No Border No Nation No Occupation
�When I was in the military they gave me a medal for killing two men and a discharge for loving one.� from the tombstone of Leonard P. Matlovich, a gay Vietnam veteran.
IMC Beirut
Music for Peace
Stop the Apartheid Wall
I spent a month in Baghdad along other international activists, monitoring the ongoing human rights violations by the coalition forces by dialy life among Iraqis. I focused on the impact of the long dictatorship, embargo, recurrent wars and current occupation on Iraqi civilians especially women and the labor movement.
Follows are diaries of my stay in Baghdad (I am posting on regular basis);
The diaries reflect my personal observations and insights on occupation, social and civil struggle, and daily life of Iraqis and internationals in Baghdad! These diaries are my messages to friends, comrades, colleagues and the world about what is happening here. I reflect -personally - on issues that the corporate media fails to represent - intentionally I believe!
Feel free to spread the word, my diaries are copylefted for non-commercial use only.
Older diaries are available at the bottom fo the page
No Borders No Nation No Occupation!
I-Mad!
Shall you want to join the struggle, I would love to share with you ways to get here (check the above Step by Step Guide) and provide contacts! Just let me know!
Diary Eight
10 p.m., 11th of November, 2003
Of Military and Resistance
The curfew was lifted during the first few days of Ramadan, though I am talking of that imposed by the coalition forces. Another kind of curfew still prevails. It is the curfew for women who are afraid of being kidnapped or raped if they leave their houses, the curfew for civilians being robbed mid day and in the middle of the street. Cars are being stopped on daily basis and taken from their drivers by gun threats. The curfew is lifted, yet the streets are empty as of 11 p.m. and even the famous Ramadan dawn snack, Sohor, does not tempt people to go out. If you happen to need anything at night from the nearby shops, it is always advised to postpone it to the next day if not urgent. Everyone in Baghdad including those against Saddam pity the security under his regime. For them they were under one dictator and under his threats, now the threat is invisible, and more than one dictator rule. Each car that drives by is a potential threat or robbery, each passer by is a possible criminal for the other passer by. Everyone is afraid of everyone, and everyone is concerned about everyone. It is suffocating to be forced into suspicion all the time, yet it is such a beautiful thing being cared for by a whole population. Two days ago I did not notice that time was getting close to 11 p.m. and I had to rush down the street to get a cab back home. The driver who picked me up screamed his head on me for being late. �You are a nice young man (well thanks but you do not really know me) what are you doing this late out here? Make sure to be home early next time.� He took the cab fare after I insisted for quite a while and had to shove it in his pocket.
As I am typing my diary for the day, I listen to the daily suppressed explosions and gun shots in the background. With the rate they shatter the silence every night, it makes you wonder if and where is a war taking place. Baghdad is such a big city, that I hear shots all the time but never saw one in front of me. The next morning in the news it is always few lines on some explosion or bomb, unless loads of brain-washed soldiers were blown up as with the Italian troops in Naseryieh.
Three US tanks greeted me yesterday night as I left my apartment to buy some food; seems like the armed resistance has hit one of the many US bases in Baghdad. On daily bases the coalition forces suffer one kind of defeat whether on military level or the political one. Bremer's speeches no longer convince anyone let alone himself! A question is hovering over all the conversations in Iraqi cabs � not to mention the whole world from what I read through friends' emails. Who are the resistance? Who is to benefit from those attacks? That is not to mention the one million dollar question "What ever happened to Saddam Hussein?", right Mr. Blair? Oops hold on, I will ask Bush directly!!
When I first arrived in Baghdad on the 25th of October, 2003, the US soldiers were moving freely in the city in a way that made me uncomfortable. They did not look like the self-proclaimed liberators but rather the proud conquerors of the Saddam. Twenty days later the peacock feathers were replaced by turtle shells. They became horrified by any movement around them to the extent that you would have a hard time suppressing the sarcastic smile on your face seeing those acting all worked up on check points and on patrols to miserably hide their fear � which they are failing to. The victorious smiles that once were on their faces are gone and replaced with winces of stress. I bet they all want to be back home for Christmas, but none of them would offend his machismo and acknowledge this fact.
Now-a-days they do not only target Iraqi civilians but any moving species including those known as press. International concern has been rising lately from various organizations and bodies over the violations of freedom of press and the physical and material offences committed against journalists in Iraq by the coalition forces. It is not out of anyone reach to know that they are getting more and more restless and nervous about being here. The armed resistance - and I do not mean by that the bombs targeting the UN headquarters and ICRC offices in Baghdad, for that is only in the benefit of defaming whatever is there or to be of military opposition to the coalition presence � is growing. After all if you are not with them, you are against them; and these days being against them means pro-Saddam thus pro-dictatorship thus hated by the people! Whenever any new crackdown operations against Iraqi civilians is to take place a bomb explodes in a place that the stupidest of terrorist would not even think of targeting for its un-strategic rather trivial status. Who would benefit from bombing Al Mutanabi Street that is the book market? Saddam? Why? To say he is pissed off at the Iraqis for not killing US soldiers on daily basis? But they are doing so. US soldiers are being hit everyday and stories of their loses spread all the time in Baghdad yet not on TV.
Resistance is brewing in every corner in Baghdad!
The oil pipelines, as noted by Fisk, are bombed on a rate that makes it hard for the US corporations to fix it even if their labor force started from Bush down to Rice! Every time Bremer fails to cover up the defeat, a grenade gets thrown on an empty school and used on the world TV station to portray the US soldiers as victims of terror rather than of the greedy war of their government! I wonder if bombings targeting civilians in occupied Palestine ring a bell. So far all the bombings we heard of � except those so hard to cover up for their high toll of coalition soldiers � were in favor of the occupation. With each new bombing it got rid of an international monitoring bodies (UN � which I personally have no faith in, ICRC �etc.). With each bombing the occupation gave itself a reason to stay, but the coalition forces do not know that the people of Iraq have no faith in their presence. They do not know that the label �War for Oil� echoes in the streets of Baghdad from the anti-war demos all over the world. I wonder what Bremer would say if he took one cab in Baghdad and listened to the whispers of the underground. OCCUPATION FORCES OUT OF IRAQ NOW! It is only near-sighted people that would blame any existent or future Iraqi anti-occupation resistance for such bombings targeting civilians and international bodies.
Resistance is brewing in every corner in Iraq!
What is happening to the oil pipes is a non-violent direct action targeting privatized property; this is a glorious act that we never heard of. The unions formed in Basra and Mousel, let alone Baghdad is a revolution within each oil refinery or factory � again we heard nothing of it. Civil disobedience is brought up day after day in alleys behind hotels where workers wages are being cut down despite the high turnover rate of residents; strikes are discussed among workers as they milk the oil out of the belly of the earth demanding their fare wages; walk outs from work happen all over the city and in recently established ministries. The Free-dom granted by the occupation seems to be an adjective of the market not the people and happen to crack day after day and taking down with it the security and confidence of the soldiers.
Today I was to meet Jo, an anti-war anti-capitalist activist, at Al Fanar Hotel facing Hotel Palestine at 9:30 in order to head to Kurdistan for some interviews. Taking the traffic jam in account I arrived half an hour before the set time. I notified Jo and waited for her in the lobby looking over the blocked road leading to Hotel Palestine with the usual fully armed head-to-toe covered US soldiers slouching there. One of them seemed like he is in some kind of a heated discussion with Seif!
