On the Ground In Iraq

Braveheart Statement

2004-11-03T16:43:00.000-08:00

I wrote this to a friend of mine who wrote about being in despair over the election results. This is the best of times...here is the exchange:

"Thinking of a Bush victory, I am filled with despair and defeat, and a horrible feeling in the pit of my being, but at the same time, my response is organize, organize, organize. The progressive movement may need to catch its breath and re-group but there's no stopping us."

My response:

Feel your pain and get over it. This is the best time in the history of the US. The very best time. Did you really believe that if Kerry got elected the momentum that has gathered in this country would continue? No. It would not have. Many people would have seen Kerry as "in place" and "on watch" and they would have gone back to sleep again. They would have gone back to their somnambulistic states of consumerism, fucking their neighbor's spouses, participating in their various addictions and other diversions from life -- real life.

They are awake now and now there is no chance of them falling back asleep until great change comes. And it may take 50 years or more to undo this mess but we have been working at this democracy for over 200 years and look how far we have come. Slow and steady this country really just has gotten greater and greater over the years. Think back to our first election...who voted then? Do you know? Ten percent of the population...wealthy, WASP, white, male, landowners... The rest of the men didn't get to vote until the 1880's. Women didn’t get the vote until 1923. It took a lot of work to get this accomplished – not to mention courage.

Did you think this would be that easy? To protest for a few minutes (of universal time) and then think that all would be OK in a world that deserves more? In this country, great as it is (and it is great - let us never forget this and join those cowards that would rather tear it apart, tear it down, burn its flag instead of doing the real work that a participatory democracy requires)… in this great country we have a system of checks and balances that deserve to be fought for. That deserve to be protected. That deserve to be the first thing people think about when they wake up in the morning. Before people get out of bed to pee they should be asking themselves, "What is my government doing? What have I done to protect the safeguards and rights guaranteed by the Constitution and the Bill of Rights?".

If Bush is indeed declared the winner I think I will be a bit happier than if Kerry were to win. At least I am looking at the situation from a positive place and do not desire to get bogged down in despair and depression -- these are just more diversions. The work is here. The work is ahead. There is no time for these time wasting diversions.

The bottom line is that half of this country wants Bush to be president. We have to find out why. We have to open dialogue and discourse. We have to come together to understand each other. We need to stop talking about "them" and begin thinking about how to build bridges and understanding. And we will have to work hard...very hard -- there is no rest from this task, to make this country stand for everything we have been told it stands for but doesn't. And we can't do that by attacking "it" because then we are only attacking ourselves. We must embrace this country and work our butts off -- yes, even more than we have already -- to make if stand for what it should.

I am feeling no misery this morning. I am feeling as if a great exciting challenge is upon us. A challenge to create real change - not a momentary flash-in-the-pan change brought on by these so very stupid people who were willing to vote for "anybody but Bush." I don't want an "anybody but Bush." I want the exemplar. I want the one who will be a real leader. I want the one who will fight and work to make this country whole again. I want the one who has something to say and not just simply panders to the crowd with the intent of getting elected. Yes, I wanted Kerry to win, but he was an "anybody but Bush." And even after he was picked as their candidate, the Democrats still couldn't get their sorry ass act together and get behind him. They did just as much to tear him apart as the Republicans.

There is no coming together in such actions. There is no understanding. There is no peaceful behavior.

And while folks are all at this very real "war" with each other -- the 50% vs. the 50%, the Republicans vs. the Democrats, the liberals vs. the conservatives, the doves vs. the hawks -- someone is stealing the chickens from the hen house. And they are doing it with glee and joy knowing that these divisions only aid their endeavors.

Do not lose heart Braveheart. This is only the beginning. This is simply the tip of the iceberg of what lies ahead. This is only the beginning of this great time in our history -- perhaps the greatest we have ever seen. Rejoice in the fact that we are here to participate and that we know each other.

May the force be with you...now get to work.

Love,

Lorna

2004-09-05T20:52:00.000-07:00

This article was published in Chronogram magazine and can be found, complete with photos, at:
http://www.chronogram.com/issue/2004/09/news/

Securing the Iraqi Homeland
The Differing Faces of Security

by Lorna Tychostup

Part I
Sadr City Friday Prayers
I am not sure if it my imagination or not, but the times I don a hijab I do not seem to feel the heat as much as when I am without it. The hijab is made of two parts, the first is similar to a neck warmer and is made out of black cotton much like tee shirt material. I slip it over my head to my neck, pin my hair up, and then pull its five-inch length up onto my head as if it is a headband. It covers much of my forehead and acts to hold in my hair. In some places, like Sadr City, it is said the young male children will hit a woman if even a strand of hair is showing. Next I put on the scarf, checking to see that each of the two ends in front are even in length before pinning it tightly beneath my neck. This particular day, I am wearing a long brown skirt and one of my long sleeve Iraqi-wear shirts buttoned high on the neck. I turn to my interpreter, Amal, who is wearing a black abaya she calls "a garbage bag" and ask if I look Iraqi. She laughs, adjusts my hijab by pulling it down further over my forehead, and says, "You look fine." Then she whispers, "Are you terrified yet?"

It is a joke between us, instigated by the repetitive comments of an American playwright we met in Baghdad last February who we both still keep in touch with. Each time either of us speaks with him, he asks, "Are you OK?" with a tone in his voice as if the mortars are crashing around us at every moment. Amal began the joke after one too many of these "are you OKs?" In Baghdad it becomes a ridiculous statement as one goes about the activities of daily life. Each time Amal and I ask each other, "Are you terrified yet?" we laugh. If there is any tension it melts. But most of the time we say it as a blatant joke, to point out the just how safe we feel as we walk through the crowds of Karrada Street in the evening hours, perusing the many goods for sale and stopping to eat dinner in an open air cafe.

When she says it to me this time, I laugh back. There is plenty of tension to release. She, David Enders - a journalist friend, and I are going to Friday prayers in Sadr City and besides being unhappy about having to wear the hijab in this heat – it has been averaging 130 degrees - I don’t know what to expect. The media reports have painted a picture of a Wild West sort of town, where Mahdi militiamen walk the streets dressed in black, openly brandishing Kalasnikovs.

Our taxi takes us out of Baghdad to the dusty streets of Sadr City. The driver stops to ask directions and before long we see people walking the street all going in one direction. At one intersection, a white Toyota pickup blocks the street. Several armed men dressed in black are on guard. We leave the taxi to continue on foot but not before having our bags checked by the armed Mahdi militia. They are courteous and friendly, one even begins to ask me about my camera equipment—he too is a photographer—as I empty the contents of my backpack onto the tailgate as part of the security search. We are assigned a guard who escorts us a few blocks past lines of other black-clad men wielding weapons and checking each person passing through their cordon. Arriving at an open-air hut with a table beneath, we exchange our press passes for official Friday prayer press passes.

The level of organization, courtesy and feeling of safety is astounding, especially given media reports that Madhi militiamen are a poor, uneducated, rabble rousing bunch.

The crowd moving toward the site thickens the closer we get and the feeling is light and is just as David said it would be - that of a rock concert. All of the men are carrying prayer rugs, some have umbrellas and many have towels—some folded neatly on their heads and others are worn turban-like—to catch the rivers of sweat pouring from their faces. Men and children hawk food, colorful posters of various clerics, books and badges showing Moqtada al-Sadr’s face. Amal buys three of these and distributes them among us. "Put this on," She says. "It will help."

We are led to the mosque’s roof where two other journalists are perched. Amal and I are female, so our group is not allowed below where the men have gathered. The sight is breathtaking. Numbering well over 10,000 strong, their prayer rugs touch edge to edge lining the wide street in front of the mosque from curb to curb and stretching out for many blocks. Young men carrying water tanks on their backs walk through the crowd, spraying as they go. The women, far fewer in number, are sequestered in the inner courtyard of the mosque and are visible from one side of the roof which male journalists are not allowed access. All of the women wear abayas; some have their entire faces covered. Three are covered from head to toe in black and wear the bright green headband of the militia. An Iraqi flag stands behind them.

Prayers begin and the crowd acts in unison responding to the words of the clerics. One tells the crowd, "Your women must not leave the home, not even to go to religious school. They must not pray to God, only to their husbands."

