry according to her will and the right to divorce her husband. Of course, there would be limitations in the way females dress and other restrictions.

Islamic government doesn't work because the people running the show usually implement certain laws and rules that have nothing to do with Islam and more to do with certain chauvinistic ideas in the name of Islam- like in Iran and Saudi Arabia.

Iman Abdul Jabar was taking Rumsfeld's attitude to the situation- see no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil. She claimed that she knew nothing about any extremists belonging to Al-Sadr and Al-Hakim coming into schools during the exams, pulling 'safirat' (girls without hijab) out of tests and threatening that they wouldn't be allowed to come to school anymore if they didn't wear a hijab. She says she has heard nothing of all the signs and banners hanging all over colleges and universities in Baghdad condemning females who didn't wear what is considered the traditional Islamic dress. I say 'considered' because there is nothing specifying exactly what is Islamic dress. Some people feel that a hijab is more than enough, while others claim that a burka or pushi are necessary…

Shatha was full of self-righteous blabbering. She instantly lost any point she was trying to make by claiming that girls in Iraq were largely ignorant and illiterate due to the last 30 years. She said that Iraqis began pulling their daughters out of school because non-Ba'athists weren't allowed an education.

Strangely enough, I wasn't a Ba'athist and I got accepted into one of the best colleges in the country based solely on my grades in my final year of high school. None of my friends were Ba'athists and they ended up pharmacists, doctors, dentists, translators and lawyers… I must have been living somewhere else.

Every time Shatha was onscreen, I threw used tissues at her. She feeds into the usual pre-war/post-occupation propaganda that if you weren't a Ba'athist, you weren't allowed to learn. After 35 years that would mean that the only literate, sophisticated and educated people in Iraq are Ba'athists.

Something you probably don't know about Iraq: We have 18 public universities and over 10 private universities, plus 28 technical schools and workshops. The difference between private and public colleges is that the public colleges and universities (like Baghdad University) are free, without tuition. The private colleges ask for a yearly tuition which is a pittance compared to colleges abroad. Public colleges are preferred because they are considered more educationally sound.

Arab students come from all over the region to study in our colleges and universities because they are the best. Europeans interested in learning about Islamic culture and religion come to study in the Islamic colleges. Our medical students make the brightest doctors and our engineers are the most creative…

In 6th year secondary school (12th grade), Iraqi students are made to take a standardized test known as the Bakaloriah. The students are assigned 9-digit numbers and taken to a different school with random examination supervisors to watch over the testing process. For 'science students' the subjects required for examination are math, physics, English, Arabic, chemistry, Islam (for Muslim students only), French (for students taking French), and biology. For non-science students, the subjects are Arabic, English, history, geography, Islam (for Muslims), math, and economics - I think.

As soon as we get our averages, we fill out forms that go to the Ministry of Higher Education. In these forms, you list the colleges and universities you would like to end up in, the first being the one you want most. I recall nothing on the form asking me if I was a Ba'athist or loyalist, but maybe I filled out the wrong form…

Anyway, according to the student's average, and the averages of the people applying to other colleges, the student is 'placed'. You don't even meet the dean or department head until after classes have begun. Ironically, the illiterate females Shatha mentions have higher averages than the males. A guy can get into an engineering college with a 92% while for females, the average is around 96% because the competition between females is so high.

What Shatha doesn't mention is that in engineering, science and medical colleges over half of the students in various departments are females- literate females, by the way. Our male and female graduates are some of the best in the region and many public universities arrange for scholarships and fellowships in Europe and America. But Shatha wouldn't know that…or I must be wrong. Either way, excuse me please, I am after all, illiterate and unlearned.

Iman Abdul Jabar brought up a good point- she said that during the examinations in June and July, the people who were working in the mosques were protecting many of the local schools in Baghdad- which is very true. She doesn't, however, mention that those people aren't likely interested in running for president or any other political position in the country- the people currently mixing religion and politics are Al-Hakim and SCIRI who were terrorizing girls and Al-Sadr and his thugs (who met with Powell this time around and was promised a marvelous political career).

Yanar was outraged during the whole conference. She is currently in Baghdad and they say that there have been attempts made on her life. She read my mind when she said that the story of police in Baghdad was a farce- they weren't nearly enough and the Americans were doing nothing about the security of the people. She said that the theory of females contributing to post-war Iraq politically or socially was a joke. How are females supposed to be out there helping to build society or even make a decent contribution when they suddenly seem to be a #1 target? She talked about a "Women's Conference" arranged by the CPA where she wasn't allowed to enter because the 'women representatives of Iraqi females' were all selected by the feminist extraordinaire L. Paul Bremer.

More and more females are being made to quit work or school or college. I spent last month trying to talk a neighbor's mother into letting her 19-year-old daughter take her retests in a leading pharmaceutical college. Her mother was adamant and demanded to know what she was supposed to do with her daughter's college degree if anything happened to her daughter, "Hang it on her tombstone with the consolation that my daughter died for a pharmaceutical degree??? She can sit this year out."

The worst part of the whole show was when they showed a mortician in Baghdad claiming he hardly ever saw any rape victims! What rape victim is going to go, in our current situation, file a complaint? Who do you complain to? Besides that, women are too ashamed to make rape public, and why bother when you just *know* the person will never be caught- when no one is going to bother to look for the aggressor?

They showed a girl who was around 15 talking about how she was abducted. She went out one morning to buy groceries with a brother who looked around 5 or 6. Suddenly, a red Volkswagen screeched to a stop in front of her. She was pulled inside of the car and the headscarf on her head was used to tie up her mouth. They took her and her little brother to a mud hut far away from A'adhamiya (the area she lives in). She was kept in the hut for 4 days and systematically beaten and questioned- how much money do your parents have? Do you have any valuables in your home? She wasn't allowed to sleep… the only sleep anyone got was her little brother while she held him in her arms. They gave them no food for four days.

Finally, one of the abductors took pity on her. He told her that the rest of the tattooed gang were going to leave somewhere and he would leave the door of the hut open. She should meet him behind a little 'kushuk', or shop, made of straw, down the street. She left the hut with her little brother as soon as the coast was clear. She left the door unlocked because inside the same hut were 15 other girls abducted from a secondary school in Zayoona- a nice residential area in Baghdad where many Christians choose to settle. The man dropped her and her brother off near a hospital far away from her house.

The interview with the girl ended when the reporter asked her if she was still scared… the girl looked incredulous at the question and said, "Of course I'm still scared." The reporter then asked if she was going to go back to school that year… the girl shook her head 'no' as her eyes welled up with tears and the screen faded back to the show.

I spent last night tossing, turning and wondering if they ever found the 15 girls from Zayoona and praying for the sanity of their families…


- posted by river @ 6:25 PM

 
A Modern-Day Fairy Tale
Someone asked me why I didn’t write anything yesterday mentioning September 11. I’ll be perfectly honest- I had forgotten about it until around 2 pm. I woke up to no electricity, washed up and went into the kitchen to help out with breakfast.

I found my mother struggling with the gas cylinder, trying to roll it around on the ground in front of the stove. The cylinder was almost empty and the bright blue flames were orange at the tips, threatening to go out any minute. I stood nervously in the doorway of the kitchen- gas cylinders make me very nervous. After the war, when there wasn’t enough cooking gas to go around, people who sell the gas began mixing kerosene with the cooking gas which resulted in some horrific explosions. Every time we change cylinders, I have a crazy urge to run out of the kitchen and wait to see if it explodes.

My mother looked at me helplessly as the flames began dying away. “E. will have to go see if they’re selling cooking gas at the station.”
“But E. was up until 4 am yesterday…” I remonstrated.
“Ok then- you guys don’t need to drink tea or coffee.”

And that was the beginning of a series of difficulties: almost no water, relatives who dropped by for a lunch that couldn’t be cooked and a wasp’s nest that was terrorizing anyone who ventured into the garden.

By 2 pm, the electricity was back on and I was sitting in front of the tv watching one of the Arabic stations. Suddenly, they showed American troops standing solemnly in a 9/11 Memorial Service being held in… Tikrit (where Saddam was born)!!

I sat watching, confused. I assume it was done in that specific place so some oblivious person can, five years down the line, hold it up as testimony to the world that this whole war was, indeed, about terror and Osama bin Laden and 9/11 and WMD. It was done in that particular place so that someone, a week from now, can write to me and say, “Of course there was a link between Osama and Saddam and that’s why we attacked you. The proof is this: the 9/11 Memorial Service was held in Tikrit.”

This famous ‘missing link’ between Iraq and the war on terror is like, how I imagine, a fairy might look- small, flighty, almost transparent and… nonexistent. Shortly after 9/11, this fairy was caught by the Pentagon and stashed in a cage for all the world to see.

Almost like the Emperor’s new clothes, anyone who could not see this enigmatic creature was accused of being an Enemy of Freedom, a Saddam sympathizer or- horror of horrors!- unpatriotic. They were promptly indicted and burned at the metaphorical stake.

So most people chose to see the fairy. Some people, in fact, really thought they *could* see it. Everyone certainly tried. Unfortunately, the fairy soon began growing smaller and paler under the burning scrutiny of millions of curious eyes.

So what did they decide to do? Bush, Rumsfeld and the rest made a critical decision: the fairy must be protected by a great wall. Plans were drawn up, the toughest bricks were selected and contractors from Fox News, CNN and others were assigned. And with every fresh news story, a brick was laid, until the wall was so high and strong, it became a fortress… and everyone forgot what lay behind it… which was the alleged fairy… who may, or may not have, existed. But it no longer mattered anymore, anyway- the wall itself was there…

And the fairy? The fairy dug an escape tunnel to Iran… or perhaps Syria… or maybe North Korea. Time will tell- she will be caught again.


- posted by river @ 6:22 PM

 
Lately...
I haven’t been writing these last few days because I simply haven’t felt inspired. There’s so much happening on a country-wide scale and so little happening personally. Everything feels chaotic. Seeing what we're supposed to be living on television, differs drastically from actually living it. The moment you hear about something terrible happening somewhere, you let it sink in, then 'take stock' and try to figure out who you have living there and how you can contact them.