10 year old Seif, whom we call shoe-shinning Seif indicating his past profession that he deserted for his more profitable new job as giving warm hugs and kisses to every foreigner he spots, is a constantly smiling little boy. His hugs and kisses earn him money everyday for his addiction on video games, sniffed glue and food. I walked out to see what was upsetting my beloved little brat.
As usual Seif left the soldier amid his speech and ran over to me to give me my hug and pat on the shoulder (yes it is him who pats me after I bend over to hug him back). I asked Seif who was later joined by 11 year old Ahmed and 12 year old Laith, all are my warm friends from the streets of Baghdad. They all started pulling me into one of the games I taught them days ago but I was persistent in knowing what was it that the US soldier wanted. The kids told me that he has been �kidding� around with them all night that they could not sleep � though they called it kidding I could only distress on their faces. It started by the soldier pouring water on Ahmed�s head as he slept under his blanket on the pavement, then by chasing the three of them away from where they usually sleep on the pavement of hotel behind the cement barricades, till the morning order for Seif to clear the area which I interrupted.
With Seif�s smile and Ahmed and Laith�s nagging I always found it hard to say no to anything except giving them money. I joined them into a little game I taught them and that always brought up laughs from all of us and indirectly taught them how to count � we are up to 20 so far. As I was still waiting for Jo and playing with the kids and as Seif was still insisting to pronounce nine as nite, the US soldier approached us asking the kids to "clear the area".
�Because I said so!� came the answer for my question on why should they leave. I asked again if there was any law in the book of occupation that forbids children from being on the street, yet this time I was faced with a stern look then the back of the soldier as he walked away ignoring my statement. Seif pulled my arm back into the game.
The soldier that talked to me was not older then 20 years old - I believe. He was covered up with his outfit from head to toe in a way that makes you wonder how much would he truly weigh without the uniform. Nothing but his cheeks - and in the worst cases his face and hands � actually show. Every indication that he belongs to the human race was stuffed under his khaki uniform with funny extensions coming out of the helmet on his head. Even if he is oozing compassion, peace and love, I doubt anything would leak from that outfit to the outer world! Once a soldier took of his helmet in front of me. I was shocked to see how tiny his head is in reality. With the helmet and the outfits you can not really tell the soldier's real size. I was shocked to see a Hispanic kid under that helmet, that if dressed otherwise would be a perfect cast for a pop boy band. It is such a sinister parody how day after day kids on the American bloke seek to be poster boys and girls in weird ways such as shooting on their fellow kids in US schools and Iraqi oil fields. Eventually is not this what Jessica Lynch is today, the poster girl hero of the US military on the covers of People magazine next to Hollywood stars' weddings? Eventually is not this the culture of the right wing? The culture of the Bush administration? Be a soldier, carry a gun, be a hero, be a celebrity, that is what a man is, that is what an equal-to-man woman is!
Jo got down on time to find me hanging out with the kids who she shares a mutual fondness with. She joins our little game that sucks us in for a quite half an hour before we find out that we are running late and have to move to Suleimaniyeh. The regular goodbye - cuddle from Seif which was joined today by Laith and Ahmed warming both Jo and myself before we head to Kurdistan!
Who knows, another place another suffering� we are yet to see! Salam is so excited to go there playing his Turkish tape over and over again on the way!
Diary Seven
11 p.m., 10th of November, 2003
Of children, and capitalism!
Al Ghazalieh compound is one of many locations previously owned by the fallen regime and currently squatted by hundreds of families living under extreme conditions. Al Ghazalieh used to be a cattle and chicken farm owned by Oday Saddam Hussein. Most of the families living here, not only have no place else, but also some of them were denied by Saddam � and still are up till today � from identity papers or nationality because of the father�s refusal to join the army. They have been fugitives for years that as Um Kadhim* told Jo and me she lost her daughter on the run. The three-year-old daughter got sick and died long before her parents got even close to finding a hospital. Of course illiterate Um Kadhim knows not what was the cause of her daughter�s death, as much as she have a hard time remembering her children�s ages or dates of birth.
Um Kadhim was one of tens of women who gathered around Jo and me the minute we walked in the compound, let alone close-to-hundred children. Most were barefoot and had flies hovering around their faces � after all, this place was long occupied by cattle and chicken for a long time which makes it easy to tell how contaminated it is now! The farm had a laboratory full of chemicals used to treat the cattle and fatten the chickens as we were told by one of the very few men around us. A lab once filled with chemicals and recently looted is now the place where children play and sleep.
It is rare that you�d walk into any place around Baghdad and not find tens of people eager to talk to you about their sufferings. It is as if they all want to compensate for the years of silence under Saddam in the few minutes you meet them. My hand does not stop being pulled by women trying to tell me about their suffering thinking that I am there to assess their needs for future aid. Jo and I made it clear that we are here as independent activists to listen to their suffering and transmit it to the world.
Um Ala�a, who told us she is fifty six, but surely looked like seventy something for me as she dragged her black chador as the wind blew it away, lives there with her only son Ala�a who is now seventeen. Ala�a works in a slaughter house making 2000 Iraqi Dinars a day ($1 US).His job is to blow in a slit made in the feet of cattle after being slaughtered to facilitate its skinning. �My throat dries up from blowing all day to earn the 2000 Dinars when I am lucky, sometimes it is hard to make more than 1000 (50 cents) or 1500 ID�. Um Ala�a said the money would be used to buy some potatoes and tea.
Ala�a dropped out of school when he was in fifth grade after his father passed away. Being the only son, he had to support his Mom. They used to live in a house costing them 20,000 ID/ month ($ 10 US), of course, with what Ala�a was � and still is � making, it was hard to pay for food and rent. When I asked the 17 year old boy with a coarse-from-blowing voice playing now on my recorder, what would it be the thing he wish for he did not wish for a cooking stove that they could not afford nor did he ask for a blanket for his Mom. He spoke aloud confidently as he tried to steady himself on top of his bicycle �all we need is a stable place to stay in�. Something his mother told me the minute she saw me.*
Al Ghazalieh compound accommodates 84* families living in three different kinds of houses; rarely with one family enjoying a private space. The houses are either former stables accommodating more than ten families per one, or newly erected stone houses with tin roofs, or straw tents that do not even block the sun during the day. The interior of the houses was mostly empty, except for the very few who afforded a small stove or one blanket for the family�s ten members. Within these walls it is hard to discuss occupation or stance on war. The time froze for these people at the sanctions period; they are deprived of everything, including the bare necessities of life! The only improvement in their situation is that now they are not scattered around and continuously on the run but rather gathered here in a stable location. This place is all what they have, yet they are under the daily risk of eviction. Al Ghazalieh is not the only compound in Baghdad, but seems it is the only one with a recent letter from the CMOC saying they can stay until someone takes responsibility of their living. Of course this someone is not the �liberator� freedom-carrier Bush!
Unlike those in other squats, the Ghazalieh residents were lucky by picking a trivial location such as a farm previously owned by Odey and which the coalition forces currently do not need. In the new �free� Iraq, human rights do apply where premises are not needed by the occupation forces, thus guaranteeing a place for the Al Ghazalieh residents till �such time a suitable place is found for them�, or as not mentioned in the letter but practiced in other squats, till the premises is needed by the coalition forces or the new government.