It is hot under the mid-day sun, unlike anything I have ever experienced. Moving back and forth across the roof photographing, the heat rises from the ground as if it were fire itself, seeping through the thick black soles of my Chaco sandals, the only western clothing I allow myself to wear. The sun burns the top of my feet, which have become blackened by dirt and its rays, and I find that my skirt shades my feet if turn in just the right direction. A consistent breeze throws the furnaced heat around over my wet body—there has never been sweating like this. Just a few seconds out in the air produces rivers of water from all pores and suddenly I am living proof of the miracle of the body’s ability to cool itself in this way. Reminded of time spent in sweat lodges, I concentrate on breathing in the heat deeply so as to balance the body’s internal heat with the external heat. It is a short matter of time before our frozen water bottles are liquefied and drank.

All know I am a foreigner but do not know from where. When asked, not daring to say I am American, I respond, "Belgium." But they all know I am a journalist and most are acutely aware of my presence—even the women in the courtyard. As I spy through my long lens scanning the crowd, I see them—men, women, and children—look up and gaze into my eyes as if they understand the eyes of the world are on them.

Amal and I come back the following Friday without David. It is much the same as before but we stay on the ground this time. We are still not allowed into the men’s area but I am able to photograph the front lines. Once prayers are over the crowd quickly disperses. Our guard keeps an eye on us as we linger, taking photos of the women emerging from the mosque and the parades of young boys in white shirts and green headbands marching through the dusty emptying street. They chant, "Moq-ta-da. Moq-ta-da. We will give our lives for you Moqtada. For Allah, we are here to serve you." A few women approach and talk of the bombings and violence they have witnessed. Others smile for the camera and attempt to get other women to stop and have their photo snapped as well. I feel a sharp pain on my thigh and look down to see a boy of about 10 glaring at me. In his hand is the thick wire that he has just struck me with. He starts to admonish the women who shoo him away. I stare him down. I am in Rome, am willing to wear the hijab and be kept out of the men’s area. But violence against women will not be tolerated.

Amal and I are the last to turn in our press passes and as we walk through the back-to-normal streets, I ask her if we are safe. "I can’t imagine any other place where we would be so safe," she replies. The taxi drivers are not so convinced and all refuse us passage. One of the Mahdi army chiefs stands with us at the main intersection and still no taxi will take us. He eagerly invites us to lunch but we sadly decline because of another appointment. This remains as one of my only regrets of the trip. He arranges for a car to take us to another intersection where he gets out with us and waits until we secure a taxi.

Part II.
Sumer International Security

"We deal with the weapon very carefully. When first learning about the weapon you must learn how to carry it. There is no difference in the workings of the AK-47, the MP-5 or the M-16. At the end we will have a bullet in the target. This AK is Russian made. There is a difference between the western version and the eastern version. The western companies make the AK with the safety on one side and the eastern has it on the other."
"Why?"
"Because they have conflict with everything. Whether they make cars, or weapons, or instruments. Everything—there is a conflict."

I am getting my first Kalashnikov-handling lesson at the Sumer International Security Company located in Baghdad, not far from my hotel. My instructor, [who asks I not reveal his name] is a former captain in the Iraqi army who trained cadets at the military academy. His specialty was psychology and says this kept him from participating in actual fighting. In a discussion about the differences between civilians and soldiers, and the level of political participation of each group, he reveals he never got involved in political ideas because to do so would have gotten him killed by Saddam. He also reveals that his wife and son were killed four years ago—something having to do with the former regime—but he will give no details. "Maybe I will tell you next time, if we get to know each other better," he says.

He is an exceptional instructor and by the end of the session I have learned how to pick up the gun, check my surroundings before I lift it, lock and unlock the safety, check to see if it is loaded, load it, and in general how to handle it. Later in his office by way of two interpreters he says, "Honestly, I wish I could work with more Americans to prove to the whole world that the Americans have not occupied Iraq, but that they are here to help Iraqi people. We have a lot of good ideas and experience with the terrorists whom we have caught in the past. The problem that prevents me from working in good conditions are the new parties that have appeared in the Iraqi community. It is not about a love between American people and Iraqi people—it is about rebuilding Iraq. The Americans are the people who will help us rebuild Iraq."

The actual training facility and corporate headquarters of Sumer is located in a larger complex, a several block area of a Baghdad neighborhood, sealed off from the outside world by huge protective cement barricades and an astounding number of security personnel. Eight hundred security men either live or pass through here on a daily basis. All in all, SIS employs 4000 people, 34 of whom have been killed on the job since May of 2003. A security guard working at SIS makes $400 per month. Better than nothing in a country with a purported unemployment rate of 60%, this is not still not quite enough for most to survive. The guards are a mixture of Arabs, Christians, and Kurds. The complex also contains private homes, city streets and the Sadeer Hotel that houses American "contractors," i.e.: DynCorp personnel who act in advisory positions to the Iraqi Police force and SIS trainers.

One of these "trainers," Tom (he doesn’t offer his last name) from Massachusetts, walks through the training area just before my lesson. A former Special Forces Marine, he will be catching the next plane out of Iraq; his six-month contract with Dyncorp has ended. His specialty is weapons training, and while in the Marine Corp he participated in everything from raids to patrols. He was in country—down south—before the war actually began, and helped the resistance during the war. When I ask him why he left the Marines, he says, "My contract was up. I spent 15 years and got tired. It took up a lot of my time." He adds, " You make $60,000 a year but you can make six figures a year doing this."

Networking with former military contacts has helped him get a variety of jobs in Iraq. Some last three months, others six. As far as working with the trainees at SIS, Tom says, "after observing them for three weeks we identified deficiencies, so we showed them new ways. They were very dedicated and willing to learn." I ask him if supplying security is the biggest moneymaker in Iraq these days. "Yes. A lot of big money is being shelled out for security."

Indeed. As of May 2004, the Coalition Provisional Authority Web site had the names 62 private security companies listed as operating in Iraq.
The expense of security is evident as one attempts to enter the Sumer complex. The honk of a vehicle driving through the two closely placed 16 foot high cement barricades placed just far enough apart to allow entrance cues a car, which acts as a gate, to slide back and allow the first level of entry to the complex. As it slides back in place blocking exit, a swarm of security guards surround the entering vehicle, open its hood, trunk, and scan its underbelly with huge mirrors on long poles. Once cleared, a second gate car glides back to allow entry. Once inside, armed guards poised with Kalashnikovs are clearly visible in fortified positions both on the ground and along the upper levels of buildings. This is the ultimate in security living in the new Iraq.

I am used to this routine having been here several times, visiting Hussain Sinjari, Editor-in-Chief of Baghdad’s Ahali newspaper. It was during a dinner at his home that my lesson was arranged. I asked if it was possible to learn how to shoot a Kalashnikov. "Oh yes, of cooourse," he replied, pointing to his cousin who was seated across the table. "Farhad will teach you." Hussain explained my request to Farhad who then offered a deal. "As a good businessman," he began. "I will give you this lesson if you do a story about my security company." I laughed out loud and said I was getting the best part of the deal—a glimpse inside the workings of an Iraqi security company would simply be a bonus to my learning how to shoot a Kalashnikov.

Founded on May 14, 2003, SIS was, according to its Web site, "the first private security company established after the liberation of Iraq." SIS, in partnership with DynCorp, provides security for international dignitaries, business executives, US and Iraqi government agencies (CIA and Governing Council members), sensitive sites in Iraq like power plants, and escort protection for the transport of oil under the aegis of the UN Oil for Food Program.

The head of SIS is Farhad Sinjari, a quietly intense, former peshmerga fighter who learned his trade beginning at age 17 in the mountains of Kurdistan. Nothing misses his eye. He speaks only Arabic, so we converse through Zee, his 22-year old personal interpreter who speaks perfect English. Interviewing him is akin to scaling a glass wall. His answers are guarded, carefully executed, and brilliant in their deflection of anything with even the slightest political tinge.

According to Farhad, each potential client is closely scanned. He will not work with just anyone. When asked what will his huge security force—which to some translates into "mercenary force"—will do once things settle down in Iraq and it is no longer needed, he responds, "They will go home." I explain that there are some who worry about the future of such a large militaristic group of men once violence abates. What will they do for employment?