Three days ago there was a huge explosion in Arbil (one of the northern Kurdish areas). They say it was a suicide bomber in a car in front of the American intelligence headquarters. The number of casualties varied from news network to news network, but one thing is sure- a child in a house across from the headquarters was killed. Horrible.

There was also an attack on Mosul Hotel in central Mosul where American troops are staying. This was yesterday and no one is giving the number of casualties.

There were attacks on troops in Ramadi and Falloojeh yesterday. In fact, in Khaldiah (an area between Ramadi and Falloojeh) they say there was actual fighting and gunfire lasted over an hour and a half.

In Falloojeh, the police were shot at by American troops this morning. I’m not sure how many died but the whole ‘accident’ was atrocious. They say up to 7 Iraqi policemen were killed in some ‘mistake’ made by the troops. This is going to be horrible for Falloojeh- there’s already so much bitterness against the Americans there because of the shooting incidents in April and May.

There’s still some fighting in Kirkuk (the Turkomen dominated area). The reason is because the Bayshmarga (Kurdish militia) have been assigned to that area. There has always been a sort of hostility between Turkomen and Kurds and having the Bayshmarga running the show isn’t making things any better. Turkey wants to send in ‘peace-keeping’ troops to help secure Kirkuk, but the Kurds are refusing adamantly.

And then there’s Baghdad. What is there to say about Baghdad? Baghdad is a mess. In Zayunah, an elegant area in east Baghdad, there was gang fighting yesterday. People were being shot in the streets, caught between gang crossfire. The scene was frightening and terrible.

We see Iraqi police every once in a while, but their numbers are ridiculous compared to the situation. They wear light blue shirts, dark pants and these black arm badges with IP written on them and the flag. They get to carry around these little 7 mm Berettas that look tiny in their hands. And the guns are always drawn- they try to guide traffic waving a gun, try to stop cars waving a gun, try to stop fights waving a gun- it’s the best means of communication these days- a tank works even better (but you can’t wave it around).

In another area, a 12-year-old boy was shot in his garden while playing. The Americans say he was caught in the crossfire between them and someone else. His mother was almost tearing her hair out and his father was beating the ground and moaning. He looked ready to kill.

People talk about the future and how five years from now, ten years from now, fifty years from now things are going to be better. Some people no longer have a ‘future’. The parents of that boy no longer care about the future of Iraq or the future of America or anything else. They buried their ‘future’ last night. I’m sure the future means as much to them as it does to the parents of the soldiers dying in Iraq on a daily basis.

When Bush 'brought the war to the terrorists', he failed to mention he wouldn't be fighting it in some distant mountains or barren deserts: the frontline is our homes... the 'collateral damage' are our friends and families.

- posted by river @ 6:16 PM

 
Turning Tables...
I've been following TurningTables ever since someone pointed it out to me two weeks ago. 'Moja' somehow puts a human face on the troops in Iraq. I read his blogs and look at the troops and wonder, could that be him? It's strange to read stories from the 'other side'...

I'm glad he's going to be able to go home, safely.

- posted by river @ 6:05 PM

 
Friends, Americans, Countrymen...
I heard/read Bush's speech yesterday. I can't watch him for more than a minute at a time- I hate him that much. He makes me sick. He stands there, squinting his eyes and pursing his lips, going on and on with such blatant lies. And he looks just plain stupid.

I listened for as long as I could tolerate his inane features and grating voice, then turned off the television. Then turned it back on. Then turned the channel. Then turned it back. Then almost threw a cushion at the screen. Then thought better and decided he wasn’t worth it. Is it possible that someone like that is practically running the world? Is it possible he might see another term in the White House? God forbid…

His whole speech was just an idiotic repetition of what he’s been saying ever since Afghanistan, “Give me more money, give me more power- I’m doing this for you. Bechtel and Halliburton have nothing to do with it.” Doesn’t he ever get tired of saying the same words? Don’t people ever get tired of hearing them?

The one thing I agreed with was this: there are terrorists in Iraq. It’s true. Ever since the occupation, they’ve been here by the hundreds and thousands. They are seeping in from neighboring countries through the borders the ‘Coalition of the Willing’ could not protect and would not let the Iraqi army protect. Some of them are even a part of the Governing Council now. Al-Daawa Party is responsible for some of the most terrible bombings in Iraq and other countries in the region.

Yes. I blame America for that. We never had Al-Qaeda or even links to Al-Qaeda. Ansar Al-Islam are supposed to be linked to Al-Qaeda, but they were functioning in the northern territory with the two Kurdish leaders’ knowledge and blessings.

Then there’s this:

“The attacks you have heard and read about in the last few weeks have occurred predominantly in the central region of Iraq, between Baghdad and Tikrit -- Saddam Hussein's former stronghold. The north of Iraq is generally stable and is moving forward with reconstruction and self-government. The same trends are evident in the south, despite recent attacks by terrorist groups.”

Is he serious? Only yesterday an American armored vehicle was burned in front of the University of Mosul in the north. There have been an increasing number of attacks on British troops in the south- we hear about them everyday. As for Baghdad… it has become a common occurrence. Baghdad Airport is constantly under missile attack and we hear of similar attacks all over Baghdad… or maybe the person who gave him that little fact is the same one who told him where to find the WMD…

“Since the end of major combat operations, we have conducted raids seizing many caches of enemy weapons and massive amounts of ammunition, and we have captured or killed hundreds of Saddam loyalists and terrorists.”

Yes, we know all about the ‘raids’. I wish I had statistics on the raids. The ‘loyalists and terrorists’ must include Mohammed Al-Kubeisi of Jihad Quarter in Baghdad who was 11. He went outside on the second floor balcony of his house to see what the commotion was all about in their garden. The commotion was an American raid. Mohammed was shot on the spot. I remember another little terrorist who was killed four days ago in Baquba, a province north-east of Baghdad. This terrorist was 10… no one knows why or how he was shot by one of the troops while they were raiding his family’s house. They found no weapons, they found no Ba’athists, they found no WMD. I hope America feels safer now.

On top of it all, the borders between Iraq and Iran have been given to Badir’s Brigade to guard. Badir’s Brigade. Unbelievable. I thought the borders needed guarding to prevent armed militias like Badir’s Brigade from entering the country. We have a proverb in Arabic: “Emin il bezooneh lahmeh” which means “Entrust a cat with meat.” Yes, give the Iranian borders to Badir’s Brigade. Right on.

Just a couple of days ago, two female school principals were ‘executed’ by Badir’s Brigade in Al-Belidiyat area in Baghdad. They were warned to resign their posts so that a ‘sympathetic’ principal could replace them. They ignored the threat, they were shot. It’s that simple these days. Of course, that’s not terrorism because the targets are Iraqi people. Terrorism is when the Coalition of the Willing are targeted.

Everyone is asking, ‘What should be done?’. Pull out the American troops. Take them home. Bring in UN peace-keeping troops under the Security Council- not led by America.

Let real Iraqis be involved in governing Iraq. Let Iraqis who actually have *families* living in Iraq be involved in governing their country. Let Iraqis who have something to lose govern the country. They aren’t being given a chance. As long as any Iraqi isn’t affiliated with one of the political groups on the Governing Council, no one bothers to listen.

We have thousands of competent, intelligent, innovative people who are eager to move forward but it’s impossible under these circumstances. There’s no security, there’s no work and there’s no incentive. AND THERE’S NO ONE WHO WILL LISTEN. If you’re not a part of the CPA or one of Ahmad Al-Chalabi’s thugs, then you’re worthless. You can’t be trusted.

I read Bush’s speech… just like I’ve read/heard what feels like a thousand different speeches these last few months. Empty words, meaningless phrases.

The abridged version of the speech…

“Friends, Americans, Countrymen, lend me your ears… lend me your sons and daughters, lend me your tax dollars… so we can wage war in the name of American national security (people worldwide are willing to die for it)… so I can cover up my incompetence in failing to protect you… so I can add to the Bush and Cheney family coffers at your expense and the expense of the Iraqi people. I don’t know what I’m doing, but if you spend enough money, you’ll want to believe that I do."






- posted by river @ 10:43 PM

 
Under the Palm Leaves
The water was off and on again today. We filled all the bottles and containers. The water pressure was really low and evidently, our super-low garden faucet is one of the only ones in the area dribbling water at intervals. The neighbors have all sent buckets, pots and messages of love and gratitude… perhaps I have found a job.

The sun was just beginning to set and the sky was a combination of blue, orange and gray. I was standing, in the warm, dry grass, waiting for a pot to fill with water, when I heard someone knocking the garden gate. It was Ihsan, our ten-year-old neighbor across the street. He was holding freshly made ‘khubz’ (something like whole-wheat pita bread) and squinting across the street at his next-door-neighbor’s house.

Ihsan: They found Abu Ra’ad…
Me: What?! Did they? Is he…
Ihsan: He’s dead. Ra’ad and his sisters are at my house.

I looked at the house across the street and saw that three cars were lined up in front of it, as if in a funeral procession. Ihsan followed my gaze and shook his head solemnly, “They didn’t bring him home- they’ll bury him tomorrow at dawn.” He handed me the bread and turned to run back home. As he darted away to cross the street, he lost a flip-flop. He squealed as his foot hit the hot asphalt and hopped around on one leg like some bizarre stork.

I continued watching the late Abu Ra’ad’s beige, stucco house with sadness and relief. The once green creeper all along the sides was yellow and decaying. The curtains were drawn on dusty windows and the whole house looked almost abandoned. The only signs of life were the shiny tiles of the driveway, washed daily by well-meaning neighbors.

They had finally found Abu Ra’ad.

Abu Ra’ad (meaning ‘father of Ra’ad’) was a lawyer with his own private practice… if it could be called that. It was an office in a crowded, mercantile area in Baghdad large enough for three desks: one secretary and a partner.

On April 10, in the middle of the chaos, Abu Ra’ad left his house, his wife and three children to go check on his parents, whom he had lost contact with a week earlier. At 10 am, he got into an old Toyota, said a prayer and headed out to seek his family. He never came back.