We visited Al Ghazalieh compound for the purpose of talking to the children and see what do they believe could be done to improve their situation. We were guided to the single recently painted room in the compound that was fixed by the residents to be a clinic on the hope that some medical team would come and use it for their sake � something did not happen yet. The room is 5 m2 and it is faintly painted with white. Empty from everything but a small table and a chair. The children were being called from all over the compound and gathered in this room. Bit after bit the room was being filled with children to the extent that we could barley move anymore. They all sat on the floor whispering among each other and waiting for us to speak. One particular little girl started crying franticly and holding on to her mother�s black chadour. She was scared of us and no the more we tried to talk to her the louder she would scream and press herself against her mother�s limp body. Her littles sister joined her in tears and in turn pressed her body against the sister�s body pressed against the mother. We failed to gain her trust and asked the mother to take her away where she feels more safe � there is nothing more disappointing than failing to communicate with children in crisis.
We asked to adults to move out and leave us with the kids. It took us some time to gain their trust during which I handled the questions due to my Arabic knowledge and Jo handled breaking the ice through a little game of chasing the kids around the room and taking pictures. We decided, as not to insinuate any promises of future aid that we were hoping for, we�d use a hypothetical game to get answers from the kids.
The question was �what would you ask for if a magician (we could not apply fairy cause they never heard of the term) granted you three wishes�. At first the children were shy and introverted, but the laughs that Jo managed to bring out from them, and my twisting up the question over and over started a tremendous flow of answers.
Marwa who is 11, dropped out from school this year because her parents are afraid she might get kidnapped or blown up. Her three brothers go to school, they are 17, 16 and 13 years old. Marwa says she would have been accompanied to school by her brothers if hers was close to that of her brothers�. Marwa says she is fond of school, she says that kids learn how to read and write there and when they grow up they become employees who make money. She remembers having a good time at the morning break where she joined her fellow students in the playground. When asked how she spends her day she replied �I have nothing to do, so I help my mother do the dishes and wash the clothes.� When asked what would she wish for she replied �blankets, dolls, and veils�. Marwa has been veiled for the past year, �because god said so, and if I do not do it my hair will get burned on dooms day�. Marwa heard this at her house, ever since she is very careful not to let any male see her hair �I do not want to get it burned at hell�. Marwa is one if the smartest kids I met so far, she is so outspoken, confident and alert. Marwa spoke in a commanding voice and bright eyes. She captured the attention of all those around her. Marwa who wanted to be a doctor to treat people at the compound and now helps carry water for the house. Marwa led the girls standing around her demanding they�d stay here at the compound. I had a hard time understanding how can they hold on so hard to such place. Do they have a choice? Do Marwa have a choice? Jo decided to come and give her and the rest of the kids English classes as soon as she gets through with her own Arabic ones. We are planning to get more people to teach. If these kids can not go to school, then let us bring a school for them.
My favorite game as a child was day dreaming and �what would you do if� questions. And now, here am I in Baghdad, thousands of miles away from home having a hard time getting these children to wish for anything. It was horrid seeing a child, let alone children, incapable of letting their imagination go, some of them stood there confused not knowing how to act upon this given freedom, this bliss of mere wishes, mere words! They lived for so long with the bare minimum that now it was hard for them to hope for anything, let alone have any kind of hope! For the majority of them clothes ranked second after school that came in the third place. The record-breaking answer, the number one winner wish was BLANKETS!
We went there expecting wishes of toys, sweets and gardens filled with flowers. We ended up listening to outcries for warmth and stability, let alone screaming children demanding their childhood. Once again the homeless children prove to be deeper and more insightful concerning their own problems than myself or anyone else I know. Once again the suppressed revolution seems to be lying among these walls, in the voices of these children.
Voices that once again resonate from Ain Al Helweh Palestinian refugee camp in southern Lebanon where the Lebanese government denies them the basics of their civil rights to the children of Rafah in occupied Palestine hunted down on daily basis by Israeli Apartheid regime tanks to the silence of the world.
To those in the sweatshops of Nike and GAP subjected to every kind of molestation to sew the shoes that warm up the feet of the oblivion global majority who find it hard and �radical� not to buy Nike and GAP products in protest!
To the children forced to carry AK-47s and M-16s and die on the front lines of combat frontlines in Guatemala and Nicaragua. Let alone those used as human shields, spies, or messengers.
To the children of the Red Indians sold out to alcoholism, crime and illiteracy in the suffocating reserves they are �kept� at right on the borders of the US as it sends it troops to liberate a people thousands of miles away!
To those children morning their murdered fathers in the Colombian factories of Coca Cola for the sake of �free trade� and the World Trade Organization.
To the perishing children on the shores of Australia and in the Australian refugee camp of Wommera denied the simple plea to live in a safe place originally stolen from the Aborigines.
To the screaming voices of little girls sold for the rich and powerful penises of the patriarchal society in Egypt and Bangkok.
To the children of the US and Britain brought up to believe that the only solution for any problem is war and violence!
Seems it is time to pity the world not the nation, or call for a revolution!
Foot notes:
� Um Kadhim is not her true name, I named her Um Kadhim as the women who stalked me once in the streets of Baghdad begging for money.
� I am working on an article exclusively tackling the situation of children in compounds and on the streets, will send that out when done.
� 84 families according to the civil military affairs, while residents of the compound say they are around 135 families.
Diary Six
November 7th, 2003
Occupied Baghdad, 11:00 p.m.
The nearby mosque does not stop praying over the loud speaker that it, persistently, put me off sleep. The sheik violates my personal right as not to listen to prayer, denying me every right to sleep peacefully. After all the sleepless nights listening to the melodious praying, I am getting used to it. It has become part of my system that if one night the power cut turns off the microphone, I would wake up and I would have a hard time going back to sleep. It is weird how things you can not stand grow on you after a while� just like the occupation.
After the war for oil, the collapse of the Baathist regime and the commencement of the occupation, new marginalized professions were introduced within the Iraqi society; professions that shape the imagery of Baghdad in the new �free� Iraq. Everyday and as I am sitting in the cab, we would drive across tens of children of all ages scattered all over the sidewalks. Sometimes they look as a dark pile of cloth over the translucent white gallons filled with the brownish fuel. Something that I believe will stick to my visual memory of the city after I leave. These children are the new gas stations of the new �free� Iraq. They stand there from dawn to evening under the burning desert sun waving for cars to stop for gas at their mini-stations. Each kid would hold on dear to his funnel and tube that are used to pour the gas in the car tanks.
Some of them pick locations close to each other as to keep company or to compete over the busy spot. Some pick a rather exclusive area where they hang out alone alongside their gallons thus avoiding competition. I have been wondering about this business and its sudden popularity in a country known for its oil� especially by the Bush Administration, let alone Blair! �It is faster and more convenient than having to pull over at a gas station� I was told by a driver. Could be, but did not seem convincing enough to me especially that it is more expensive though not to that big difference (keeping in mind that gas is mighty cheap here as 20 liters of gas would cost 1 US dollar). Seems like this business have flourished in agreement with and the under the patronage of the gas stations owners in Baghdad, and of course the blessings of the liberating armies of Saint Bremer. Seems freedom always comes in market forms! And the price at stake is always children and their rights. From the sweatshops of Manila to the streets of Baghdad, �freedom� prevails.