"If Iraq becomes stabilized, the economy will be strong enough to support other means of support. This will happen automatically. Once the safety and security is back in this country, jobs will be looking for these people, they won’t be looking for jobs, says Farhad. "I hope to change my job as soon as possible," he adds.

I ask him if he dreams of someday living outside the wall. "I don’t dream this way but I do dream that one day Iraq will get back to normal without cement barriers and guards everywhere. I would like to see a country where skyscrapers are being built and life is flourishing. The wealth of Iraq is all under the ground. We are in real need of loyal and honest people to dig up the ground, extract the oil and begin building."

Does he think the elections will occur as mandated – no later than the end of January? "If the election happens and people are impressed by it, security will follow."

Part III.
A Visit to the Courthouse

"How could I sleep at night if I forced even 100 people to leave a place without their having anywhere to go - while allowing one man, who the American government brought into Iraq after a long absence and who now occupies a 7000 sq meter government property and refuses to pay rent, to stay?"
Judge Zuhair Al Maliky August 12, 2004

The excerpt is from my last-day-in-Iraq interview with Zuhair Al-Maliky, a Baghdad University-educated lawyer and Iraq's chief investigating judge, just two days before news broke saying he had issued a warrant for the arrest of Ahmad Chalabi on charges of money laundering. Our discussion centered around two seemingly unrelated topics: the money laundering issue and the plight of tens of thousands of homeless Iraqi people, mostly Shi’ite terribly brutalized and disenfranchished by the Saddam regime, who now occupy various properties owned by the Iraqi government. Back in Feb I visited several of these camps and was told there were approx. 30 of them in Baghdad alone, and another 267 such camps spread across the whole of Iraq.

One camp, a large parcel formerly housing Uday Hussein’s stable club – complete with Olympic-sized swimming pool and a theater - is located in between the buildings housing the Ministry’s of Oil and the Interior. During interviews with squatters – 650 families totaling approx. 6 to 7000 people live here – I have been told that every once in a while "someone" comes from the Ministry of the Interior and threatens them with eviction. The property was heavily bombed during the war is slated to be used as a training academy for the Iraqi Police Dept. But squatters say they have nowhere to go and some have said they will "suicide" themselves if forced to leave. So far, each time an American MP has saved the day by authorizing they cannot be removed unless "alternative housing" is supplied.

At no time did Al Maliky let on that a warrant was in the works for Chalabi. But it was very apparent, during our discussion, that the actions of Chalabi and others brought into Iraq by the Bush administration, was very much on the mind of this young judge. As was the plight of the squatters.

Al Maliky has getting quite a bit of media attention. Critics have labeled him an instrument of the "America puppet-government" and those served with warrants have called into question Al Maliky’s credentials. Officials in the latest American-backed government are failing to support him up by refusing to arrest Chalabi, his nephew Salem Chalabi, and others Al Maliky has issued warrants against – 17 who are associated with Chalabi’s political party, the Iraq National Congress.

Ahmad Chalabi, a 59 year old Shi’ite who was in exile from Iraq for 45 years, is one of the most brilliant perveyors of misinformation and perhaps the most well-known puppeteer of the American government to date. He, along with members of INC, fed a series of lies speaking of intimate knowledge of Saddam’s arsenal of weapons of mass destruction – complete with fictional reports from eye-witness defectors - into the waiting ears of their friends in the Bush administration: Paul Wolfowitz, Douglas Feith, Lewis Libby and Chalabi’s once-in-a-while dinner companion, Richard Perle. Chalabi also reportedly suggested to these neocons that Iraq would be a country friendly to Israel. It is now general knowledge that the US went to war against Iraq based on this erroneous information. More recently, Chalabi, realizing that those perceived as being handpicked by the Americans would be sidelined, if not killed, has reinvented himself in Iraq as anti-American. Regardless, many on the street in Iraq express a deep dislike of Chalabi.

For its efforts prewar, Chalabi’s INC was paid a total of $39 million by American taxpayers, although its $340,000 a month feedbag was recently cut by the Pentagon after a falling out over the false WMD info and claims Chalabi had given classified US info to Iran. Postwar rewards have included a seat on 25-member Governing Council and head of the De-Baathification Commision, possession of 25 tons of potentially incriminating documents gathered by Saddam’s notorious Mukahabarat Intelligence Agency, and control of the Ministry of Finance by way of his "associates."

And then there is the question of hundreds Iraqi government properties. These include mansions, former government offices, ranches and agricultural land alleged to have been illegally seized by various groups and political parties - among which members of Chalabi’s family and the INC are said to have been the most acquisitive in the days after the toppling of Saddam’s statue.

Among these properties is the one Al-Maliky speaks of above, and that of the squatters.

Salem Chalabi, named the lead prosecutor of Saddam Hussein despite polls showing him to be the least trusted politician in Iraq, was charged with the May 28 murder of Haithem Fadhil, director general of the Finance Ministry. According to the LA Times, Fadhill "was preparing a report on reclaiming government-owned real estate." An anonymous source told the Times: "Fadhil ‘was trying to get back those properties that belonged to the people. He told his wife and a friend that he had received a lot of threats from Mr. Salem Chalabi directly, who told him: 'You will not stay for long. We will get rid of you.' "

Salem reportedly has responded to the charges by saying, ''Allegedly, what I said was: ''If you don't stop investigating these properties, you won't stay in this position for long. I don't have any recollection of meeting [Fadhil]. I've never been in his office, I don't own any properties in Iraq, I stay at a friend's house. These allegations, to say the least, are ludicrous.''

Another Chalabi associate, the security chief of the INC, Aras Habib, who was nominated for a position on the National Assembly and was nominated by Ahmad Chalabi to head a reincarnated version of the Mukahabarat, has been charged with torturing, kidnapping, illegal detention and stealing government property.

According to investigators working on the money laundering case, Chalabi family members close and distant run almost every major bank in Iraq. The money laundering issue first surfaced at various branches of the Central Bank of Baghdad where, on Oct. 15, 2003, the exchange of old Iraqi currency – known as Saddam’s dinars – for new began. Slated for destruction, millions of old bills were taken to several burn sites around Baghdad, including the site of the Mukahabarat Intelligence Agency complex made defunct by American bombing and presently occupied by approx. 4000 squatters. Soon after their arrival, it was discovered that some of the bills were counterfeit. A short time later, an alledged associate of the Chalabi, Saba Al Noori, then manager of the Ministry of Finance with ties to the INC, had 57 female bank tellers jailed without charging them. In interviews I had with tellers last Feb and March, Ahmad Chalabi and Saba Al Noori’s name came up again and again.

On April 1, 2004, in what he says was his first big case, Judge Maliky ordered the tellers released on bail and Al Noori was charged and convicted with illegally arresting the tellers. It is said that Al Noori is a former Mukahabarat officer who had some "smuggling troubles" and ran away to Jordan.

At the end of our interview I ask Maliky:

"Are you afraid?"

"I would be lying if I told you no.

" Because it seems they keep killing people."

" Yes. And it is easy to get rid of one person. And after, all one down and then blame the terrorists".

" Who do you think is killing these people?"

" Who would think of killing a person who is fighting corruption? If you can answer this question, you will find out. The easy accusation, ‘oh, the judge is the judge who was appointed by the Americans.’ Nobody is willing to discuss the case itself other than to discuss the judge."

The bait and switch game is on. From somewhere comes a whisper that a specific person is acting as a puppet of the "American-backed government." Fed into the ear of the likes of Muktadr Al Sadr, the former Baathist Sunnis in Fallujah, reinvented Iraqis like Chalabi, or anyone with a gripe, this information immediately makes them an enemy of Iraq. For criminals at work laundering money, powerful people looking for control, or thieves – rich and poor - stealing the goods of a nation at war, these whispers deflect attention. As these whispers reach the ears of the media, in many cases connect-the-dot verification via the Internet, or personal and/or corporate bias takes place. Not to mention the many journalists spending more time holed up in the confines of their barricaded hotels than on the streets talking with the average Iraqi or forced to meet the needs of a far off editor who already knows the story they are looking for before it happens. Before long catch words like "puppet" and "American-backed" are words being used by just about every media outlet only to be absorbed by the public.

And does anyone really know the truth besides those playing the game?

The only truth I know is that in the great primordial soup Iraq has become the outcome is a literal crap shoot.