For 3 days, Umm Ra’ad (mother of ‘Ra’ad’) thought he was held up at his parents’ house for some reason. Perhaps her husband had found his family hurt? Maybe he had found a parent dead- after all, his father was very sick and old… Maybe the fighting was so heavy, he couldn’t make it out of their area? The possibilities were endless. Finally, one of the other neighbors delivered a note to Umm Ra’ad’s brother asking him to please visit Abu Ra’ad’s family and find out if he was okay. After a long day, Umm Ra’ad’s brother visited her home, grim- Abu Ra’ad wasn’t at his parents’ home. He never made it and no one knew where he was.

For 7 days, everyone thought he was being detained by the Americans. We heard that hundreds of civilians were taken prisoner simply for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Abu Ra’ad’s younger brother, and his brother-in-law, visited authorities every day. They went to the various hotels, they visited the two or three remaining hospitals, and went over endless lists of detainees and POWs in search of Abu Ra’ad.

By the end of April, his family had resigned themselves to Abu Ra’ad’s death. His 35-year-old wife was wearing black from head-to-toe in anticipation of the news she knew she was bound, sooner or later, to receive.

I remember visiting her for the first time in early May. It was an awkward visit because we wanted to hold out hope, yet we knew there was none to give. She sat, very small and dark, on a couch in the living room, shredding tissues listlessly and listening vaguely to the words of commiseration and sympathy that, obviously, brought little or no comfort. Her 3 children, aged 1, 4 and 10 sat near her, unbearably quiet and calm. They sat gauging the situation by their mother’s expression. She knew he was dead, but she couldn’t bring herself to cry.

And still, they didn’t give up the search. They traced his route from his home to Al-Jami’a Quarter, where his parents lived, pausing at every burnt vehicle to examine it and asking the people in the surrounding areas whether they had seen a white 1985 Toyota being driven by a 40-year-old man? Maybe it had been fired at by a tank? Maybe it was hit by an Apache? People were sympathetic, but helpless. No white Toyota- a blue Kia with 6 passengers, a red Volkswagen with a mother, father and two kids… but no white Toyota. Every single time, they were referred to the makeshift graves along the main roads and highways. The temporary graves, for several weeks, lined the main roads of Baghdad.

As the tanks and Apaches invaded the city, they shot left and right at any vehicle in their path. The areas that got it worst were Al-Dawra and Al-A’adhamia. People in residential areas didn’t know what to do with the corpses in the burnt vehicles that had come from other parts of the city. They were the corpses of people and families who were trying to get away from the heavy fighting in their own areas, some of them had been officially evacuated.

The corpses sat decomposing in the heat, beyond identification. Some people tried asking the troops to help deal with them, but the reaction was mainly, “That’s not my job.” Of course not, how silly… your job is to burn the cars, we bury the corpses.

Finally, the people began to bury the corpses along the roadside- near the burnt vehicles so that family members looking for the car would find their loved ones not very far off.

For several weeks, you could see little piles of dirt all over Baghdad, and along the highways leading outside of the city, marked with bricks, or stones, or signs and, always, with palm leaves. The drying, wilting palm leaves were buried, standing up, to mark the graves. Some of the graves had little cardboard placards stuck carefully under a pile of stones to help family members: Adult male, adult female, 2 children in black Mercedes. Adult male, small boy in a white pick-up.

Sometimes the graves were marked by the license plate of the car the victims were in. But most of them were marked with the palm leaves.

For several weeks, there would be people stooping, all along the way, trying to decide if they knew, or recognized, any of the dead. That’s what Abu Ra’ad’s family did, all through May, June, July and August.

Finally, 3 days ago, an old man in his Abu Ra’ad’s parents’ neighborhood told them how the roads were blocked to their area for a couple of days, and people coming from the other end of the city had had to detour. There were several burnt cars in an area on the suburbs, in their own makeshift graveyard. They should look there; maybe they would find their son.

They finally found him, this morning, in an area outside his expected course. One of the several burnt cars, dragged into a dusty field, was a white 1985 Toyota with the skeleton of a car-seat in the back. Not far off were the graves. They located the ‘adult male in the white Toyota’ and with the help of some sympathetic men in the neighborhood, unearthed Abu Ra’ad for identification.

We went to give our condolences to Umm Ra’ad. The children were at Ihsan’s house and she was surrounded by relatives and family members, grieving. Kerosene lamps and candles were lit in the darkened living room; they threw light all over the drawn, grief-stricken faces. She was finally crying.

Tomorrow, at dawn, he will be exhumed by his family and officially buried in the over-crowded family graveyard, under one of the dozens of palm trees, in the place reserved for his father.


- posted by river @ 1:54 AM

 
This Just In...
I just heard some interesting news! Apparently as Rumsfeld's plane was leaving Baghdad Airport to take him to Kuwait, missiles were fired at his plane and they missed! Hoping to hear more about it- but I just had to share.

The puppet-master met with Bremer and the puppets but the picture wasn't complete- Bush wasn't there.

I *love* Donald Rumsfeld's latest comment on Iraq... "...It's like Chicago."
Wow. This guy is funny.

You know what? I agree with him- he just didn't finish the statement properly. What he actually should have said was, "It's like Chicago... during the 1920s, when Al Capone was running it: gangs, militias, fighting, looting, vendettas, dubious business dealings and shady figures in dark corners."

Except instead of Al Capone, we have Al-Jaffari, Al-Chalabi, Al-Hakim and L. Paul Bremer.

There were several attacks on the American forces today. The most prominent ones were in Baquba and Mosul and a couple of hours ago, there were two in Baghdad. We haven't seen the Baghdad ones on tv, but we heard a dull explosion and one of the neighbors told E. about an armored car burned.

Another comment: of the dozens of emails I got sympathizing with my feelings towards Rumsfeld, the *only* one I got defending him had a few choice sentences in it I thought I would share...

Basically it tells me that Rumsfeld is a heroic and very compassionate man and then continues to say that we ungrateful Iraqis should be ashamed of ourselves, etc. It also claims that I must be a Ba'athist because, of course, who else *except* a Ba'athist would be against this noble war?! (Sad, sad, *old* arguement.)

Another fun line:
"You should be thanking your lucky stars that Rumsfeld, and not Saddam, was in the Pentagon when your asshole buddies flew into it. Otherwise you and your whole family would be radioactive dust right now."

Apparently, I should be grateful Little Dougie, as I am fond of calling him, wasn't in the Pentagon either, because he finishes his compassionate email with the following:

"If it were up to me I would have vaporized you ten minutes after the Trade center attacks."

The whole thing cheered me up because it simply confirmed my suspicions of Rumsfeld and his followers. His emails, compared to more intelligent emails, work to remind me of the diversity of blog readers. I am honored that people like Little Dougie take time off of watching Fox News to check out my blog. Thank you Little Dougie, *you* have made my day!

On the other hand, it could have been Rumsfeld personally emailing me... either way, I'm flattered- keep reading the blog!

- posted by river @ 3:33 AM

 
Bad, Bad, Bad Day...
Bad #1: Mosque shooting.
Bad #2: No water.
Bad #3: Rumsfeld.

Today in Al-Sha’ab area, a highly populated area of Baghdad, armed men pulled up to a mosque during morning prayer and opened fire on the people. It was horrific and chilling. Someone said 3 people died, but someone else said it was more… no one knows who they are or where they’re from, but it’s said that they were using semiautomatic machineguns (not a part of the army arsenal, as far as I know). And these were just ordinary people. It’s incomprehensible and nightmarish… if you are no longer safe in a shrine or a mosque, where *are* you safe?

No running water all day today. Horrible. Usually there are at least a few hours of running water, today there’s none. E. went out and asked if there was perhaps a pipe broken? The neighbors have no idea. Everyone is annoyed beyond reason.

A word of advice: never take water for granted. Every time you wash your hands in cold, clean, clear water- say a prayer of thanks to whatever deity you revere. Every time you drink fresh, odorless water- say the same prayer. Never throw out the clean water remaining in your glass- water a plant, give it to the cat, throw it out into the garden… whatever. Never take it for granted.

Luckily, yesterday I filled all the water bottles. We have dozens of water bottles, both glass and plastic. Every time there’s even a semblance of running water, we put something under the faucet to catch the precious drops. We fill bottles, pots, thermoses, buckets- anything that will hold water. Some days are better than others.

The problem is this: when the electricity is off, the municipal water pumps don’t work- the water pressure is so low, the water won’t go up the faucet. When there *is* electricity, everyone starts up their own, personal, water pumps to fill the water tanks on the roof and the water pressure drops again.

Washing clothes is a trial. Automatic washers are obsolete- useless. The best washers to use are those little ‘National’ washers. They look like small garbage bins. You fill them with water and detergent and throw the clothes in. The clothes rotate and swish for about 10 minutes (there has to be electricity). We pull them out, rinse them in clean water and wring out the excess water. The excess water goes back into the washer. After the washing is done, the dirty soap water is used to wash the tiled driveway.

Washing dishes is another problem. We try to limit the use of dishes to what is absolutely necessary. Most of the water we store in buckets and tubs is used to wash people. We wash using the old-fashioned way- a smallish tub full of water, a ladle, a loofah, soap and shampoo. The problem is that because of the heat, everyone wants to wash at least twice a day. The best time to wash is right before going to bed because for a few heavenly minutes after you wash, you feel cool enough to try to sleep. I have forgotten the delights of a shower...

Before the war, many people dug wells in their gardens. These wells don’t look like your traditional well- a circular, stone wall with a bucket hanging in the middle. They are merely small, unpretentious holes in the ground to which mechanical pumps are attached. They provide a more or less decent water supply. The water has to be boiled or chlorinated to be used for drinking.

To make matters worse, Rumsfeld is in Iraq. It’s awful to see him strutting all over the place. I hate the hard, smug look that seems plastered on his face… some people just have cruel features. The reaction to seeing him on tv differs from the reaction to seeing Bremer or one of the puppets. The latter are greeted with jeers and scorn. Seeing Rumsfeld is something else- there’s resentment and disgust. It feels like he’s here to add insult to injury… you know, just in case anyone forgets we’re an occupied country.