Walking down the busy streets in Baghdad such as Karadeh Dakhil, I chat with Salam my flat mate about Iraq, past and present. We pass by the tea vendors with their small metal cabinets holding their teapots, the small glasses and sugar.
Tea is served in a small glass under which there is a small plate. This is the etiquette (custom) here though not the Louis 16 one. Iraqis pour the tea out of the tiny cups in the small plate and sip it from there. At first I found it weird, but then it was explained to me that this is done to cool the boiling hot tea and I found it rather smart and pleasant.
Salam and I took a bus from Karadeh Dakhil to Baghdad Al Jedidah (an area in Baghdad). Arriving there was dazzling for me. The busiest place I have ever been to. An area full, say stacked to the rim with street vendors and carts that hinder the passage of cars. The place is packed with people, vegetables and fruits, snack booths with meat on the fryers and flies hovering over racks of local sweets. You can find all kinds of goods that would ever cross your mind from clothes to gold to kitchenware. A market that is so unique in its stagnating smells, crowds, colors and sounds. Chaos all over the place, from the piles of dirt to the hovering flies to the wide variety of goods. This was not to be seen in Baghdad in million years under the reign of the late Baghdad Municipality. A fact made clear to me by every Iraqi I met, just like the good riddance of Saddam.
Iraqis, or at least those I met so far, are ecstatic for being relieved of Saddam, but at the same time each and everyone of them admit that the dictatorship was not replaced by freedom but rather by chaos� a life threatening one! The job that Saddam started, as I was told by one cab driver, is being carried on by the coalition forces. For Ahmed, the cab driver, now it is not Saddam that is taking the fuel, it is the Americans. The only difference is that instead of the people taking 1% of the oil revenues under Saddam�s regime, now they are taking 5%. Something that is not fair for Ahmed but much better than getting the nibbles Saddam used to give them. For him, the oil revenues were never his, so why should he care about it now as long s he is getting more than what he used to get before. Ahmed is not the only one with this theory, many of those I met, let alone children at squats use this analogy when asked about their attitude towards the continuous theft of their oil. They have been used to nothing, that now the scarce amounts given to them by the Americans are worth a lot. Now I understand what Haj Ismaeel meant as he drove me from Amman to Baghdad by saying that Saddam destroyed the spirits of the Iraqi people.
Another cab driver who drove me along with an Irish friend back to her hotel went on and on in broken English on how his income improved after the fall of the regime and how the Americans saved his neck. He was outraged when I told him we are here to monitor the occupation. For him this was not an occupation, nor is the whole news about the corruption of the governing council true. This driver could not understand what all of us were doing while Saddam butchered thousands of Iraqis and starved millions. I tried to explain to him that Saddam was the pampered pet of the American government and because of that main stream media was not reporting the horrid stuff he was doing. For the majority of the globe Saddam Hussein was unheard of before the invasion of Kuwait and the Desert Storm. I wanted to tell him how many dictators and terrorists around the world are not heard of until the American government decides to turn the table, stop its support and use them as an excuse to invade or bomb countries. I wanted to tell him all that, saying that I understand his rage and incomprehension, to tell him that this is why all of us are here, to report the truth that was, and still is, being shut down from the world and the Iraqi people themselves. We are here to share the locals their struggle for "true" freedom. Not the "freedom" granted to them by the Bush in return of the billions of Dollars in revenues of their own fuel. I wanted to tell him that this extra income he is enjoying and is grateful to Bush and Blair for giving it to him is microscopic compared to what he is ought to have if the coalition governments where not stuffing their safes with the billions of dollars of oil revenues. Too bad we arrived and had to get off!
After I went back home I wondered, is this driver aware of the increasing debt he and his people are under? I bet he is nonetheless aware of it than the Lebanese people are� which amounts to zero! Is he aware that the estimated future revenues of oil of 20-25 billion dollars per year is not enough to repay the debt (estimated to be $ 120 billion) co-inflicted on the people by governments starting by his own fallen one?
Did they tell him that Amnesty International has warned that the 'occupying powers must make an explicit commitment to involving Iraqis in decision-making related to reconstruction. Iraqis themselves, ideally through representative institutions, ought to make decisions on rebuilding, on foreign investment, and on the selling of state assets'; and that this did not happen so far, at least not with corrupt-free bodies?
Does he know that the former company of crusading liberator Cheney, Halliburton, is harvesting Iraqi "rebuilding" contracts obtained from the U.S. government? Is he aware, or did the "freedom" carriers justify for him the visits that the all-democracy-loving Rumsfeld did to Saddam advocating Bechtel's business in Iraq, of course not only to the benefit of Bechtel but to the respective benefit of the regime as well? The regime that, according to Rumsfeld was not a dictatorship back then though it was slaughtering thousands of Kurds and Muslim Shiites! Did they pass out copies through their new democratic free-speech tools of reports given to Rumsfeld and other Bush administration officials advising a rapid privatization of Iraqi industries and governmental bodies by Michael Bleyzer, a former Exxon executive? Did they publicize what Bleyzer stated in his report to the Wall Street Journal on March 27, 2003 saying �What I'd like to see over the next 10 years is to really rebuild Iraq, and that means a market economy�, adding that Iraq would have a �much better business environment if BP or ExxonMobil or Shell could invest.�? Did they read through the report to the point where Mr. Bleyzer say �We want to set up a business environment where global companies like Coca-Cola and McDonald's could come in and create a diversified economy not dependent on oil�? Did they give speeches about Mr. Bleyzer�s theory of "In the oil sector, priority should be given to improved transparency and predictability to encourage the early involvement of private international companies. Today, Iraq's oil industry is plagued by corruption and bitterly resented by the Iraqi people. Cleaning it up would boost the economy and give Iraqis some evidence that change and social benefit is coming.�? Did they explain privatization and its impacts on local communities? Did they tell the people how clean and corrupt-free ExxonMobile is? Or did they hide its being sued for complicity in human rights violations in Aceh, Indonesia, including allowing its facilities to be used for torture and interrogation? Did they have a look into the long reports issued by the Stop Exxon campaign that carry atrocities in Chad and Cameroon where citizen opposition to the environmental and social consequences of ExxonMobil's Chad-Cameroon oil pipeline has been met with brutal government suppression? Or did Bremer issue a statement concerning an entire village in Colombia forcibly relocated in 2001 to make way for the expansion of South America's largest open pit coal mine, majority owned by ExxonMobil's? Or about when Exxon merged with Mobil in 1999, and became the first U.S. employer ever to withdraw a non-discrimination policy covering sexual orientation? Did they tell the people about Coca Cola's continuous slaughter of workers and union members in Columbia? I wonder� was this cab driver briefed about his, or the minorities, or the workers, or the environment future rights under such corporate "freedom"?