1000 Coffins 15th Street

2004-09-04T20:47:00.000-07:00

1000 Coffins 15th Street, originally uploaded by tycho56.

www.AxisOfEve.org

2004-09-04T20:01:00.000-07:00

www.AxisOfEve.org, originally uploaded by tycho56.

Best Vantage Point

2004-09-04T20:00:00.000-07:00

Best Vantage Point, originally uploaded by tycho56.

7th Avenue

2004-09-04T19:57:00.000-07:00

7th Avenue, originally uploaded by tycho56.

GW's Bloodied Hands On the World

2004-09-04T19:56:00.001-07:00

GW's Bloodied Hands On the World, originally uploaded by tycho56.

16th street

2004-09-04T19:56:00.000-07:00

16th street, originally uploaded by tycho56.

7th Avenue

2004-09-04T19:55:00.000-07:00

7th Avenue, originally uploaded by tycho56.

1000 Coffins Arrive at Union Square

2004-09-04T19:54:00.000-07:00

1000 Coffins Arrive at Union Square, originally uploaded by tycho56.

7th Avenue

2004-09-04T19:53:00.000-07:00

7th Avenue, originally uploaded by tycho56.

One Nation Under Surveilance

2004-09-04T19:52:00.000-07:00

One Nation Under Surveilance, originally uploaded by tycho56.

Cowboy Bush

2004-09-04T19:51:00.001-07:00

Cowboy Bush, originally uploaded by tycho56.

7th Avenue

2004-09-04T19:51:00.000-07:00

7th Avenue, originally uploaded by tycho56.

Apocalypse Crusade

2004-09-04T19:50:00.000-07:00

Apocalypse Crusade, originally uploaded by tycho56.

Stop Mad Cowboy Disease

2004-09-04T19:49:00.000-07:00

Stop Mad Cowboy Disease, originally uploaded by tycho56.

The True Face of War

2004-09-04T19:48:00.000-07:00

The True Face of War, originally uploaded by tycho56.

7th Avenue

2004-09-04T19:45:00.001-07:00

7th Avenue, originally uploaded by tycho56.

Guilty of War Crimes

2004-09-04T19:45:00.000-07:00

Guilty of War Crimes, originally uploaded by tycho56.

In Front of RNC

2004-09-04T19:44:00.000-07:00

In Front of RNC, originally uploaded by tycho56.

Radical Cheerleaders Rock the Street

2004-09-04T19:43:00.000-07:00

Radical Cheerleaders Rock the Street, originally uploaded by tycho56.

Charred Van

2004-08-02T03:06:00.000-07:00

Charred Van, originally uploaded by tycho56.

At the scene of the Syrian church car bombing.

Iraqi Soldier

2004-08-02T03:02:00.000-07:00

Iraqi Soldiers, originally uploaded by tycho56.

An Iraqi soldier walks through the damaged vehicles.

Two Cars

2004-08-02T02:58:00.000-07:00

Two Cars, originally uploaded by tycho56.

Two cars across and down the street from the Syrian church.

Shattered 2

2004-08-02T02:54:00.000-07:00

Shattered 2, originally uploaded by tycho56.

A shattered home across from the Syrian church.

Syrian Church

2004-08-02T02:53:00.000-07:00

Syrian Church, originally uploaded by tycho56.

Several cars were destroyed from the car bomb explosion next to the Syrian church. Police, firemen and American and Iraqi soldiers patrol the area.

Shattered 1

2004-08-02T02:50:00.000-07:00

Shattered 1, originally uploaded by tycho56.

A shattered home across from the Armenian church.

Engine Block

2004-08-02T02:49:00.000-07:00

Engine Block, originally uploaded by tycho56.

Scene at Armenian church bombing.

Charred Hulks

2004-08-02T02:46:00.000-07:00

Charred Hulks, originally uploaded by tycho56.

Charred hulks of cars damaged by the car bomb at the Armenian church

Car Bomb

2004-08-02T02:41:00.000-07:00

Car Bomb, originally uploaded by tycho56.

Everything under the hood of this car was blown out of it intact only to land directly in front of it.

Middle of the Road

2004-08-02T02:38:00.000-07:00

Middle of the road, originally uploaded by tycho56.

We were walking on the median to avoid harm from potentail car bombs in the cars parked by the curb. As we walked toward the scene of the bombings, car flew past us with shattered or missing windshields.

Smoke Rising

2004-08-02T02:36:00.000-07:00

Smoke Rising, originally uploaded by tycho56.

View from my hotel roof.

Our Friendly Soldier

2004-08-02T02:34:00.000-07:00

Our Friendly Soldier, originally uploaded by tycho56.

This is the soldier who kept asking Amal and I to leave the scene.

2004-08-01T22:41:00.000-07:00

Sunday, 8/1/04
Baghdad, Iraq

Baghdad Blasts

There was a fly pestering me today. Sometime after my shower I was sitting in my kitchen by the window. The light is good there - good enough for me to pluck my facial hairs - a must if I am to go to the wedding at the Al Huda squat camp tomorrow. If I don't take care of them, the women of the family that has adopted there will take care of them with the "string" method. You really don't want to know. It IS painful, much more painful than the one-at-a-time tweezer pluck method I use ever since my first visit to the camp last Feb. when the women tried to usher me inside to remove my moustache hairs. The man I had gone there to interview arrived in the nick of time but later in the privacy of my hotel room my female translator, Amal, removed them with the special string method.

Anyway, as this fly was dive bombing me, I remembered the words I read in a book once, "Look to nature for the signs..." and wondered what this fly was trying to tell me. "What is coming?" I thought, always associating flies with death. "Will it be me?"

Later, I took a nap. It had been a long ha'ara (hot) day taking photos at the courthouse in the Green Zone. Dave Enders, a fellow journalist, Amal our translator and Super Fixer had gone there to interview the judge overseeing Saddam's trial. He was unavailable so I photographed for Dave as he interviewed first Judge Zuhair Al Maliky, and then attorney Shalal Abed Hamis Al Rubaie.

When we returned back to the hotel - soaked through once again from the heat, I was feeling extremely taba'an (tired) and went to take what has become my "arrival" shower. No easy task here as it involves another Baghdad mystery - a turn of the left faucet produces hot water and a turn of the right faucet produces hotter water. Each time I shower after coming home it is yet another assault on the body. But I imagine to myself that this sort of heating of the extremities is a purging of all ills. After the shower I uploaded my photographs and promptly feel asleep.

Though deeply asleep and dreaming of being held in the arms of my habibi, I heard the first blast. It echoed in my head multiplying into four or five blasts in my dreamstate. I remember semi-consciously thinking it was one of the trucks outside perhaps unloading particularly heavy cartons. There are trucks arriving every day, unloading shiny white refrigerators and freezers, stacking them up on the sidewalk until a pedestrian has to walk through this white avalanche reflecting the furnaced heat of the Baghdad sun.

My phone rang a few minutes later. "Lorna, did you hear the bomb?" asked Mohammed, the everything man here at my hotel. "Over on Karrada. Come up to the roof. You can see from here."

Four out of the five car bombings that struck Iraq today all within a short time of each other, occurred at Christian churches in Baghdad. The fifth occurred in Mosul. Two of the four in Baghdad were a short distance from my hotel. The first just a block away from the Agadeer Hotel where I stayed last Feb. and the second a short walk from the first. This is the first time Iraqi Christian churches have been targeted in this way.

Dave, a fellow journalist, and Amal had left earlier to meet Paola, a member of Occupation Watch, at the Kesh Mesha fruit juice bar on Karrada St. I threw on my clothes, packed my camera bag and ran up to the roof while calling Dave's cell phone. Alaa answered and we made a plan for her to come by and pick me up so we could so over to the site. I took some photos from the roof and went down to the lobby to meet her. She and Paola arrived in a taxi and we drove down Sadoun St. as far as the taxi was allowed to go. As we were driving toward the first bomb site we heard a second blast and could see gray smoke rising in the sky ahead. Police sirens were blaring and when we all exited the taxi Amal recommended we walk in the center of the street. "If these cars have a bomb we will be safer in the middle," she said pointing to the cars parked at the curb. As we walked along the island, cars flew past us, some with windows totally blown out from the blast, others with windshields imploded and/or shattered. Many of the windows of restaurants and shops we passed had had their windows blown out. Not all, just one here and another there. Many were left untouched by the formidable blasts.