And now he’s going to go back to America and give a speech about how he doesn’t know what anyone is talking about when they say ‘chaos’ (*he* was safe in the middle of all his bodyguards)… how electricity and water are functioning (after all, his air-conditioner was working *fine*)… how the people are gloriously happy and traffic is frequently at a stand-still because the Iraqis are dancing in the streets… how the ‘armed forces’ are cheerful and *grateful* to be on this heroic, historical mission… how kids wave at him, troops cheer him, dogs wag their tails in welcome and doves hover above his head…

To hell with him.

And no. I'm not whining- I'm ranting. You can't see me right now, but I'm shaking my fist at the computer screen, shaking my fist at the television, and heaping colorful, bilingual insults on Rumsfeld's head (hope the doves crap on him)... I'm angry.




- posted by river @ 12:07 AM

 
The New Cabinet
Two days ago, the Governing Council declared that the new Iraqi Cabinet had been selected. The composition of the Iraqi cabinet is identical to that of the Governing Council: 13 Shi’a Muslims, 5 Sunni Muslims, 5 Kurds, 1 Christian, and 1 Turkoman.

After a long, tedious speech given this morning by Ibraheim Al-Jaffari, the ministers were ‘sworn in’. Correct me if I’m wrong, isn’t there supposed to be a constitution the ministers should swear to uphold? Apparently not.

Only 16 of the ministers were sworn in today because 9 of them couldn’t be there for ‘technical reasons’ (i.e. they’re still outside of the country). I don’t know how the ministries are going to function when the majority of the ‘ministers’ were living abroad for most of their lives. There’s going to be an American ‘advisor’ for each of the ministries, which is supposed to help. I hope the American advisors are better than the ones Bush stocks the White House with…

Some points of interest…

- Ahmad Al-Chalabi, Jalal Talabani, and Ibraheim Al-Jaffari were swearing in the ministers.

- There is one female minister- Nisreen Mustafa Bawari. After she was sworn in, she started shaking the hands of Al-Chalabi, Talabani and Al-Jaffari, like her male counterparts. Al-Jaffari refused to shake her hand because Al-Da’awa consider it a ‘sin’ to touch a female who isn’t a direct relation.

- Mohammed Jassim Khudhair (Minister of Expatriates and Immigration) wasn’t wearing a tie. Many Muslim fundamentalists (like the ones in Iran) don’t wear ties because they believe that along with the head, and arms, there’s symbolism of a ‘cross’ and a cross symbolizes Christianity and… well, you get the picture.

- The Minister of Oil is… Ibraheim Mohammed Bahr Ul-Iloom- the son of Mohammed Bahr Ul-Iloom of the Governing Council (the one who suspended his membership in the 9-member rotating presidency). Can anyone say nepotism? Brilliance must run in the family…


- posted by river @ 6:30 PM

 
Have You Forgotten?
September 11 was a tragedy. Not because 3,000 Americans died… but because 3,000 humans died. I was reading about the recorded telephone conversations of victims and their families on September 11. I thought it was… awful, and perfectly timed. Just when people are starting to question the results and incentives behind this occupation, they are immediately bombarded with reminders of September 11. Never mind Iraq had nothing to do with it.

I get emails constantly reminding me of the tragedy of September 11 and telling me how the “Arabs” brought all of this upon themselves. Never mind it was originally blamed on Afghanistan (who, for your information, aren’t Arabs).

I am constantly reminded of the 3,000 Americans who died that day… and asked to put behind me the 8,000 worthless Iraqis we lost to missiles, tanks and guns.

People marvel that we’re not out in the streets, decking the monstrous, khaki tanks with roses and jasmine. They wonder why we don’t crown the hard, ugly helmets of the troops with wreaths of laurel. They question why we mourn our dead instead of gratefully offering them as sacrifices to the Gods of Democracy and Liberty. They wonder why we’re bitter.

But, I *haven’t* forgotten…

I remember February 13, 1991. I remember the missiles dropped on Al-Amriyah shelter- a civilian bomb shelter in a populated, residential area in Baghdad. Bombs so sophisticated, that the first one drilled through to the heart of the shelter and the second one exploded inside. The shelter was full of women and children- boys over the age of 15 weren’t allowed. I remember watching images of horrified people clinging to the fence circling the shelter, crying, screaming, begging to know what had happened to a daughter, a mother, a son, a family that had been seeking protection within the shelter’s walls.

I remember watching them drag out bodies so charred, you couldn’t tell they were human. I remember frantic people, running from corpse to corpse, trying to identify a loved-one… I remember seeing Iraqi aid workers, cleaning out the shelter, fainting with the unbearable scenes inside. I remember the whole area reeked with the smell of burnt flesh for weeks and weeks after.

I remember visiting the shelter, years later, to pay my respects to the 400+ people who died a horrible death during the small hours of the morning and seeing the ghostly outlines of humans plastered on the walls and ceilings.

I remember a family friend who lost his wife, his five-year-old daughter, his two-year-old son and his mind on February 13.

I remember the day the Pentagon, after making various excuses, claimed it had been a ‘mistake’.

I remember 13 years of sanctions, backed firmly by the US and UK, in the name of WMD nobody ever found. Sanctions so rigid, we had basic necessities, like medicine, on waiting lists for months and months, before they were refused. I remember chemicals like chlorine, necessary for water purification, being scrutinized and delayed at the expense of millions of people.

I remember having to ask aid workers, and visiting activists, to ‘please bring a book’ because publishing companies refused to sell scientific books and journals to Iraq. I remember having to ‘share’ books with other students in college, in an attempt to make the most of the limited resources.

I remember wasted, little bodies in huge hospital beds- dying of hunger and of disease; diseases that could easily be treated with medications that were ‘forbidden’. I remember parents with drawn faces peering anxiously into doctors’ eyes, searching for a miracle.

I remember the depleted uranium. How many have heard of depleted uranium? Those are household words to Iraqi people. The depleted uranium weapons used in 1991 (and possibly this time too) have resulted in a damaged environment and an astronomical rise in the cancer rate in Iraq. I remember seeing babies born with a single eye, 3 legs or no face- a result of DU poisoning.

I remember dozens of dead in the ‘no fly zones’, bombed by British and American planes claiming to ‘protect’ the north and south of Iraq. I remember the mother, living on the outskirts of Mosul, who lost her husband and 5 kids when an American plane bombed the father and his sons in the middle of a field of peaceful, grazing sheep.

And we are to believe that this is all being done for the sake of the people.

“Have you forgotten how it felt that day
To see your homeland under fire
And her people blown away?”

No… we haven’t forgotten- the tanks are still here to remind us.

A friend of E.’s, who lives in Amiriyah, was telling us about an American soldier he had been talking to in the area. E’s friend pointed to the shelter and told him of the atrocity committed in 1991. The soldier turned with the words, “Don’t blame me- I was only 9!” And I was only 11.

American long-term memory is exclusive to American traumas. The rest of the world should simply ‘put the past behind’, ‘move forward’, ‘be pragmatic’ and ‘get over it’.

Someone asked me whether it was true that the ‘Iraqi people were dancing in the streets of Baghdad’ when the World Trade Center fell. Of course it’s not true. I was watching the tv screen in disbelief- looking at the reactions of the horrified people. I wasn’t dancing because the terrified faces on the screen, could have been the same faces in front of the Amiriyah shelter on February 13… it’s strange how horror obliterates ethnic differences- all faces look the same when they are witnessing the death of loved ones.


- posted by river @ 6:08 PM

 
Puppet of the Month
Today, September 1, 2003, is an important day. Ahmad Al-Chalabi has finally achieved the epitome of his political aspirations. All the years of embezzlement, conniving, and scheming have paid off: he is the current rotating president. He has officially begun his ‘presidential term’.

To be quite honest, I’ve been waiting for this. I watch all his interviews and read any article I can get, in an attempt to comprehend what hidden charms, or buried astuteness, made the Pentagon decide to so diligently push him forth as a potential leader. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he was some sort of elaborate, inside joke in Washington: “We’re blighted with Bush- you deserve no better.”

So I sat around waiting for an interview on Al-Jazeera. They said it would be on at 6:05 Baghdad time- I began watching at 6:00. I had to wait, impatiently, a full 20 minutes before he made his appearance, but it was worth it. He sat, wearing a black suit, striped shirt and black tie. He was polished, and smug.

The interview, like most of his interviews, began well. He showed appropriate solemnity when asked about his views on the assassination of Al-Hakim. The smug look vanished from his face momentarily. When the reporter asked him who he thought was behind the assassination, he shrewdly narrowed it down to: extremists, loyalists, terrorists, Ba’athists and people from neighboring countries.

The Governing Council, though, was a touchy subject. When asked about just how much power the Governing Council actually had, he immediately began foaming and spluttering- claiming they had all the power to govern Iraq. So the wily reporter asked about the American presence in Iraq- how long would it take for them to leave? Al-Chalabi instantaneously stated that the American presence in Iraq was completely in the hands of the Iraqis, like himself, and that Bremer had told them that if they wanted the Americans out, they would be out tomorrow!

When asked if he would nominate himself for “president” come elections, he denied having any political ambition and claimed he was there “to help the Iraqi people” (like he helped the Jordanian people?!).

He blamed the neighboring countries for any terrorism going on in Iraq. He said they should ‘close all the borders’ because the Iraqi army couldn’t currently secure its own border (apparently someone forgot to send him the memo about dissolving the army). I wish the reporter had posed the following question: Mr. Chalabi, if the neighboring countries close their borders, how will you make your stunning, historical flight in the trunk of a car when it becomes necessary?

I was a bit disappointed with it all. For the last week, I was anticipating some sort of… I don’t know- elaborate inauguration ceremony? No, not really… maybe more of a festivity, worthy of the solemn occasion, marking his ascent to power. A circus-themed gala, perhaps, where Bremer can play the ring-master and Chalabi can jump through red, white and blue hoops to mark this historical day. Qambar can serve the cocktails…




- posted by river @ 11:40 PM

 
Blog Fights...
Sorry to disappoint, but it’s not going to be much of a blog fight because I agree with most of what you say, Salam, though not all of it.

Al-Hakim’s assassination is very significant, you're right. It will be used as an excuse for vendettas, faction fighting and more violence between Shi’a and Shi’a and Sunnis and Shi’a. Already his followers are swearing to avenge his death and I shudder to think of the next group of victims. It is extremely frightening to think of what the consequences of this will be.