All Iraqis I met detest the state their country has turned into, whether those pro the occupation or those against it. Everyone talks about how one Iraqi Dinar was equivalent to 3 US Dollars in the late 80�s opposing to one US dollar being equivalent to 2000 Iraqi Dinars now-a-days. They all explain how the consecutive wars, sanctions and dictatorship have contributed to the destruction of their society let alone the cultural state of the Iraqi people. I remember stories as a child on how Iraqis did not use to do the �dirty� work; it was usually given to immigrant workers who flooded Iraq making fortunes to take back to their countries. I am not acknowledging nor supporting such practice but rather highlighting the past financial wellbeing that the Iraqis enjoyed long before the Hussein family personal wars and dictatorship and the Bush family personal fascist obsession. Now no one is tempted to work here even Iraqis themselves and even in good posts. It is only corporation such as Bechtel that would do business here benefiting from the millions of dollars assigned to �rebuild� Iraq in contrast to the $ 50 dollars of monthly income to the regular middle class Iraqi man! Rebuilt can not be achieved according to the Bush Administration by Iraqis themselves, no, money has to be given to them in the form of international debt, and their debt must be wasted over companies linked to if not ghostly-owned by Rumsfeld or Cheney. Definitely the US congress would be generous in approving grants to �rebuild� the new �free� Iraq, and happily sign the check for big corporations that take the �grant� and stuff it down its belly along side workers and environmental rights. Of course such rights do not sink alone! According to the universal declaration of human rights all rights are inalienable, which in practice means if one right is shoved down the drain the rest will follow; such is the case here now-a-days!
Such is the case now-a-days in the new "free" Baghdad with rape, looting, women oppression, squatters living in extreme conditions with the bare minimum hygienic and nutritional situations, religious fanaticism, kidnapping, appalling school drop-out rate among children, income increased for few while millions starve, few smiles on the governing council faces as millions mourn the victims of sanctions, war and occupation. Yes, the dictator was over thrown! Bravo Bush, Bravo Blair� bring on another Berlusconi� or Hariri to the new "free" market in Iraq!
DIARY FIVE
Thursday 6th of November, 2003
10:30 p.m. Occupied Baghdad
The night cold grew warm, and now it is a pleasant breeze at night, delicate to a smooth chill when you are sitting outdoors. Across my apartment there is a patio overlooked by two palm trees. One of my pleasures here is to sit outside in the striking moonlight and look up at the palm trees and the sky in the background. I have always heard about the beauty of the sky in the desert, but I never thought it would be as mesmerizing, intriguing and meditative. I still have ten days in Baghdad and I believe I will miss it dearly when I leave.
Yesterday was intense, as when I got out of the nearby Internet caf� I was surprised to see two American military vehicles parked in front of the adjacent restaurant. Fully armed soldiers where outside while two of them kept going in and out of the restaurant with guns dangling from their shoulders as people including families went in to buy food for the approaching Iftar time. There is nothing more repulsive to me than seeing guns and soldiers let alone seeing them around children and civilians.
I decided to stand aside and watch just in case they do something that needs to be documented, or requires any legal advisory action. I stood for about half an hour with nothing happening except few children trying hard to wave to one of the soldiers and signaling for him to approach them to no avail. Finally he looked at them with a smile and shook his head in refusal noting that he is not allowed to leave his post. They went on non-stop till the minute I left, thirty minutes later.
People in Iraq drive in the wrong lanes all the time, and go in the opposite directions on regular basis that it became a norm. As I stood there watching the US soldiers kick back in their vehicles waiting for something I had no clue about in front of Saj Al Reef Restaurant, cars drove by as usual with and against the flow.
Ten minutes later a car approached the US army vehicles driving in the opposite direction - again something so normal in Baghdad. One of the soldiers at this moment was standing in front of the car smoking a cigarette and another was on the top of the car with his machine gun pointed at the street. The one on the top shouted franticly at the driver to stop the car and detour as he pointed his gun at the car in a defensive manner. The one standing in front of the vehicle, unknowing of his friend's response, signaled to the man carelessly to approach and move forward. The poor confused driver froze not knowing what to do, then started screaming that he needs to get to the restaurant and to detour will get him in a long route to reach the place, explaining that he is few meters away. The soldier at the top started signaling with his gun to the man to go back as he was shouting his head off. The other soldier in front of the vehicle decided to change his mind and asked the driver to detour. The stubborn driver parked in place (with what looked like his family in the car) trying to convince the paranoid confused soldiers to let him cross the few meters to Saj Al Reef. All this was taking place with English from the side of the US soldiers and Arabic from the side of the driver, clearly without anyone understanding a word from the other side. It was a freaky moment when the soldiers got out of the vehicle - except for the alarmed one on the top � and started walking towards the car with their pointed guns. I started moving involuntarily towards the car in order to practice some direct action conflict resolution in case they decided to do anything to harm the passengers of the car or the driver. Before I got close, the scared driver turned the car around and left. I hailed a cab as the soldiers went back to their vehicles waiting for their commander who was trying the traditional saj sandwich inside!!! (As I learnt later)
This incident rushed the adrenaline to my brain and choked my guts. These soldiers risking their lives and terrorizing civilians at the same time so their commander can enjoy a sandwich! A fact that disgusted me big time. I felt sorry for them being manipulated by their government to be here feeling scared, alarmed and insecure all the time towards any mobility coming from a non-American! And yet I hated their stupidity and immaturity believing the crap that the Bush administration filled their heads with pushing them to risk their lives for the sake of greed and capital.
Later on that evening an Iraqi young man was searching me, as usual, in the all-pedestrian zone leading to Hotel Palestine as I was on my way to see a friend. American soldiers never deal with people unless it is something extreme, yet this time I got lucky. As I was being searched one of the US soldiers standing aside said I have a "nice one" as he pointed to my piercing � great, contact established for the fist time. Unfortunately and due to what happened in front of Saj Al Reef earlier, I was in no mood to start a conversation with the occupation forces and I wrongfully lost temper. I replied hastily that I did not have to kill innocent civilians to get it. Something that stunned the soldier and his friend as the Iraqi youngster froze though he was clueless of what is being said - but I guess he could sense the hostility in my vocal tone, or maybe he could sense my jerking knees despite the stern look on my face. He looked at the American soldier for orders, the later signaled for him to go on and turned his face away as his friend kept staring at me. I walked away after my search has been concluded feeling stupid for terminating the conversation at that early stage, promising myself more constraint next time, thought I believe we all should make the soldiers feel unwelcome and not at ease for being here, especially internationals.
Yesterday morning I took part in the 35th anniversary of one of the famous Iraqi workers strikes in the 60's that resulted in the assassination of one and detention of many. As usual around the Arab world, speeches, promises and cliches slogans poured from every side. One speech was breath taking as it told a personal account from the strike in 1968 and was given by one of the union leaders back then and who is now in his early 60s. It was so poignant and empowering in its facts and the speaker's commanding tone and presence that the crowd could not but give it a standing ovation.
I spent the first part of today at the Organization for Women Freedom in Iraq doing some work for them. Later I hung out with Salam my flat mate who took me around the city. We walked in the crowded streets, visited the public crowded market, ate the Iraqi version of Falafel which turned out to be tasty to the extent that I can not wait to eat more tomorrow. Salam also took me to have some Shirbat (juice) then to this local restaurant where I was grossed out at first, and faked fullness but then I tried one dish as not to embarrass my sweet Salam. The dish, which was made of eggplants, onions, tomatoes and potatoes all cooked in a sour spicy sauce, was yummy. I ended up ordering a share on my own along side the yummy Iraqi rice and eating half of it (yet trying not to think of the dirty floor).
The fondness I have for Baghdad is growing, and I am trying to see as much as possible before I leave, 11 more days are nothing. I believe I will be coming back. This first visit was enough to establish contacts and do some interviews for the publications I am volunteering for, yet next time I believe more action can be done, action that is highly needed to shift the world's attention to atrocities the occupation is committing here.