We turned down a side street following the fading smoke trail and learned that the target had been a church. It was Sunday and around 6:30 PM, and it struck us that the church would be filled with people. I called Sheila Provencher of the Christian Peacemaking Team to check on them. She said two members were out attending mass at a church and were missing. She wanted to know what churches had been bombed. None of us were sure so I told her I would call her back.

We arrived at the first bombing site - an Armenian church just one block off of Sadoun - and as I began to take photos of the three shredded blackened cars, their strewn parts including a charred engine and blackened buildings, a young Iraqi policeman came up to me waving his kalasnikov and screaming, "Why you want to take pictures? You see this? You want to take pictures of this? Why you want to take pictures of this?" Anger and sweat poured from his face. I couldn't blame him yet at the same time was afraid he might do something out of his rage. I turned to Amal, tears coming to my eyes and said, "Tell him I am here so that I can help people to see the truth." Almost immediately some of the older police officers came over shaking their heads in his direction and escorted me past him with apologetic looks all around.

Without a shared language we all understood this moment. Horror, grief, anger and shame - the latter being mine as I know all too well that these sort of attacks are ultimately due to the actions of my government. A botched war plan based on deceit, which produced one very good result for the Iraqi people - they all say they are glad to be rid of Saddam. And yet, it was so poorly planned and executed that it left the Iraqis without any security force in place. This is an inescapable topic here. And even now, when the situation is what it is and needs to be attended to - as a very highly placed Kurdish gentleman said last night at dinner, "I have been telling Bremer and the CPA this from the beginning. From before the war even began. If you want security in Iraq, the answer is jobs, jobs, jobs. Instead they just talk about creating more violence and the result has been that I have become a persona non grata."

As I went about my photographing I turned to see the young officer, his face now was filled with a gentle softened sad kindness so typical of Iraqi people. He apologized with words I didn't understand but did feel. We touched hands and hearts standing there with shattered glass and building debris under our feet and in that moment there was an understanding of peace between us. I was glad it was me he had unleashed his anger upon and not another one like him - angry with a gun in hand. The only weapons I use to shoot with here are my cameras.

As we walked to the site of the second blast, a Syrian church, we ran into Dave who diverted us down a specific side street to avoid being turned away by the police and soldiers. American soldiers had arrived and were working with Iraqi police and soldiers to keep people away. One specifically explained to us another car had been found that they suspected to have explosives in it and they were in the process of examining it. "For your safety, please ma’am, get back." There were 3 fire trucks in the intersection small intersection and seven or eight demolished vehicles, some more blackened than others. The area around the church was filled with private homes and people were running to and fro, some bleeding, others very frightened and others were weeping.

A CPT dispatch I received tonight said this:

"One family pulled them inside their home and shared their recent experiences.

The young woman of the family wept and said, 'My father was killed recently because he sold alcohol. Because of that, I was too afraid to go to my church today. Now it has been bombed. I don't know if my
friends there are alive or dead. Saddam was a killer. Now there are many Saddams.'

Her distraught mother added, 'All Christians want to leave Iraq now. There is no safety for them here now.'

The blast at the Armenian church destroyed three cars on the street, an adjacent brick wall, and shattered windows in a 500-yard radius, including stained glass windows in the church. The ensuing fire blackened the face of apartments within the church compound. The engine block from car containing the bomb landed over 50 yards away. The blast at the Syrian church destroyed at least six cars, blew out walls on both sides of the street, and most of the windows in a two- block radius. Iraqi police and US soldiers cordoned off the areas around the churches and US helicopters flew low over the area for the next hour."

Amal and I instinctively walked closer, all the while gauging where we were vs. where the American soldiers were. There was so much confusion they didn't notice us slip past and go further down one of the side streets of the intersection. We weren't going towards where the suspect car was located more like away and to the side. Amal crossed the street to interview a family and I stood angling position for the best shots. At one point the same soldier approached me and said, "You must leave this area ma'am. I will not tell you again. I told him I would go but couldn't leave until I found my translator. I walked off feigning looking for Amal. He went off in another direction and then came back and I finally left. He then spotted Amal and had her back off as well. She and I stood in the intersection next to one of the firetrucks. I looked up and saw an older Iraqi man with the kindest eyes looking down at me from inside the firetruck. He sort of twinkled his eyes at me. I noticed the seat next to him was empty and pretty high up - high enough to get some really good shots. I asked Amal to ask him if I could sit up front with him and he gestured to the back of the track and made climbing signals. I didn't understand at first so he got out and we walked to the rear of the truck where a ladder led up to its roof. I climbed up and was unnoticed for quite a while until another photographer - Carolyn from the LA Times - joined me. At that point the same soldier looked up at us and I thought he would pop a cork for sure. I obediently got down and walked down the street. Amal was no where to be seen and they were literally forcing all bystanders down the street with a long swath of rolled barbed wire.

Once back on Sadoun Amal appeared. She was trying to interview some of the victims but to no avail. We walked back down Sadoun and after several blocks we hailed a taxi.

Amal was very quiet the whole time, her face dark. I asked her what was up. "I am feeling confused. I have this thing in my throat. It is all so confusing, what is happening."

After all this time working with her I can feel her..."You are hating Americans, aren't you?"

"No, it is not right to hate."

"Well, it is OK to hate," I say. "There is much to hate. And it is better to talk about and acknowledge it is there than hold it inside."

"They are the cause of all these problems. We are happy to be free of Saddam, but at what price?"

Later the reports say that 11 have died in these blasts alone, although other violence across the country have killed others. The latest figure is that 53 people were wounded. I have to wonder at this figure as there were 200 people present at services in just the Armenian church alone. At the site of the Syrian church we were told that 34 people had been wounded and more were still appearing.

And this is just another day in Baghdad. Dave and I stay in an unassuming hotel on a bustling street by day, which is deserted by night. But there are no gunfights in the street outside as there were when we each stayed at the Agadeer Hotel on our last visits here which occurred at different times - I left just days before he arrived this past March. This trip has been much calmer than last time - I have felt more secure. Indeed, there are Iraqi police everywhere.

Dave's room and mine are next door to each other and thanks to his ingenuity, we have Internet in our rooms, with an extra line for Alaa's computer. She practically lives with us spending her entire day working with either me or Dave, moving back and forth between our rooms. Sometimes we all work together like we did today - this day of bombing. We have fun, we laugh, we party, we eat meals together, and we work our asses off. Dave and I plop into our beds at night exhausted and work some more on our computers. Amal goes home to her househusband Ahmed, and two young children ages 4 and 6. She wrestles with the kids, cooks a meal, makes phone calls preparing for the next day's work, and appeases her husband who gets really super pissed from time to time. Especially when she comes home late at night - after 10pm - as she did the other night when she accompanied me to a sheik's house for an evening interview. The sheik speaks no English and I needed her to translate. When we finished it was way past 10 and I went home with her to provide protection from her irate husband. He was out in the street waiting for her. As we both fell out of the taxi, hungry and tired, he greeted me with kindness and told her, in Arabic, that he would be leaving in - for good - in the morning. How dare she come home so late! He then went off to bed. I stayed for a while, we cooked a meal together, she and I, my Iraqi sister, and Dave came from his visit with friends at the Al Hamra to give me a lift home.

And then we wake up the next morning - Amal never fails to arrive at the hotel early enough to wake us up, order breakfast for all of us, and then with a "let's rock!" push us out the door - and do it all over again.

2004-07-20T01:53:00.000-07:00

Transitioning to Baghdad.

I’ve been reading Fatema Mernissi’s Scheherazade Goes West - Different Cultures, Different Harems and I can see at least one way it has effected me. I am being driven across the desert once again but this time I am wrapped from head to toe - hijab to lengthy skirt - and feeling as if I have rolled up inside a carpet for delivery in Baghdad. Even my driver laughed out loud when he first saw my veiled self. But he was his request that made this special delivery wrapping manifest - helped by my dear friend Anna Bachman, who just left Iraq after a 6-month stay and is on her way to Hebron as I write this. She will have no need for a veil there where she has been instructed to dress as a westerner during her stint with the Christian Peacemaking Team - hence no skirts allowed either.