People are blaming America because a. America is responsible for the security of this country- when you dissolve the army and pull down the police force, *you* become responsible and, b. there is a sense that the CPA is furthering the divide between Iraqis by encouraging, and emphasizing, religious, factional and ethnic differences. I know more about the different factions after this war than I ever knew and it’s the same thing with everyone else. This heightened awareness is the result of labeling people as either ‘Arab Sunni’ or ‘Shi’a Turkoman’, or ‘Assyrian Christian’… you *have* to belong somewhere now- you can’t just be a Kurd or Christian or Muslim or simply an *Iraqi*.

People believe that the ancient “divide and conquer” is being employed. Instead of having Iraqis, Shi’a and Sunnis and Christians, united in a struggle (peaceful or otherwise) against occupation, it’s easier to have Iraqis fighting each other. The resulting sentiment will be that occupation forces are not only desirable, but that they are vital for ‘keeping the peace’. I’m not blaming Americans, specifically- it’s the oldest trick in the book. The British attempted it before them (factional differences), and the Ottomans practiced it for hundreds of years (ethnical differences).

And no, people- don’t bother writing that email telling me to ‘stop blaming America’ and why can’t ‘…you mozlem freaks get your act together and stop killin’ eachother…’ Every society has its extremists and every nation has its potential for civil war. When there’s no law and order, people will do strange and horrible things.

You don’t know how hard I pray that we, as a people, are above religious differences. I seriously hope that this was done, as they are claiming, by Al-Qaeda or some outside forces because it will be horribly disappointing to see that after hundreds of years of putting religious differences aside, various groups of thugs and fanatics will be able to reap the benefits of even more chaos and killing.


- posted by river @ 11:37 PM

 
Made Me Laugh...
One of the readers of the blog (you know who you are) led me to this page and I've been laughing at it for the last 5 minutes- I am forever grateful! To access the page, type "Weapons of mass destruction" in the google.com search and click the "I'm Feeling Lucky" bar. Read the standard-looking error page CAREFULLY!



- posted by river @ 12:01 AM

 
Road Trip
My brother, E., was out at 8 am this morning getting gasoline for the car. He came home at 12 pm in a particularly foul mood. He had waited in line of angry, hostile Iraqis for 3 hours. Gasoline lines drive people crazy because, prior to the war, the price of gasoline in Iraq was ridiculously low. A liter of gasoline (unleaded) cost around 20 Iraqi Dinars when one US dollar equaled 2,000 Iraqi dinars. In other words, 1 liter of gasoline cost one cent! A liter of bottled water cost more than gasoline. Not only does it cost more now, but it isn’t easy to get. I think they’re importing gasoline from Saudi Arabia and Turkey.

We (a cousin, his wife, my mom and I) dragged E. out of the house at 12:30 to go visit my aunt on the other end of the city. We heard the usual instructions before we left- stop at checkpoints, return before dark and if anyone wants the car, give them the keys- don’t argue, don’t fight it.

The moment I had a foot out the door, the heat almost forced me back inside. Our sun, at noon, isn’t a heavenly body- it’s a physical assault. I could swear that at noon, in Iraq, the sun shuts out the rest of the world from its glory and concentrates its energies on us. Everything looks like it’s traveling on waves of heat- even the date palms look limp with the exhaustion of survival.

We climbed into a battered, old, white 1984 Volkswagen- people are avoiding using ‘nice’ cars that might tempt hijackers (‘nice’ is anything made after 1990). I mentally debated putting on sun glasses but decided against it- no need to attract any undue attention. I said a little prayer to keep us safe as I rummaged around in my bag, checking for my ‘weapon’. I can’t stand carrying a pistol so I carry around a big, red, switchblade hunting knife- you don’t want to mess with Riverbend…

Being out in the streets is like being caught in a tornado. You have to be alert and ready for anything every moment. I sat in the backseat, squinting into the sun, trying to determine if a particular face was that of a looter, or abductor or just another angry countryman. I craned my neck looking at the blue SUV, trying to remember if it had been behind us for the last kilometer or longer. I held my breath nervously every time the cousin slowed down the car because of traffic, willing the cars in front of us to get a move on.

I caught site of two men fighting. A crowd was beginning to gather and a few people were caught in the middle, trying to separate them. My cousin clucked angrily and started mumbling about ignorant people and how all we needed, on top of occupation, was hostility. E. told us not to keep staring and anxiously felt for the pistol under his seat.

The ride that took 20 minutes pre-war Iraq, took 45 minutes today. There were major roads completely cut off by tanks. Angry troops stood cutting off access to the roads around the palaces (which were once Saddam’s but are now America’s palaces). The cousin and E. debated alternative routes at every checkpoint or roadblock. I stayed silent because I don’t even know the city anymore. Now, areas are identified as “the one with the crater where the missile exploded”, or “the street with the ravaged houses”, or “the little house next to that one where that family was killed”.

The looting and killing of today has changed from the looting and killing in April. In April, it was quite random. Criminals were working alone. Now they’re more organized than the CPA (Coalition Provisional Authority) and the troops combined. No one works alone anymore- they’ve created gangs and armed militias. They pull up to houses in minivans and SUVs, armed with machineguns and sometimes grenades. They barge into the house and demand money and gold. If they don’t find enough, they abduct a child or female and ask for ransom. Sometimes the whole family is killed- sometimes only the male members of the family are killed.

For a while, the men in certain areas began arranging ‘lookouts’. They would gather, every 6 or 7 guys, in a street, armed with Klashnikovs, and watch out for the whole area. They would stop strange cars and ask them what family they were there to visit. Hundreds of looters were caught that way- we actually felt safe for a brief period. Then the American armored cars started patrolling the safer residential areas, ordering the men off the streets- telling them that if they were seen carrying a weapon, they would be treated as criminals.

Most of the gangs, at least the ones in Baghdad, originate from slums on the outskirts of the city. ‘Al-Sadir City’ is a huge, notorious slum with a population of around 1.5 million. The whole place is terrifying. If you lose a car or a person, you will most likely find them there. Every alley is controlled by a different gang and weapons are sold in the streets… they’ll even try out that machinegun you have your eye on, if you pay enough. Americans don’t bother raiding the houses in areas like that… raids are exclusively for decent people who can’t shoot back or attack. Raids are for the poor people in Ramadi, Ba’aquba and Mosul.

By the time we got to my aunt’s house, every muscle in my body was aching. My eyes were burning with the heat and the strain. E.’s brow was furrowed with the scenes we had left behind us on the street and the cousin’s hands were shaking almost imperceptibly- knuckles still white with tension. My mother said a prayer of gratitude for our safe arrival and the cousin’s wife, T., swore she wasn’t going to leave my aunt’s house for another three days and if we planned to go home today, we could do so without her because God needed to look out for other people today, not just us...




- posted by river @ 11:45 PM

 
Position Open
Everyone is still discussing the death of Al-Hakim. Al-Hakim isn’t particularly popular with moderate Shi’a. One of my cousins, and his wife, are Shi’a and when he heard the news, he just shrugged his shoulders and said he didn’t like him much anyway- power-hungry clerics (of any religion) make people nervous, I guess. No one I know personally seems very traumatized with his death, but everyone is horrified with the number of casualties. 126 people dead and over 300 wounded- some of them dying.

They’re saying on the news that they’ve caught the assassins who set up the bomb- supposedly some branch of Al-Qaeda currently functioning from Iraq (they too were ‘liberated’).

A political analyst in Iraq says that there’s a chance some of Al-Hakim’s followers were actually involved in the bombing. That *would* explain how 700 kg of explosives found their way through his literal army (Badir’s Brigade) and next to his black SUV. The analyst said that there were many prominent members of SCIRI who had turned against Al-Hakim ever since his return from Iran. It seems that upon his return ‘home’ he decided to change the game plan and some of his followers didn’t like the new arrangements- namely, his brother on the council. On the other hand, it is hard to believe that any Islamic group would engineer such a vicious attack at one of the holiest religious sites in Iraq- the shrine of Imam Ali.

An interesting development on the much-shaken puppet council- Bahr Ul Iloom has suspended his membership in the council. The elderly cleric claimed, in an interview, that America was doing such a bad job of keeping the Iraqi people secure, he didn’t want to be a part of the council anymore. I wonder if he’s going to return to London. That makes a council of only 8 members now… we need a new nominee otherwise we will have four months of the year without leadership. Maybe if Bush doesn't get re-elected, Bremer will give the position to him. Love to have him in Baghdad...



- posted by river @ 11:43 PM

 
Chaos
“[Iraq] is not a country in chaos and Baghdad is not a city in chaos.” – Paul Bremer


Where is this guy living? Is he even in the same time zone??? I’m incredulous… maybe he's from some alternate universe where shooting, looting, tanks, rape, abductions, and assassinations aren’t considered chaos, but it’s chaos in *my* world.

Ever since the occupation there have been 400 females abducted in Baghdad alone and that is only the number of recorded abductions. Most families don’t go to the Americans to tell about an abduction because they know it’s useless. The male members of the family take it upon themselves to search for the abducted female and get revenge if they find the abductors. What else is there to do? I know if I were abducted I’d much rather my family organize themselves and look for me personally than go to the CPA.

By BBC’s accounts there are 70 cars a day being hijacked in Baghdad alone…

And now we’ve just had some shocking news- Mohammed Baqir Al-Hakim was assassinated in the holy city of Najaf! Mohammed Baqir Al-Hakim was the head of SCIRI (Supreme Council of the Islamic Revolution in Iraq). They don’t know who was behind it, but many believe it is one of the other Shi’a religious factions. There has been some tension between Al-Sadir’s followers and Al-Hakim’s followers. Another cleric, Al-Sistani, also had some interesting things to say against Al-Hakim…

What most people choose to forget is the fact that the Shi’a in the south lost hundreds of thousands of lives to the war against Iran- fighting the very regime that is backing SCIRI now- the Islamic Revolution in Teheran. Al-Hakim does have a strong backing from many Shi’a fundamentalists sympathetic with Iran, true enough, but he also has people who hate him (and Badir’s Brigade) with a vengeance.