In three days time is the international day against the apartheid wall in Palestine. I have some ideas for protest here that I am still discussing with activists who have been here longer than me and might have other insight on the suitability of such action. Tomorrow I shall know.
Occupation is horrible, let alone if you feel that the majority of the occupying forces are victims of their own regimes. Puts you in a state of confusion. Yet knowing that one victim chose to be here to inflict suffering though brainwashed and the other victim had no say in his/her suffering. The later resided under a long dictatorship that carried on three wars inflicting suffering on its own people. Then the dictatorship was conjoined by economic sanctions (with the United Nations as a godfather) yet adding to the agony of the crowds killing thousands of children over the years. The dictatorship and the sanctions were followed on by an unjust war for oil resulting in occupation, unemployment, poverty, chaos, mass insecurity and terrorist attacks against civilians.
All this, and the world is watching! This time, Palestine haunts me!
In Solidarity,
I-Mad!
DIARY FOUR
Occupied Baghdad - we have been blessed by electric power for the past two days!
Saturday, November 2nd, 2003 10:00 p.m.
This is my second night at the new apartment that I moved to. It is a dump compared to the place I lived in for the past week. Last night I could not sleep due to the near-by mosque which did not stop praying and to a rat that kept crossing back and forth in my room trapping me on the sofa (and no one dares laugh cause it is not funny!) I wonder where he is right now!
It is getting really cold at night, to my misfortune and distress. I have been trying my best not to get sick, having my vitamins daily due to the non-food diet I am having and trying to keep as warm as possible.
Today was not a regular day in Baghdad. You can not but feel the tension in the air. It was clear on people's faces and with the excessive military presence. Helicopters hovering low all over the place, and tanks and soldiers all over town in unusual density and more frequent 3-tank patrols (that are usually two-tank patrols on regular days). For the past two days rumors filled the city that Saddam and Ousama Bin Laden are going to bomb universities, schools and governmental buildings if people broke the strike that was conforming by the newly declared so-called Day of Resistance. Posters with such news were posted all over the city, yet I found it hard to believe and decided to go out.
It was 9 a.m. and it was my first time to take a cab alone in Baghdad. The street was full of people, seemed like more people did not buy the story. I was heading towards the headquarters of the Worker - Communist Party of Iraq, who I was told were among the very active groups in the civil struggle and very out spoken against the occupation.
Traffic as usual! It takes around an hour to two hours (sometimes three) to get to any place in Baghdad that might have taken you around ten minutes before the occupation. I figured it could be another roadblock by the U.S. forces. The only thing that makes me want to leave this town is the traffic jam. I hate it. Sometimes an hour passes and the car does not move an inch.
Two hours passed and we arrived at the block point. Three American tanks were blocking the road with few Iraqi policemen waving for cars to make a detour. It was an unusual roadblock, the neighboring car told us that there is a booby trap in one of the traffic officers' cubicles on the intersection ahead. Then more details came through the window. The US forces were trying to dismantle it. The explosions expert was not there yet, so no one can pass - added the Iraqi policeman who asked us to move faster.
Detour and take another route, something one does frequently in Baghdad with the roadblocks and the newly happening bombs that you barely go anywhere without having to take one or two (if you are lucky).
I arrived at 12:10 p.m. at the headquarters of the Worker - Communist Party of Iraq. I met with the comrades, an amazing group of people that welcomed me heartily and immediately we started organizing for me to find things I can assist with in Baghdad.
The party's work is divided to three parts: women rights, labor union activism, and support to the squatters in governmental buildings (that are to be evacuated soon).
I took copies of their publications to all of you guys in Beirut to see, and gave them some of ours. After the regular cup of tea, I accompanied a group to visit one of the squats at what used to be one of the residential compound for Saddam's army officers and the Republic Guards and their families (and mistresses of course).
We arrive and the minute the squatters spot the van loaded with donations of shoes for the barefoot children they start gathering in what used to be a tennis court.
Women all dressed in black chadors carrying or dragging children whom the minute I got out of the van gathered around me inspecting me. To their shock this stranger speaks their language and turned out to be Lebanese (seems being Lebanese in Iraq means: "ahh, Lebanese, Ya Leyl Ya Ain !!!" followed by a smile and a nod! There is nothing worse than being identified with a nationality except being identified by a TV program or "Ahhh Marian and Tony").
I said "Allah bil Kheir" which is the Iraqi greeting. The kids smiled and I started to shake their hands as we exchanged names. One kid approached from afar with stunning courage - though he bearly reached my knee. He silently cut through the group till he stood right next to me. Naturally I extended my hand to shake his and to my astonishment he pulled me down and planted the gentlest kiss on my cheek with an adorable smile only to walk away after it leaving me speechless and stunned. I had to fake a cough to cover the tears that ran down my face. This little barefoot boy of three is Hassouna.
Ali, a 16-year-old skinny squatter with a smile that did not leave his face and eyes that were astonished even when he himself said something. He started talking to me without me addressing him, telling me everything; where he used to live, how they came here, and how people ripped this place down to sell its metal window rims, brass knobs, tinted glass and furniture. They later broke what was left of the marble floors and ceilings and brunt the place down.
Ali was complaining to me, for him this was not something acceptable. He explained how Saddam stole the fuel and that his people should have been "civilized" if they were given the wealthes. He did not mind the presence of the Americans, yet he wishes he can go back to school which he dropped out cause of the unsafe path to it. Under Saddam he had a better place to live, though now at this squat there are no fights cause the US forces are nearby and have tight security measures. At that moment he was showing me the place; taking me around the swimming pools that are now stinking swamps and the cinema houses that are now garbage dumps. Ten minutes later, bullets erupted from a nearby building, and I was the only one started by it, the rest went by normally and Ali, of course, continued speaking with the same smile and the same stupid astonishment look on his face.
"These shots are either of the police or at the police, or maybe someone is being stolen or someone rejoicing" he explained!
Later he took me to his place, an apartment shared by two families in addition to his family of five. Few kids followed us and walked in the house with no permission (except for me, as I had to wait for the women to be veiled and/or hide where I can not see them).
In the house Ali showed me the TV, the decoder of the satellite the three families share, and insisted to show me Al Jazeera where he said we can see Saddam!!!
I asked Ali what would the people do if they were to be evacuated. I had my direct action in mind, and I wanted people to lock down with the internationals and myself in the face of the occupying forces. For Ali it was simple. "Some people said they will not leave unless it was to the cemetery, some said they will camp outside the compound where the newcomers can see them and feel the guilt, and some others are ready to either blow themselves up or throw grenades on the compounds." he explained. I was about to start one of my boring endless lectures on non-violence but to his fortune I was called to leave.
Before I left Ali went in the kitchen (which is the entrance to the apartment) and came back with a metal bowl filed with water and ice from which he poured me a glass and insisted I'd drink it explaining it is cold. Cold water here is served to honored guests and it is always hard to say no in such cases. But the stomachaches afterwards are always tough and this time I managed to escape drinking it courteously. I said goodbye promising that I will try to come visit again.
As I was about to leave with the group, a woman stopped Leila (one of the frequently visiting activists) and started crying telling her about this man who comes to her place beat her up, take whatever she has of donations and leave her with nothing. She was crying hard, hugging Leila and attempting to kiss her hand begging her to bring her a blanket and stop this man from beating her up. The women went on to tell us that this man, Raed, punched her in the eye. Leila called one of the men and asked him to handle the man if he shows up again, and promised the woman help as soon as possible (which we all new means as soon as we find funds).