As we cross the Euphrates all looks as before. Guardrails are smashed and torn lying like curled and wrinkled ribbon along the side of the highway. Their supports stick up like so many broken teeth. So far I have not seen any of the broken halved electrical towers stolen of their wires I saw last trips in and out. For the most part what was left of them were on the left side of the road but I don’t remember at what part in the journey I had seen them. The towers we pass now are intact but I can’t tell if they are new or not.

There have been a few humvee patrols and outposts here and there - two on top of an over pass, a few spread randomly across a huge dug out hole on the side of the road. One stuck out in particular - a lone humvee making its way down the center lane of the three-lane highway. Our driver slowed as he approached it from the rear - there is no knowing from either side if the other will suddenly attack. It looked old and battered and very much in need of a thorough wash to rid itself of its thick coat of desert salt and sand. So unlike the humvees of the soldiers under Lt. Colonel Sassaman’s who I watched take apart and lovingly clean every inch of while embedded with them last March.

I wondered as we passed the humvee if these young men riding these lone patrols, the ones who have gotten hit by a mortar or RPG, or rolled over and exploded an IED...I wondered if they ever actually saw it coming? It is a slow arc of a fiery ball coming at them they see? Or a black dot marring the blue sky? Or do they see nothing at all.

As we near Falluja there are many more humvees on patrol. Our driver points out Fallujah’s seemingly peaceful landscape where American bombs killed 14 people in an airstrike on a house just yesterday. There are makeshift stores set up along the length of the highway - small open-air shops settled on road’s shoulders - some out under the brutal sun with a small tarp giving the owner flimsy shade. Others are more sheltered under occasional overpasses.

The driver alerts us that we are about to pass Abu Ghraib and I strain to see out of the front and back windows - the only avenues available to see what is outside due to the latest edition of Iraqi automobile-wear in this latest version of Iraq - chocolate brown velvet Velcroed window curtains on all side windows except for the front, which prevent any view, out or in. I do not mind, especially since my traveling companion - a woman originally from Wales who married an Iraqi gentleman 30 years ago and has lived here ever since - has short reddish blonde hair and no veil. She does have an Iraqi passport but she is not wearing it pasted to her forehead so anyone looking in would not be able to see it and therefore she is a safety risk. Just returning to Iraq from a visit with her family in Wales she seems a bit daft as if she sort of acknowledges the war but yet doesn’t at the same time. "Thirty years of my life have just flown by and I really don’t know where they have gone. So many people back home came to me and said, ‘I am so sorry...’ [in reference to the war] and I just don’t understand it. Why are they saying this to me?" she says in a high pitched thickly coated Walesian accent which sounds so absolutely peculiar in this desert environ.

She had begun to get testy once we reached the Iraqi side of the border after our driver told us not to speak one word of English. "Why is he telling us such things? Why is he behaving like this?" When we stopped at the first Iraqi border stop, our driver got out and men surrounded the vehicle. None were wearing uniforms of any sort, nor did they look like any sort of security personal. They looked more like thugs with dirty clothes. One opened the front passenger door, looked back at us and said something in Arabic. When he repeated it and still did not get an answer, he grinned maliciously and said, "So you no speak Arabi. No speak Arabi. I will help you understand..." At that moment our driver opened the rear passenger door and barked something at the man who left immediately. "I don’t understand. What is this? It is always pleasant at the border. They are always very nice." I reminded her there has been yet another change of government and the rules have changed once again. The Wild West saga of Iraq today continues and my words seemed to reach her but I could not be sure.

We did not leave the vehicle for the entire drive on orders of our driver - not even to go to the bathroom. That could make anyone daft but I think her problem is deeper. After 12 hours or riding in this SUV and making a conscious decision not to drink any fluids during the entire time, I thank my Native American teacher for teaching me how to transmute energy.

As we pass Abu Ghraib it seems to have grown much larger - more fortified with many more 16’ cement barriers. The line of waiting relatives is still there, perhaps not as many as when I left when the front of the prison seemed overrun with people waiting outside. Moments later the driver tells us to remove the velvet curtains - we have arrived in the outskirts of Baghdad and the traffic is building. To be walled in in this white SUV with its broad orange stripe would attract attention here so off the curtains fly allowing Iraq to pour in the windows in all her magnificent splendor.

Now the roadside shops are selling plastic jugs full of petrol and the presence of the US military grows with each mile. And before I forget to mention it - let me relay to you that the Iraqi flag is flying once again. From the tops of building, tops of Bedouin-style tents, from the windows of vehicles where it is pasted in the windows. The Iraqi version of nationalistically inspired patriotism possibly in reaction to the occupation as much as it was in America after the attacks of 9/11.

Later...

I am comfortably situated in my hotel room, or should I say suite. The door opens to a living room kitchen sort of a room complete with mini fridge, sink, cabinets, stove, table, chairs and small comfy-looking sofa. My bedroom is attached and is huge with two twin beds, TV, standalone clothing closet and small night tables. There is a bathroom with shower-only but who would think to take a bath in this heat, which I might add, was not as bad as I expected today. But "the Gods have looked with favor upon you," my translator says. It was a relatively cool day today and there was even a breeze blasting the furnaced air around.

I arrived at 1pm to her waiting arms. She took me to lunch (after a run to the bathroom), changed money, and visited with my friends at CPT who updated me on all the work they are doing. They were the ones the media turned to after the abuses at Abu Ghraib hit the headlines. These folks were the ones in the trenches documenting tales of released prisoners, listening to the heartbreaking tales of families of detainees, and vigiling with photos of detainees while attempting to bring attention to the issue long before the Western press even had an inkling or desire to be looking into such things. It was good to be in their company once again.

We also visited with my friends at the Kesh Mesha juice bar where I picked up my two liters of fresh squeezed OJ, with Cameron the day desk manager at the Andalus Hotel who I met my first visit to Iraq, with the folks at the Agadeer Hotel where I resided for 6 weeks my last stay, with the Armenian gentleman who has his carpentry shop nearby to the Agadeer, and with the man at the potato chip and other necessity shop. My male translator has sent me a welcome email and will be visited with hugs very soon. And it seems in no time at all I am very much where I left off last time.

2004-02-12T13:11:00.000-08:00

Today in Iraq
By LornaTychostup
February 12,2004

My editor/friend writes back after I tell him of the deadly accident on the highway to Baghdad:

"It's good to know you're safe and sound. The road from Amman sounds so dangerous. Why is this? Is it the condition of the road itself and the speed and sleep-deprivation of the drivers?"

Imagine this...our driver and his friend leave Baghdad and drive for 10-12 hours to Amman. There are a few stops along the way for gas and also at the border crossing, which in this case (and is many times the case) took more than two hours alone to wait to be processed. (We, on the other hand, perhaps due to the fact that it was 3 or 4 in the AM, breezed right through on our trip to Baghdad.) So, they arrive in Amman, say around 7:30-8:00 p.m., catch a bite to eat, sleep for a few hours. Our driver wakes up at 12:45, perhaps takes a shower and picks up his passengers -- my traveling companions - and -me -- for the ride back to Baghdad. Our driver’s friend wakes up one hour earlier (I can only assume he slept) and leaves at 12 midnight, while our driver picks us up at 1 AM.

The highway itself, once you get near the Iraqi border and definitely once inside of Iraq is a modern marvel. Clear sailing on a very nicely paved road, two to three lanes in each direction. We were traveling between 100 and 145 kilometers per hour with 2 other suburban-type vehicles -- other drivers with other passengers. Not too many signs of war along this highway...perhaps a few blackened areas where some sort of bomb or missile had exploded - no hole in the ground, just blackened greasy splotches between 20 and 40 feet in diameter. The sides of the road open to vast expanses of desert vistas for as far as the eye can see -- that is, visible only once the sun comes up, which was the case when we came upon the crash. The vehicle had taken at least one roll and landed right-side up. The woman had already been taken to the hospital but the two male passengers -- their bodies -- were still inside. We did not get out of our vehicle to join our driver as he went to investigate. It was pretty apparent this was no ordinary crash or at least these were no ordinarily anonymous men. An all-male retinue continued to build and wane as drivers passed, recognized something familiar about the crash vehicle and stopped only to continue on at some point. When we drove off after 2 or so hours, there were still about 20 men standing around the vehicle, which had been attached to a tow truck by then, bodies still entombed inside. One of the men had a gun, which is one of the most common accoutrements here in Iraq for a man to carry, I've been told. Some are more visible now, but I was also told most men carried a gun before the war as an ordinary accessory. They were simply kept hidden and we therefore, never saw them.