I hated this guy for what he represented- a puppet and a supporter of a fundamentalist Islamic government, but this wasn’t the way to deal with it. This is going to result in more bloodshed and fighting. He is the second Shi’a cleric to be assassinated in Najaf- the first was Al-Kho’i who also came from Teheran (back in April).




- posted by river @ 6:40 PM

 
The Promise and the Threat
The Myth: Iraqis, prior to occupation, lived in little beige tents set up on the sides of little dirt roads all over Baghdad. The men and boys would ride to school on their camels, donkeys and goats. These schools were larger versions of the home units and for every 100 students, there was one turban-wearing teacher who taught the boys rudimentary math (to count the flock) and reading. Girls and women sat at home, in black burkas, making bread and taking care of 10-12 children.

The Truth: Iraqis lived in houses with running water and electricity. Thousands of them own computers. Millions own VCRs and VCDs. Iraq has sophisticated bridges, recreational centers, clubs, restaurants, shops, universities, schools, etc. Iraqis love fast cars (especially German cars) and the Tigris is full of little motor boats that are used for everything from fishing to water-skiing.

I guess what I’m trying to say is that most people choose to ignore the little prefix ‘re’ in the words ‘rebuild’ and ‘reconstruct’. For your information, ‘re’ is of Latin origin and generally means ‘again’ or ‘anew’.

In other words- there was something there in the first place. We have hundreds of bridges. We have one of the most sophisticated network of highways in the region: you can get from Busrah, in the south, to Mosul, in the north, without once having to travel upon those little, dusty, dirt roads they show you on Fox News. We had a communications system so advanced, it took the Coalition of the Willing 3 rounds of bombing, on 3 separate nights, to damage the Ma’moun Communications Tower and silence our telephones.

Yesterday, I read how it was going to take up to $90 billion to rebuild Iraq. Bremer was shooting out numbers about how much it was going to cost to replace buildings and bridges and electricity, etc.

Listen to this little anecdote. One of my cousins works in a prominent engineering company in Baghdad- we’ll call the company H. This company is well-known for designing and building bridges all over Iraq. My cousin, a structural engineer, is a bridge freak. He spends hours talking about pillars and trusses and steel structures to anyone who’ll listen.

As May was drawing to a close, his manager told him that someone from the CPA wanted the company to estimate the building costs of replacing the New Diyala Bridge on the South East end of Baghdad. He got his team together, they went out and assessed the damage, decided it wasn’t too extensive, but it would be costly. They did the necessary tests and analyses (mumblings about soil composition and water depth, expansion joints and girders) and came up with a number they tentatively put forward- $300,000. This included new plans and designs, raw materials (quite cheap in Iraq), labor, contractors, travel expenses, etc.

Let’s pretend my cousin is a dolt. Let’s pretend he hasn’t been working with bridges for over 17 years. Let’s pretend he didn’t work on replacing at least 20 of the 133 bridges damaged during the first Gulf War. Let’s pretend he’s wrong and the cost of rebuilding this bridge is four times the number they estimated- let’s pretend it will actually cost $1,200,000. Let’s just use our imagination.

A week later, the New Diyala Bridge contract was given to an American company. This particular company estimated the cost of rebuilding the bridge would be around- brace yourselves- $50,000,000 !!

Something you should know about Iraq: we have over 130,000 engineers. More than half of these engineers are structural engineers and architects. Thousands of them were trained outside of Iraq in Germany, Japan, America, Britain and other countries. Thousands of others worked with some of the foreign companies that built various bridges, buildings and highways in Iraq. The majority of them are more than proficient- some of them are brilliant.

Iraqi engineers had to rebuild Iraq after the first Gulf War in 1991 when the ‘Coalition of the Willing’ was composed of over 30 countries actively participating in bombing Baghdad beyond recognition. They had to cope with rebuilding bridges and buildings that were originally built by foreign companies, they had to get around a lack of raw materials that we used to import from abroad, they had to work around a vicious blockade designed to damage whatever infrastructure was left after the war… they truly had to rebuild Iraq. And everything had to be made sturdy, because, well, we were always under the threat of war.

Over a hundred of the 133 bridges were rebuilt, hundreds of buildings and factories were replaced, communications towers were rebuilt, new bridges were added, electrical power grids were replaced… things were functioning. Everything wasn’t perfect- but we were working on it.

And Iraqis aren’t easy to please. Buildings cannot just be made functionary. They have to have artistic touches- a carved pillar, an intricately designed dome, something unique… not necessarily classy or subtle, but different. You can see it all over Baghdad- fashionable homes with plate glass windows, next to classic old ‘Baghdadi’ buildings, gaudy restaurants standing next to classy little cafes… mosques with domes so colorful and detailed they look like glamorous Faberge eggs… all done by Iraqis.

My favorite reconstruction project was the Mu’alaq Bridge over the Tigris. It is a suspended bridge that was designed and built by a British company. In 1991 it was bombed and everyone just about gave up on ever being able to cross it again. By 1994, it was up again, exactly as it was- without British companies, with Iraqi expertise. One of the art schools decided that although it wasn’t the most sophisticated bridge in the world, it was going to be the most glamorous. On the day it was opened to the public, it was covered with hundreds of painted flowers in the most outrageous colors- all over the pillars, the bridge itself, the walkways along the sides of the bridge. People came from all over Baghdad just to stand upon it and look down into the Tigris.

So instead of bringing in thousands of foreign companies that are going to want billions of dollars, why aren’t the Iraqi engineers, electricians and laborers being taken advantage of? Thousands of people who have no work would love to be able to rebuild Iraq… no one is being given a chance.

The reconstruction of Iraq is held above our heads like a promise and a threat. People roll their eyes at reconstruction because they know (Iraqis are wily) that these dubious reconstruction projects are going to plunge the country into a national debt only comparable to that of America. A few already rich contractors are going to get richer, Iraqi workers are going to be given a pittance and the unemployed Iraqi public can stand on the sidelines and look at the glamorous buildings being built by foreign companies.

I always say this war is about oil. It is. But it is also about huge corporations that are going to make billions off of reconstructing what was damaged during this war. Can you say Haliburton? (Which, by the way, got the very first contracts to replace the damaged oil infrastructure and put out ‘oil fires’ way back in April).

Well, of course it’s going to take uncountable billions to rebuild Iraq, Mr. Bremer, if the contracts are all given to foreign companies! Or perhaps the numbers are this frightening because Ahmad Al-Chalabi is the one doing the books- he *is* the math expert, after all.



- posted by river @ 6:46 PM

 
The Opposite Direction
The Scene: Family Living Room
The Mood: Gloomy

We were sitting around- two families… ours and my uncle’s. Adults were sitting neatly on couches and us ‘kids’ sprawled out on the cool ‘kashi’ (tiles) on the floor, watching tv. Everyone was feeling depressed because we had just seen Nada Domani (head of the Red Cross in Iraq) telling the world they had decided to pull out some of their personnel and send them to Jordan because they were expecting attacks.

I am praying that whoever tipped them off was very wrong. Who would attack the Red Cross? Everyone needs the Red Cross… The Red Cross isn’t simply administering aid in the form of medication or food, they are acting as mediators between the POWS and detainees and the CPA. Before the Red Cross got involved, the families of the detainees knew nothing about them. During raids or at checkpoints, people would be detained (mainly men and boys) and they would simply disappear. Relatives of the detainees would stand for hours in front of the hotels where there were American security authorities begging for some information- some clue- as to where they could find a father, an uncle, a son...

What will we do without the Red Cross?

So we were sitting there, trying to figure out what was happening, what was becoming of the whole situation, when I suddenly muted the tv- I heard a voice calling E.’s name from outside. E. immediately got up, picked up the loaded gun and stuck it in his jeans in the back. We went to the kitchen to see what/who it was. E. opened the screen door and stepped outside while I stuck my face to the glass, trying to see out into the dark.

It was our neighbor- R. All I could see was his head, looking at us over the wall that separated our gardens. “Are you watching Al-Jazeera??? You should watch it!” And his head disappeared once more behind the wall. That’s it? That’s all? You don’t call out a person’s name, at night- in post-war Iraq, to tell them to watch Al-Jazeera… someone remind me to raise the wall.

On Al-Jazeera was the program “Al-Itijah Al-Mu3akis”, or “The Opposite Direction”. For non-Arabs, it’s a program that takes up political and social issues important in the Middle East and has two guests attacking the issues from opposite directions. The viewers get to comment by phone, and email and there’s also a vote as to which speaker they think is doing better.

The surprise wasn’t the issue which was us, Iraq, as usual. The surprise was one of the guest speakers- Intifadh Qambar- second man after Ahmad Al-Chalabi and spokesman for the INC! The moment Qambar’s hard, sly face appeared on the screen, the gloomy living room lit up with hoots, howls, clapping and whistling. He brings mirth to many Iraqis.

Only an Arab can fully appreciate Qambar. I guess, since he’s spokesman, he’s supposed to be the ‘diplomat’ of the INC. He was there to represent the rotating presidents and the Governing Council. He was their downfall- Ahmad Al-Chalabi should kill himself.

He sat stiff, in a suit that was a shade of brown similar to that of caked, dry mustard. He wore a white shirt, a black, yellow-striped tie and fluorescent yellow handkerchief with charming black spots. His hair was greased back with something or another to show a broad, furrowed brow over tiny, hard eyes. He did not look like he was on some political talk show- he looked like he was being persecuted.

He sat for over an hour, taking a verbal beating from just about everyone who called (including Iraqis)- being called a thief, a traitor, an Americanized thug, a murderer and some other terms almost as colorful as his tie. His ‘defense’ of the council was worse than the actual accusations being thrown at him. He more or less said that the whole war was justified, the sanctions were justified, America was justified and what did it matter how many people died during the sanctions? What did it matter how many people were dying now? Saddam was gone- the council was here- that was all that mattered. And all this in a shrill, ugly voice. After he finishes something he imagines particularly clever, he ends up looking smug and haughty.

The other guest speaker (editor of Al-Quds Al-Arabi newspaper) was astounded, to say the least. He just looked at him like he couldn’t believe this guy was being sent to represent the new government. If this was the ‘smooth talker’ of the group, we are in a lot of trouble.