I am getting used to how things go under such massive in justice; emotional over ride leading to few tears and throat dryness then you'd wipe your face and move on maybe to find another misery somewhere else!
As I was about to get in the van to leave, Ali came running from the compound handing me a piece of candy. He said it is his gift for me - the same smile was still on his face and the same stupid look of surprise in his eyes. I took it and shook his hand and said "fi aman allah" the Iraqi goodbye.
I went back to my place, then out of it, called my best friend in Beirut, and my Mom. I spent four minutes with them both, hung up and burst in tears!
Distant suppressed sounds of explosions can be heard. Things we will know about tomorrow in the news.
Ali's candy is lemon flavored and as I am typing now it is resting next to my keyboard. My trip to Baghdad has just started today!
Peace and solidarity, I-Mad!
DIARY THREE
October 29th, 2003
Occupied Baghdad, 11:30 a.m.
Today, and for the first time ever since I arrived, the area I am living in has been witnessing continuous US army patrols. First it started when I saw an American soldier walking past my window, I tried to remain calm, walked to the front door, opened it and stood there crossing my hands in front of my chest visibly as not to insinuate any provocative gesture and at the same time not to look scared or welcoming to their presence.
Eight young men, some of them look even younger than me (I am 24 for those who do not know) all dressed in all-embracing military outfits covered from head to toe except for faces and hands (though some had stylish sun glasses on!!!!). Four on each side, walking slowly in a separate distance of one meter between each two, the second soldier form the front was followed closely with an old Iraqi guy who was dressed in civilian clothes, unarmed and with some kid of an ID dangling from his neck. The man was trying his best to follow the slow steps of the soldier trying to imitate him in a machine-like attitude which came out rather stupid and funny. The patrol was concluded with a young Iraqi man (who I estimated his age to be 20 -24) also dressed in shabby civilian clothes and carrying a gun that did looked everything but working and seemed a plaything compared to the guns of the US soldiers. He was looking back and to the sides, with every look he'd turn around in a scan-like movement yet it only reflected fear and brought sarcastic smiles to those standing on the sides of the road and more confusion and tension to the poor guy's body movement.
All of them avoided eye contact with me or with the two men who stood across the street watching them along with around five kids who were whispering among each other and checking out the soldiers in astonishment. The way the soldiers avoided eye contact with me and my newly discovered neighbors was so obvious, they just looked through us, and across us trying to keep the poker __expression on their faces yet failing miserably. You could easily tell how hard they are trying to look confident and that showed their hesitancy and fear immensely. I was joined at the moment by Hamsa and her driver, we all stood in the door way and examined the parade like army-patrol (who surely had no clue what they are doing here)
The neighborhood I am staying at for this week is rather upper-class; it is packed with middle class houses and upper class villas. The street is called 52nd in an area close to the down town. It is rather quiet with everyone minding their own businesses. I have noticed aside from the relatively clean streets (compared to those I visited in under developed areas) a lot of unveiled old women (above 50) wearing short sleeved tops. No wonder, these were Christians. I have met few unveiled women that are Muslim, but none of them was above 30 so far. It makes you wonder what these soldiers are doing in such a calm area!!
Ten minutes later, an army vehicle followed by a tank passed in front of my place, slowly, with the same pose of the soldiers. Two in the front seat, one showing up from the top with a gun pointed to where he is looking.
I get back in the house, made me a cheese spread sandwich with Tomatoes, cucumbers and zucchinis; eat it quickly and head to the internet caf� which is three blocks away from where I live. On the way another army patrol passes me by, and as they are moving slowly it takes them more time than it usually takes a regular car to pass you by. As usual, no matter how hard I stare, they avoid any eye contact with me.
For those of you have been asking about the situation of the Iraqi police, military, and government officials.
The guy who takes care of the garden in front of my house is an x-military officer, an old man in the age of 60. He was in charge of the cannon squads responsible for attacks in the north of Iraq. He is now a gardener, who daily forces me nicely to copy totem Quran verses for him, and everyday I decide to turn him down the nest day but end up copying it the next morning.
Ala'a, an army officer who was in charge of a large area in Baghdad called "the jami3a (university) neighborhood", an only son to a father of three daughters, in his early thirties, a sweet heart that I met at a common friend's place over some olive sandwiches and cold beers. We talked a lot about his past job and he shared a lot about his days in the military. For him the war was lost due to Saddam's favor of politicians rather than for military personnel. He wants freedom, yet he does not believe what he has got now is freedom. He spends his days and night drinking, and he is attending to his father's palm trees now. During his days of "reign" - as he puts it - his friends enjoyed freedom, they drank, and partied and went in and out of the area with no problems. He was good to them and to the rest of the neighbors (a fact acknowledged by six people who were in the room).
Traffic policemen, have you ever been ignored by hundreds of people around you, and tens of cars? Well this is your chance if you are a policeman trying to organize traffic in Baghdad. He will be standing in the middle of the street trying his best to whistle and gesture to no avail. No body listens (except for the people who abide by what the police man is saying by stopping when he says so - to the distress of the cars behind.) Cars driving over pavements are a common thing, same as cars going the wrong direction in highly dense streets. Police stations are a no-go zone, all of them are located in areas that blocked by cement blocks and barrels in the streets leading to them, let alone barb wires and wooden shafts.
We are in a city where the police is fighting hard to protect itself not the people, in a city where the only concern of most of the people is survive and make it on their own regardless of those around. Again, Beirut haunts me!
DIARY TWO
October 27th, 2003
Hey all,
Loving every minute in Baghdad, especially the people and their openness, generosity and care. I am being taken care of like crazy, pampered every minute of the day by Wasif, Majid, Walid, Hamsa and the rest of the guys! The life threatening situation makes every minute pleasurable and makes you appreciate waking up the next day.
Bombings are such a weird thing, they go up in weird places and times. Today was relatively a calm day in Baghdad, no bombings so far (or at least none that I know of). News travel really slow here with the lack of power and the vastness of the city leaving us clueless about what is happening in other areas - sometimes a bomb explodes and one never hears it or of it unless he watches the news or receives an email from a friend abroad, or untill the next day where it is mentioned in the newspapers... weird ha?
It is usually one bomb a day - or several bombs relatively at the same time. When you hear one/ of one, the first thing that hits you is a relief of being lucky for not being there at the moment and knowing that you have been saved for the day as the Bomb of The Day has missed you! It is a stupid pleasure mixed with pain and fear.
Last night was a night with no power except for few hours. The hours that we enjoy electricity bring some breeze from the electric fan and some music. Now-a-days electricity hours are much better than few months back. They are enough for people to recharge their mobile phones and batteries that supply power to computers, fans, fridges, TVs or what have you (rings bell for those who lived in Beirut during the war??). I am getting used to the heat though, and for me it is much better than rain and cold!
Food, one thing I am not getting used to, today I did some cooking (salad, and some yogurt with vegetables, lol). If it was not for the yummy bread that comes in more than one form and taste I would have perished. But I am getting there to develop my own survival strategy.
Today I met with few people, who I interviewed for articles I am writing, and quite interesting feedback I got. Tomorrow I am meeting with guys from the Workers Communist Party (there are two communist parties here, the other is The Communist Party which seems to do nothing just like the one in Beirut) Also I have established contact with a group who might get me in contact with Armenian and Kildan people.. hope it works.