My peace companion seems to marvel at this bit of information to the point of disbelief that it could be true. Pointing to Cameron that "I never saw these guns when I was here before" and now "look at that...two American men dressed in street clothes carrying rifles with shortened handles" -- an AK (better known as Kalashnikov here) without its ... what do you call the handle part? I suddenly can't remember. This conversation occurred inside the Andalus Apartments today, where we stopped during our stroll around town to visit with friends I made who were working there when I stayed there last February. It was yet another warm and heartfelt reunion, one of many I have been having, this time with Cameron and the others who still work at the Andalus. "And why aren't you staying here?" Cameron asked me. I hedged my answer, not wanting to tell him I found it a bit intimidating to be surrounded by the 12-15 foot high concrete walls lining the once busy thoroughfare that had been saturated with people walking and cars jammed during the rush hours in the days and weeks before the bombing started.

Not to mention the armed guards and Iraqi policemen joined by American soldiers, or the reels of razor wire unfurled along the ground and used as a swinging gate allowing the few cars (I saw a fine Mercedes) that are allowed entry, to enter. All this to protect the Palestine Hotel which towers over the Andalus and is located just across the side street. The Palestine Hotel high-rise with three entire floors dedicated to the living quarters of the good old folks of Kellogg, Root and Brown, is the reason for all this protection that keeps people from the banks of the Tigris. Traffic and people are no longer allowed to make the once idyllic stroll along the park and seafood restaurant-lined street running alongside the Tigris. What restaurants? There are no longer any restaurants. No late night gaming going on long into the night at tables after the diners have had their fill. No lovers' stealing moments under the drooping leaves of the trees. It is probably the quietest spot in Baghdad, kept tranquil by its isolation.

My friend/editor asks/advises:

"And these back-to-back suicide bomb explosions are really scary--40 and 50 people are being killed at a time. Who are these people who are so willing to blow themselves and Iraqis queuing to be police officers? I don't clearly understand their motivation or their objectives. Is the expectation that by keeping Iraq destabilized the US Army will leave? But once you're dead, what does it matter? (A larger issue for sure, but I'm curious to know what the conventional wisdom on the ground in Iraq about the suicide bombings.) Please be careful."

We have been discussing just this. Who are these people willing to blow themselves up for this cause...to shake the American fleas from their dog? Why were these people not blowing themselves up to free themselves from the yoke of Saddam? Are these Sunni fanatics? Former Baathists? Are they Wahabi - a conservative sect from Saudi Arabia?

It is true that many are not happy Saddam is gone. For these people security disappeared with along with Saddam. As did the electricity, personal safety, the rules and regulations that only a government system can provide. Iraq is now a free-for-all. For these people it is not just that the Americans are killing people left and right for no apparent reason or for retaliatory reasons after specific attacks (this small fact that does not always get mentioned in the press). There have been massive detentions of mostly men of all ages. Soldiers hand out goodies during the day - pencils, crayons, blankets, and a few soccer balls - I have been told there are never enough soccer balls to hand out. But in the night, the soldiers return. They break down doors in purposely-planned surprise raids meant to keep them safer. They bring people out of their beds into the night air, blindfold or put bags over the men's heads and make them sit for hours. Then they take some away. We spoke with person after person who knows of some other person -- a friend, relative or neighbor -- hauled off to some prison without any charges being brought against them.

Of course, there are Iraqis who are lobbing mortars at the troops. So the retaliatory methods -- called Harassment and Interdiction Fire [HIF] are carried out for legitimate reasons. In Balad, the town which contains the village we visited, the 4th Infantry Division [the 4th ID], has been refraining from killing families and committing other atrocities that supposedly are being committed in places like Falluja where the 2nd Airborne is in charge. Ben, a journalist who just arrived from 4 days embedded with the 4th ID, said the soldiers there were watching a CNN special two nights ago and commenting about this. How the 2nd Airborne have been screwing up big time, by their mistreatment of the people in their area. Treatment which causes huge resentment and therefore more violence.

But back to the suicide bombers. It is clear to me these attacks are well-planned and well-thought out. The larger numbers slaughtered the better. But then again, according to a Corbis photographer staying here at my hotel, and his colleague who shoots for Getty and the LA Times (among others) -- most of the Iraqis getting killed are killed by freaked out American troops who circle up after such an attack and fire at will into the space around them. The primal instinct of nature to survive at all risks. This tidbit was revealed over dinner after the Getty guy - all of 23 years old who graduated college as a philosophy major - told a story about going over to the CPA headquarters to photograph a convoy of security people being transported in heavily fortified humvees. The woman who invited them to photograph this event wouldn't leave the entrance to join them. Mind you, he said, it is LA Times policy not to join convoys or travel with them. But there were 2 reporters in one of the humvees and he was following in a car (another no no). A roadside bomb went off under one of the humvees and people were injured. The photographer expressed surprise at the reaction of the troops. "They really didn't have a plan to respond." Something short of mayhem followed.

In addition, the violent attacks number 30 per day spread out across the country. Anyone seeming to help the coalition forces is a potential target. Translators, workers, drivers, doctors -- these folks are being assassinated. But since we are not counting the Iraqi dead these numbers don't get into the headline. And perhaps that is the key. A big attack gets big media attention. A big message gets sent out.

One driver and interpreter -- a very intelligent man in his 30's who served reluctantly in the Iraqi military for the mandatory1 1/2 years blames these attacks on criminals. Thugs who want to earn a living. "$5000 American to kill a soldier. $10,000 to take out a crowd." And so on.... Ben, the journalist confirmed this possibility as well.

So it seems that there are many here in Iraq working hard for many reasons and doing all sorts of things.

And last for now, a brief analysis...imagine if you can, there are some who are overjoyed that Saddam is no more. Bush is a hero because he has gotten rid of Saddam. Many don't understand why many Americans who are here (journalists and the sort) hate Bush. "Lesh?" a 31 year old Iraqi filmmaker asks. "Why do they hate Bush?" This question comes from a one-time film student who spent 4 years studying without ever touching a camera. "Before with Saddam we are all afraid. We cannot talk to anyone about what we think. Now we are free to talk. When your are afraid of what to say, when someone is always listening and you will get hurt or worse if they hear you you are not free. Now we are free, free to think, free to talk. When your mind is not free your heart cannot be free. When you are afraid you cannot be free."

He tells me about his dreams, that for all those years under Saddam he made films in his mind. But in the next breath he raises the specter of Saddam and says that he will never realize his dreams because of Saddam and a past that is rapidly becoming ever the more distant. A past he perhaps is not ready to let go of. "I am not like you. The Iraqi people are always afraid. Afraid of Saddam. Afraid of what he would do. We have become a fearful people. We cannot have our dreams."

But he is no longer here, I say. Saddam is gone. Who will you blame now for you lack of a fulfilled dream? His ghost?

Then there are others. "Where is the freedom?" asks Hannah, a secretary and translator. She has been a single parent of two daughters since the 90's -- when her husband died in the Iran/Iraq war. "Security. Without security we are not free. Electricity is life. Without electricity there is no life. What sort of freedom is this. I cannot get a passport. There is no government and I am not free to come and go as I please. I worry about my daughters every minute while I am at work. At least with Saddam we were safe. No one would dare to rob or hurt anyone else. They would not dare."

Hannah tells me this while seated in the spiffy, well-designed Internet Cafe she is been doing business from for her employers. She laments the trashing of the wire phone system here and worries she will not be able to afford the cell phones that have just been introduced. And without wires, how will I get on the Internet? she laments. The owner of the cafe is an enterprising young man not more than 30 who proudly says he designed the look himself from the blue Formica individual desks holding the computers to the curved dividers between stations to the cool blue interior reeking of modernity. Although he is very happy to help each customer with their slightest need, this does not keep him from working toward his dreams.

And this is it from today in Iraq.