Qambar has no political or cultural scruples. He stoops to vulgarity when he can find no legitimate argument. During one debate on Abu Dhabi tv, he was arguing with another politician named Wamidh Nadhmi. Now, Wamidh Nadhmi is an old respected man who is neither Baathist nor loyalist. In fact, he used to speak against Saddam and the whole government long before the war. He was against the war as a way of regime change and against the occupation- that was the whole argument. So after an hour of futilely arguing that the Americans were right and everyone was wrong, Qambar started getting insulting. Wamidh kept his cool but told Qambar that Ahmad Al-Chalabi was a crook and any group being led by someone so infamous was bound to be a failure… suddenly Qambar jumped up and *attacked* Wamidh on tv! I’m serious- he attacked the man. The poor presenter, Jassim Al-Azzawi, found himself caught in the middle of a scuffle being fought over his head and as he tried to separate them, he kept screaming “What is this?! Gentlemen… what is this?!” So you can see why we enjoy Qambar (almost as much as Al-Chalabi).

So what are the options? The options to people like that are Iraqis who were living with the people, inside of Iraq. Iraqis who were *not* affiliated with Saddam, but also not affiliated with the CIA. Bush was wrong when he said, “You are either with us or against us.” The world isn’t in black and white- there are plenty of people who were against this war, but also against Saddam. They aren’t being given a chance. Their voices aren’t heard because they weren’t in Washington or London or Teheran.

There are intelligent, cultured people- professors, historians, linguists, lawyers, doctors, engineers in Iraq who can contribute to running the country. They understand the Iraqi mentality after over a decade of sanctions and three different wars- they know what the people want to hear and what needs to be done… they are competent. They aren’t acceptable to the CPA because it can’t be sure of their ‘loyalty’ to America. The Puppet Council is perfect because they were brought in on American tanks, they were installed using American force- they can be rooted out if- or when- it becomes necessary…

There’s a famous Arabic saying: “Al ba3*lu bayn al 7ameer raka9*” which basically means- “A camel in the midst of donkeys is a fast runner”. It is said to describe someone who is considered ‘the best of a bad bunch’. If Qambar and Chalabi are the camels of the INC (perhaps of the whole council), I wonder what the donkeys are like…



- posted by river @ 1:48 AM

 
National Day
For me, April 9 was a blur of faces distorted with fear, horror and tears. All over Baghdad you could hear shelling, explosions, clashes, fighter planes, the dreaded Apaches and the horrifying tanks heaving down streets and highways. Whether you loved Saddam or hated him, Baghdad tore you to pieces. Baghdad was burning. Baghdad was exploding… Baghdad was falling. April 9 is the American Occupation Day. I can understand why Bush was celebrating- I can’t understand how anyone who values independence would celebrate it.

April 9, I woke to the sound of a huge explosion at around 6 am, only 2 hours after I had fallen into a fitful sleep. I was sitting up stiff in bed, even before I had my eyes open. The room was warm, but I sat in bed, still in my jeans of the night before, my teeth chattering, clutching at the covers, groping my consciousness for sanity.

We had been sleeping in our clothes for the last few nights with pockets stuffed with identification papers and money because we kept expecting the house to come crumbling down around us... we wanted to be out the door as soon as it was necessary.

I listened to the noise that had become as common as crickets in the summer- the constant drone of helicopters, and fighter planes... explosions and shelling.

We spent the early hours of that morning watching eachother silently and solemnly- the only human voice in our midst was coming from the radio, crackling and fading. It told us what we already knew- what we had been dreading for what felt like an eternity- the American tanks were in Baghdad. There had been some resistance, but the tanks were all over Baghdad.

And that was the start of 'National Day'...

April 9 was a day of harried neighbors banging on the door, faces so contorted with anxiety they were almost beyond recognition. "Do we leave? Do we evacuate?! They sound so close..."

It was a day of shocked, horrified relatives, with dilated pupils and trembling lips, dragging duffel bags, spouses and terrified children needing shelter. All of us needing comfort that no one could give.

It was the day we sat at home, bags packed, fully dressed, listening for the tanks or the missile that would send us flying out of the house and into the streets. We sat calculating the risks of traveling from one end of Baghdad to the other or staying in our area and waiting for the inevitable.

It was the day I had to have 'the talk' with my mother. The day she sat me down in front of her and began giving me 'instructions'- just in case.
"In case of what, mom?”
"In case something happens to us..."
"Like what, like maybe we get separated?"
"Fine, ok. Yes. Separated, for example... you know where the money is, you know where the papers are..."
Yes, I know. But it won't matter if anything happens to you, or dad, or E.

It was a day of stray dogs howling in the streets with fear, flocks of birds flying chaotically in the sky- trying to escape the horrible noises and smoke.

It was a day of charred bodies in blackened vehicles.

It was a grayish-yellow day that burns red in my memory... a day that easily rises to the surface when I contemplate the most horrible days of my life.

That was the 'National Day' for me. From most accounts, it was the same for millions of others.

Maybe come April 9, 2004, Bremer and the Governing Council can join Bush in the White House to celebrate the fall of Baghdad... because we certainly won't be celebrating it here.


- posted by river @ 9:41 PM

 
Let's Play Musical Chairs...
The nine-member rotating presidency is a failure at first sight. It’s also a failure at second, third, fourth… and ninth sight. The members of the rotating presidency, composed of 4 Shi’a Muslims, 2 Sunni Muslims and 2 Kurds, were selected on a basis of ethnicity and religion.

It is a way of further dividing the Iraqi population. It is adding confusion to chaos and disorder. Just the concept of an ethnically and religiously selected council to run the country is repulsive. Are people supposed to take sides according to their ethnicity or religion? How, nine months down the line, are they going to select one president… or will we always have 9 presidents to govern the country? Does every faction of the Iraqi population need a separate representative? If they do, then why weren’t the Christians represented? Why weren’t the Turkomen represented? Would two more members to add to the nine really have made that big a difference?

The nine dancing puppets- excuse me, rotating presidents- were exclusively selected from the “Governing Council”, an interim council chosen by the CPA. The first thing the 25-member Governing Council did to alienate itself from the people was the fatal decision to make April 9 the new Iraqi National Day. People were incredulous when Bahr Ul Iloom (one of the nine puppets), read out the announcement.

April 9, 2003 was a nightmare beyond anyone’s power to describe. Baghdad was up in smoke that day- explosions everywhere, American troops crawling all over the city, fires, looting, fighting, and killing. Civilians were being evacuated from one area to the other, houses were being shot at by tanks, cars were being burned by Apache helicopters… Baghdad was full of death and destruction on April 9. Seeing tanks in your city, under any circumstance, is perturbing. Seeing foreign tanks in your capital is devastating.

But back to rotating presidents... Insiders say that all 9 members of the council hate each other. Meetings sometimes end in shouting, name-calling and insults. The one thing they do agree on is that Bremer is God. His word is Scripture.

It was decided that each one of them would get a chance to govern their adoring Iraqi population a month. After several arguments and, I imagine, threats, ultimatums and tantrums, it was decided that each one of the members would get their turn in alphabetical order (the Arabic alphabet).

So here is the cast of the most elaborate puppet show Iraq has ever seen (in order of appearance).

The Puppet: Ibraheim Al-Jaffari
56-year-old head of the Islamic Daawa party who was living in Iran and London.
The Al-Daawa Islamic Party debuted in 1958 as the most prominent Shi’a political movement. Al-Daawa ‘activists’ learned their techniques from an extremist Iranian group known as ‘Fida’yeen El-Islam’ and were distinctive for their use of explosives to make political statements. Universities, schools and recreational centers were often targets.

Ibraheim Al-Jaffari makes me uncomfortable. He isn’t very direct or coherent. He speaks in a suspiciously low voice and has a shifty gaze that never seems to settle on the camera.

The Puppet: Ahmad Al-Chalabi
This guy is a real peach. He is the head of the Iraqi National Congress and heavily backed by the Pentagon. He was a banker who embezzled millions from the Petra Bank in Jordan. My favorite part of his life story is how he escaped from Jordan in the trunk of a car… a modern-day Cleopatra, if you will. When asked if he thinks the war on Iraq was justified, even if WMD aren’t found, he immediately (and rather huffily) replies, “Of course- *I* wouldn’t be sitting here in Iraq if it weren’t for the war…” As if he’s God’s gift to humanity. He’s actually America’s gift to the Iraqi people- the crowning glory of the war, chaos and occupation: the looter of all looters.

The Puppet: Iyad Allawi
A former Iraqi intelligence officer, and former Ba’ath member, who was sent to London on a scholarship from the former Ba’athist government. Rumor has it that when the scholarship ran out, he denounced his Ba’ath membership and formed the Iraqi National Accord. He has been living in London ever since 1971.

The Puppet: Jalal Talabani
Head of the Patriotic Union of Kurdistan (PUK). The PUK controls the southeastern part of the autonomous Kurdish area in the north. Scintillating rumor on the street: before he became a ‘leader’, he had a nightclub in Turkey where he was running an illegitimate… umm… we’ll call it an ‘escort service’. The truth is that he is the rival of Massoud Berazani, the other leader in the autonomous Kurdish region and their rivalry would often lead to bloodshed between their supporters. His famous quote: “Politics is a whore”.

The Puppet: Abdul Aziz Al-Hakim
Deputy leader of SCIRI (Supreme Council of the Islamic Revolution in Iraq). He has been in Iran for decades and is the commander of ‘Badir’s Army’ or what is also known as the Badir Brigade- responsible for a lot of the post-war chaos. The frightening thing is that there are rumors of negotiations between SCIRI and the CPA about allowing the Brigade to be in charge of ‘security’ in some regions.

The Puppet: Adnan Al-Pachichi
A Sunni Arab who is- brace yourself- 81 years old (some say it’s 84). He was foreign minister for 2 years in the ‘60s. My grandfather remembers him *vaguely*. I’m sorry, but he just looks too weary to be running Iraq. It will be amazing if he makes it to elections. He has been outside of Iraq ever since the late ‘60s and seems to know as little about modern Iraq as the Iraqis know about him.

The Puppet: Mohsen Abdul Hamid
The secretary of the Islamic Party- a Sunni fundamentalist Islamic group (a branch of the Islamic Brotherhood). Yet another fundamentalist group, but this one was chosen to keep the Sunni fundamentalists quiet.