Army patrols are all over the city since yesterday's bombings, though it is not longer part of the daily dialect. It is clear that the Americans do not do any direct contact with Iraqi people unless there is a "terrorist" suspicion. Usually this is how it goes, Bremer issues a decree, US forces accompany Iraqi police to apply it. On security checks - i.e. on the ones leading to Palestine Hotel - Iraqi youth search you as US soldiers stand aside and monitor with their guns in their hands. They never interfere except for those who try to smile in an attempt to justify their presence or look around sacred as hell. In the streets the tanks are all over the place, with guns pointed out (I took few pictures that I will send to you very soon) The presence of the coalition forces with their posh outfits and sunglasses is so provocative amid the poor and dusty areas and people.
Beggars are all over the city, and homelessness is so common. I am still trying to find more about Palestinian refugees but most of the people I am talking to are not fond of them or keen to take me for a visit. (Seems the Palestinians are detested for the privileges they received from Saddam)
For the boycott lovers here are few points.
Nestle???. the way it is spread all over the city is disgusting, I am trying my best to explain to people about the boycott yet it is hard with there current situation. Some are responding though few! I have been checking the bottles of water, Pure Life; none of those I found is made in Lebanon rather it is made in Turkey! It is even in the daily dialect as people call any chocolate spread nestaleh (the t is not silent) and when they ask for it they say in Arabic "do you have any Nasatel (in plural)"
Coca cola is not yet in the market, or at least I have not seen any, though Lebanese Pepsi is all over the place.
LG is big.. you can see banners of it all over the place and in large quantities.
I am still researching Israeli products which I have been told do exist but in very restricted shops.
That is it for now, I do not want to bore you so far.. I have to go eat, actually suffer, lol!
Keep me posted - your lines mean loads, miss you all.
P.S. for all those who care, I am still not smoking! Am I not great?
No Border No Nation No Occupation!
I-Mad!
DIARY ONE
October 26th, 2003
Hi all,
I made it safe and sound to Baghdad! The trip was smooth; Rania and Mazen took excellent care of me in Amman (so did Shelly :) )
The borders are a chaotic place where nothing seems right! The Iraqi soldier at the passport control did not know where to stamp on my passport until I told him!!! And the blood check I had to do was settled with a 5 Jordanian dinars bribe! Only one US soldier was visible... no heavy military presence. Just a long packed line of feul trucks heading away from Iraq! I wonder who is getitng payed for these!!!!!
My driver was lovely, an old man with amazing dignity and pride! The poor old thing was embarrassed every time I was asked to pay a bribe! I explained to him that things in Lebanon are not much better! He kept on asking me to sleep in the back seat... and I managed to do so for a while, but was scared to do it all the way... Every time we were stopped by a check point, we'd freak out of getting robbed.. but things went on fine!
The road was smooth for the most part of it, but it got scary when I got to Fellujah (after all what you see on the news), but I was lucky to cross it in calm weather except for few helicopters hovering low above our heads and few tanks on the road! It is a lovely town, with burnt tanks all over, and cut down palm trees (The US forces are now cutting down palm trees for security reasons thus cutting off a soruce of food and money for the locals)
The Tigris and the Euphrates !!! Everything is emotionally over charged... the driver and his refusal to eat from my nuts, taking one or two no matter how hard I insist, though he forced half of his cup of tea down my throat. The houses, the burnt tanks, the pointed guns, the long extending empty desert, the cars, the people, old fat women in black abayat trudging through sand... the sadness and fury.. the chaos.
Baghdad! Oh Baghdad! Palm trees, lovely primitive architecture, traffic jam that goes on for hours and hours (and NO Beirut is not worse when it come to traffic) Chaos all over, cars and vans driving on pavements and roads blocked all over by US forces!
As we were stuck in traffic jam, and American soldier got off from the tank behind us, and started screaming his head off on the cars to move (he was freaking out clearly) he started shouting on my driver Haj Ismaeel and banging on his car, I opened my window and tried to talk to him telling him we can not move simply and clearly cause the front of the car is hitting the back of the car in front of us - HELLLOOOO - yet to no avail... after I started repeating the same sentence in a mono tone "He can not fucking move, there is no fucking space, what you are asking for is impossible, hello!!!"; over and over, he looked at me, then he went back to his tank, totally ignoring me!
Baghdad, you can not help crying while you drive around and see the destruction, though it is not total, but the beautiful building that are burnt down are shocking. The blockades they erected, the guns that are pointed at people and at you all over. There is a street that was built in the 20s and called Al Rasheed street... it is one of the most beautiful street I have ever seen in my life! Richness glows in all the buildings but misery prevails... a city that is such a giant one yet it is subordinated by occupation and oppression.
I arrived at Hotel Palestine (after having to detour more than six times due to road blockades) tight security, my bags had to be checked three times in the 20 meters distance leading to the hotel - though it is an only pedestrian zone packed with US soldiers and tanks. The hotel is shabby and packed with journalists running around! The guy who is supposed to pick me up is not there, I wait in the lobby - then try to call him - it fails - wait again - call again - fails -wait ... etc.. Till it works.. comes pick me up... safe and sound at the place I am to stay in!
It was 6 p.m. met few of the guys at al Muwajaha, and they are all young and sweet. So eager to talk, so eager to express themselves and so excited to hear what I have to say. Crashed immediatly in bed!
The next day I woke up and move to "Voices in Wilderness" where I met Eva and Ed... Eva is such a sweetheart, was with ISM in Palestine and now is volunteering in Baghdad against the occupation and human rights violations. We talked a lot, and discussed the possiblity of some direct action in Baghdad!
There is a governmental building that is to be evacuated from its homeless squatters sometimes soon thus we are intending to peacefully block the US Forces from evacuating it! (hope we find enough people to do this) Also there is a demo taking place by the Union of the Unemployed, which Eva and I will try to do some work for and prepare some cool banners and direct action for!
Back home for a while, then off to a painter's place who in spite of Ramadan had a party going with arak and beer, had a blast, and guess I am falling ;)
Second day in Baghdad, today, We woke up to an explosion that was very near to where I am staying... Just like Beirut in war time, everyone goes out and gather in the street asking where, who, what and how... Women in my neighborhood were running to get their children form nearby schools... Sirens, fire shots, tanks and ambulances scurrying around. Later on we learn there were five different ones around the city. It is outrageous, you can not but feel you want to stay more and be part of the struggle to try and make things better or even speak up against what is taking place. One hour later.. Life goes back to normal.
Then Wasef (part of Al Muwajaha group) drove me to meet Siham Bin Sidreen a Tunisian journalist and human rights activist, writer for an underground paper and member of human rights committee in Tunisia. She is such an amazing woman; we talk loads and agree to meet in Tunisia when I come in January! They operate something like Al Yasari, so guys we will have a twin soon!
Now I have to go do some shopping for food, guys... everything rocks about Baghdad except the food... it sucks... it is torture not food! So I am cooking (well making cheese spreads and eating fruits all the time)
Miss you all guys... I am taking good care of myself so do not worry! Sorry for not writing on regular basis but things are hectic here, thank you for your lovely notes of solidarity.
Wish you are all here
No Border No Nation No Occuaption
I-Mad!