The Puppet: Mohammed Bahr Ul Iloom
Otherwise known as ‘Mohammed Bahr Ul- who???’ Very few people seem to have heard of him. He is a Shi’a Muslim cleric who fled Iraq in 1991. He was in exile in London. He is also in his 80s and his only political qualification seems to be the fact that he fled and considered himself in exile. He promptly squelched any chance he had at gaining popularity by being the one selected to declare April 9 the Iraqi National Day.

The Puppet: Massoud Berezani
The head of the Kurdistan Democratic Party and rival of Jalal Talabani. He was backed by the US in north Iraq. His conflicts with Talabani have resulted in the deaths of thousands of Kurds in bloody battles and assassinations and the exile of others. To see them sitting at the same table, staring adoringly at ‘Father Bremer’, you would think they had always been the best of friends- it’s a fascinating lesson in politics. A question poses itself: if they couldn’t control a few provinces in the north, how do they expect to be able to govern all of Iraq?

The two Kurdish leaders also control an armed militia known as ‘Bayshmarga’. The Bayshmarga are multitalented. They act as bodyguards, and smugglers. They were caught smuggling cars, currency and artifacts. These last two days there have been clashes between them and the Turkomen in Kirkuk.

The most infuriating thing is hearing Bremer talk about how the members of the rotating presidency represent the Iraqi people. In reality, they represent the CPA and Bremer. They are America’s Puppets (some of them are Iran’s). They do not govern Iraq or Iraqis in any way- they are merely very highly paid translators: Bremer gives the orders and they translate them to an incredulous public. The majority of them were trained using American tax dollars, and now they are being ‘kept’ by the CPA using Iraqi oil money.

It’s a bad start to democracy, being occupied and having your government and potential leaders selected for you by the occupying powers… On the other hand, could we really expect more from a country whose president was ‘appointed’ by the Supreme Court?



- posted by river @ 9:33 PM

 
Will Work for Food...
Over 65% of the Iraqi population is unemployed. The reason for this is because Bremer made some horrible decisions. The first major decision he made was to dissolve the Iraqi army. That may make sense in Washington, but here, we were left speechless. Now there are over 400,000 trained, armed men with families that need to be fed. Where are they supposed to go? What are they supposed to do for a living? I don’t know. They certainly don’t know.

They roam the streets looking for work, looking for an answer. You can see perplexity and anger in their stance, their walk, their whole demeanor. Their eyes shift from face to face, looking for a clue. Who is to answer for this mess? Who do you think?

Bremer also dissolved the Ministry of Information and the Ministry of Defense. No matter what the excuses, these ministries were full of ordinary people with ordinary jobs- accountants, janitors, secretaries, engineers, journalists, technicians, operators… these people are now jobless. Companies have been asked to ‘cut down’ their staff. It no longer has anything to do with politics. The company my uncle works in as an engineer was asked by the CPA to get rid of 680 of the 1,500+ employees- engineers, designers, contractors, mechanics, technicians and the administration were all involved.

Other companies, firms, bureaus, factories and shops shut down as a result of the looting and damage done in the post-war chaos- thousands of other workers lost their jobs. Where to go? What to do?

It isn’t any easier for employed people… the standard $50 being given out in various ministries and hospitals is not nearly enough to support a single person, let alone a family. But at least it is work. At least it is a reason to wake up every morning and accomplish something.

Someone asked why the thousands of Iraqi men roaming the streets don’t go out and get work. For weeks, after the occupation, men would line up daily by the thousands outside of the ‘Alwiyah Club’ filling out papers, begging for work. But there is no work. Men were reluctant to apply to the Iraqi police force because they weren’t given weapons! The Iraqi police were expected to roam and guard the hellish cities without weapons… to stop looters, abductors, and murderers with the sheer force of an application to their warped sense of morality.

The story of how I lost my job isn’t unique. It has actually become very common- despondently, depressingly, unbearably common. It goes like this…

I’m a computer science graduate. Before the war, I was working in an Iraqi database/software company located in Baghdad as a programmer/network administrator (yes, yes… a geek). Every day, I would climb three flights of stairs, enter the little office I shared with one female colleague and two males, start up my PC and spend hours staring at little numbers and letters rolling across the screen. It was tedious, it was back-breaking, it was geeky and it was… wonderful.

When I needed a break, I’d go visit my favorite sites on the internet, bother my colleagues or rant about ‘impossible bosses’ and ‘improbable deadlines’.

I loved my job- I was *good* at my job. I came and went to work on my own. At 8 am I’d walk in lugging a backpack filled with enough CDs, floppies, notebooks, chewed-on pens, paperclips and screwdrivers to make Bill Gates proud. I made as much money as my two male colleagues and got an equal amount of respect from the manager (that was because he was clueless when it came to any type of programming and anyone who could do it was worthy of respect… a girl, no less- you get the picture).

What I’m trying to say is that no matter *what* anyone heard, females in Iraq were a lot better off than females in other parts of the Arab world (and some parts of the Western world- we had equal salaries!). We made up over 50% of the working force. We were doctors, lawyers, nurses, teachers, professors, deans, architects, programmers, and more. We came and went as we pleased. We wore what we wanted (within the boundaries of the social restrictions of a conservative society).

During the first week of June, I heard my company was back in business. It took several hours, seemingly thousands of family meetings, but I finally convinced everyone that it was necessary for my sanity to go back to work. They agreed that I would visit the company (with my two male bodyguards) and ask them if they had any work I could possibly take home and submit later on, or through the internet.

One fine day in mid-June, I packed my big bag of geeky wonders, put on my long skirt and shirt, tied back my hair and left the house with a mixture of anticipation and apprehension.

We had to park the car about 100 meters away from the door of the company because the major road in front of it was cracked and broken with the weight of the American tanks as they entered Baghdad. I half-ran, half-plodded up to the door of the company, my heart throbbing in anticipation of seeing friends, colleagues, secretaries… just generally something familiar again in the strange new nightmare we were living.

The moment I walked through the door, I noticed it. Everything looked shabbier somehow- sadder. The maroon carpet lining the hallways was dingy, scuffed and spoke of the burden of a thousand rushing feet. The windows we had so diligently taped prior to the war were cracked in some places and broken in others… dirty all over. The lights were shattered, desks overturned, doors kicked in, and clocks torn from the walls.

I stood a moment, hesitantly, in the door. There were strange new faces- fewer of the old ones. Everyone was standing around, looking at everyone else. The faces were sad and lethargic and exhausted. And I was one of the only females. I weaved through the strange mess and made my way upstairs, pausing for a moment on the second floor where management was located, to listen to the rising male voices. The director had died of a stroke during the second week of the war and suddenly, we had our own little ‘power vacuum’. At least 20 different men thought they were qualified to be boss. Some thought they qualified because of experience, some because of rank and some because they were being backed by differing political parties (SCIRI, Al-Daawa, INC).

I continued upstairs, chilled to the bone, in spite of the muggy heat of the building which hadn’t seen electricity for at least 2 months. My little room wasn’t much better off than the rest of the building. The desks were gone, papers all over the place… but A. was there! I couldn’t believe it- a familiar, welcoming face. He looked at me for a moment, without really seeing me, then his eyes opened wide and disbelief took over the initial vague expression. He congratulated me on being alive, asked about my family and told me that he wasn’t coming back after today. Things had changed. I should go home and stay safe. He was quitting- going to find work abroad. Nothing to do here anymore. I told him about my plan to work at home and submit projects… he shook his head sadly.

I stood staring at the mess for a few moments longer, trying to sort out the mess in my head, my heart being torn to pieces. My cousin and E. were downstairs waiting for me- there was nothing more to do, except ask how I could maybe help? A. and I left the room and started making our way downstairs. We paused on the second floor and stopped to talk to one of the former department directors. I asked him when they thought things would be functioning, he wouldn’t look at me. His eyes stayed glued to A.’s face as he told him that females weren’t welcome right now- especially females who ‘couldn’t be protected’. He finally turned to me and told me, in so many words, to go home because ‘they’ refused to be responsible for what might happen to me.

Ok. Fine. Your loss. I turned my back, walked down the stairs and went to find E. and my cousin. Suddenly, the faces didn’t look strange- they were the same faces of before, mostly, but there was a hostility I couldn’t believe. What was I doing here? E. and the cousin were looking grim, I must have been looking broken, because they rushed me out of the first place I had ever worked and to the car. I cried bitterly all the way home- cried for my job, cried for my future and cried for the torn streets, damaged buildings and crumbling people.

I’m one of the lucky ones… I’m not important. I’m not vital. Over a month ago, a prominent electrical engineer (one of the smartest females in the country) named Henna Aziz was assassinated in front of her family- two daughters and her husband. She was threatened by some fundamentalists from Badir’s Army and told to stay at home because she was a woman, she shouldn’t be in charge. She refused- the country needed her expertise to get things functioning- she was brilliant. She would not and could not stay at home. They came to her house one evening: men with machine-guns, broke in and opened fire. She lost her life- she wasn’t the first, she won’t be the last.




- posted by river @ 11:36 PM

 
About Riverbend
A lot of you have been asking about my background and the reason why my English is good. I am Iraqi- born in Iraq to Iraqi parents, but was raised abroad for several years as a child. I came back in my early teens and continued studying in English in Baghdad- reading any book I could get my hands on. Most of my friends are of different ethnicities, religions and nationalities. I am bilingual. There are thousands in Iraq like me- kids of diplomats, students, ex-patriots, etc.

As to my connection with Western culture… you wouldn’t believe how many young Iraqi people know so much about American/British/French pop culture. They know all about Arnold Schwarzenegger, Brad Pitt, Whitney Houston, McDonalds, and M.I.B.s… Iraqi tv stations were constantly showing bad copies of the latest Hollywood movies. (If it’s any consolation, the Marines lived up to the Rambo/ Terminator reputation which preceded them.)

But no matter what- I shall remain anonymous. I wouldn’t feel free to write otherwise. I think Salam and Gee are incredibly brave… who knows, maybe one day I will be too. You know me as Riverbend, you share a very small part of my daily reality- I hope that will suffice.


- posted by river @ 11:33 PM