2003-03-23T09:27:00.001-08:00

The war has begun. The first bombs have been dropped on Baghdad. All these
months of sitting in the edge of violence finally fall off into a joyful
media blitz of Ninetendo TV warriors. Watching the news, eyes and ears peeled
to the talking box, I strain to hear or see news of my friends in Baghdad. My
phone call late this afternoon yielded the garbled voice of Kathy Kelly. Her
soft gentle tone broken to pieces by a faulty phone connection. All I could
glean was that she sounded strong and prepared.

How can one prepare for 3000 bombs coming directly in your direction?

I remember that night in Baghdad when five of the IPT members who had made
the decision to stay throughout the bombing were having a preparation
meeting. It was 2 AM in the morning and I was working on a press release in
the same room with them. We had already been given a copy of an intention
statement which said things like:

“In the event of your death, do you agree to your body not being returned to
your own country but being disposed of in the most convenient way?”

But the discussion that night took the tension to a higher level. They were
talking about getting a large supply of morphine -- for those who might be
wounded. “There may not be a doctor around so we can simply put people to
sleep to blunt their pain,” someone said.

“Should we think about plugging up the windows and vents in case of a
biological or chemical attack?” asked Trish.

An answer to her question was delayed by a discussion of whether it would be
the Iraqis or the Americans who would resort to these weapons first. After
all, the US no stranger to such weapons. Back in the 1970’s, the US began to
support the government of Saddam Hussein. By 1980, the US had become Iraq’s
primary diplomatic supporter and had began to supply of military intelligence
and weapons of mass destruction. According to Middle East specialist, Phyllis
Bennis, "Specifically biological weapons from one company in particular
outside of Washington, the American Type Culture Collection, under contracts
by the US Commerce Department, provided the biological weapons material to
make anthrax, E.coli, botulism, and a host of other terrible biological
diseases."

These weapons were first used by Saddam to kill Iranian border troops during
the Iraq/Iran, which took the lives of one million Iraqi men. Later, Iraqi
Kurds in Halabja in northern Iraq were supposedly killed by Saddam’s chemical
weapons (I say "supposedly because of a recent NYTimes article which stated
that perhaps the Iranians had used the gas on their own population). Even
after the Kurds were killed, US sales of these weapons of mass destruction to
Iraq continued. In clear violation of a multitude of international
agreements, not to mention desecration of the unwritten rules of humanity.

So with this knowledge in mind, I decided to answer Trish’s question. “Yes,
it is a good idea to protect yourselves against such weapons. Isolate a
specific part of the building, one that can easily be sealed. The hotel will
be mostly empty by then and there will be plenty of towels, sheets, pillows,
rugs and other stuff to plug up the doors, windows and vents. Chemicals will
pass quickly, dissipating into the air. Biological weapons might be a bit
more difficult to avoid. But at all costs you must make preparations to keep
yourselves alive. Fill up the tubs and sinks with water, in case the water
supply gets cut off...”

The radio and TV news people are all saying the same thing. They say
“liberation and disarmament are the goals.” They say words like “smart
bombs,” “surgical strike,” “war on terrorism.” And I have to wonder if
bombs can be smart. And I have to wonder if striking an innocent population
of women, men, and children will keep anybody safe from terror.

A friend of mine, an Iraqi woman with dual citizenship who lives with her
family here in the US forwarded me an email her sister, who loves in Iraq,
sent her. It reads:

“Dear Sister:
Peace and blessings upon you. Thank God, we are all well, here, But things
are happening too fast around us. We are totally lost ... We can't
understand, why! ... all this madness and evil! Even so ...we have submitted
our selves totally to Good, all mighty.

Our kids are not going to school anymore. Every now and then, Toolah ( 12
years old daughter), becomes afraid ... I tell her not to be afraid ," come,
I'll give you a hug, and you will feel safe" I say. Oh, dear sister ... tell
the Americans, that mothers' hugs, unfortunately, is not enough, to make kids
feel safe anymore. We don't wish for their kids, what they are doing to ours,
but we pray for God, that Bush and all those who aid him, will suffer the
very same terror that they inflict upon our kids. Maybe this will be the last
letter, until this mess ends. We are with you, in our prayers, and we know
that you are with us, in yours. This is not good bye ...We hope to see you
again.

Tell who ever wants war, that we will not receive them with music, as they
might think ... And we will not thank them for freeing us, with bombs and
Depleted Uranium.
We were hoping that they would leave us alone, because we did not consider
them, our enemies ... but ... if they start war ... then, they will be.

Peace and blessings.”

And tonight a hailstorm of bombs rains down on Baghdad, and I can only pray
deeply that my friends and my friend’s family are alive and will stay that
way.

2003-03-23T09:27:00.000-08:00

Title - Pre War Syndrome

There seems to even less time to sleep here in Baghdad than there was in
Amman. This sense of urgency has filled me as I realize that each passing
moment not spent doing something - Transcribing journal notes to the computer
to be sent home for folks to read on my website, taking photos, absorbing the
language and culture -- is one spent allowing war to inch closer while
standing by useless.

Life here is as normal as can be -- on the surface. Your food arrives as
ordered, cars fly by the hotel, this little tide of Voices people I am part
of plan and plot our next action -- the daily morning vigil in front of the
UN, a trip to a hospital, visits to the homes of Iraqi families -- all these
things to bring this human face home to the American people. Drops in the
bucket meant to drown out this insane cry of war.

And I cannot write fast enough, I cannot fill the page with enough images and
information to paint this picture of life. Life lived as it is elsewhere on
the planet -- the breaking of daily bread, running off to work, making sure
the children get to school on time, being brave in the face of an oncoming
war machine that will annihilate unless the people of the world -- in my case
-- the people of my America - storm out into the streets and simply say “NO.”

Cameron, the hotel desk clerk, clean and neat in appearance. Black suit and
tie -- impeccable. Moisture gathers in his eyes as he thanks me for being an
American. Me, who has suddenly grown to be ashamed of that root.

“You are so much braver than me,” he says, this man whose eyes betray the
stress, wear and tear of war’s approach.

“No,” I say. “It is you who are brave.” My life as a privileged American
has not yet allowed me to think that I could be killed in this gentle place
filled with his face and those of all the other Iraqis I have laid eyes on.

“No,” he say. “I live here. I have no choice. But you...you come here and
leave your family to help us. You are so much braver.”

And I want to change the subject. Ashamed that my country -- the America I
represent to this man -- will possibly kill, or at the very least, change
this man’s life in the way only living through the assault of an avalanche of
missiles can.

Politely breaking away, I left the sparkling clean white-tiled hotel lobby
and the eyes of this kind man to breathe in the cool dry Baghdad air. Going
no more than 20 steps, rumblings and food flying from the open dumpster
parked just outside revealed a boy-child within. His mouth and lower face
were covered with food. As I stared at him unable to process -- perhaps
refusing to process -- this spectacle before my eyes, I instinctively swung
my backpack to the ground and took my camera out. "There is to be no
photographing without the permission of a minder. Especially buildings," was
what the Voices in the Wilderness representative, Ramzi Kysia, had said
during orientation in Amman. But he had also said portraits were OK.
Assessing the situation I decided to take the shot as the boy raised his hand
to his mouth, fingertips touching and started yelling defensively in Arabic
that he was eating. His screaming made me hesitate and within a few seconds –
he seeing I meant him no interference – went back to his breakfast. I snapped
away not knowing at the time that I had only taken three shots. Three were
enough.

I saw Thorne Anderson approaching -- veteran photojournalist of the Kosovian
battles -- and began to lower the camera, unsure if I had broken the rules or
not. By the time Thorne had reached me my camera was away and we began to
walk away -- only after he too had seen the boy. “I’ve never seen anything
like that before,” I said checking the energy, not really sure what I had
just seen was real or imagined.

“Neither have I,” said Thorne.

2003-03-13T18:25:00.000-08:00

By GREG BARRETT
Gannett News Service, March 12, 2003
WASHINGTON - If the invasion that the Pentagon has dubbed "Operation Shock and Awe" commences, Charlie Liteky is unlikely to feel either. He expects the United States to bomb Iraq. He expects noise and destruction more powerful and frightening than he has ever known. He expects the Earth to shake and houses to go dark and children to scream themselves hoarse. But Liteky sounds more determined than frightened. Like 20 other members of the Chicago-based Iraq Peace Team who remain in Baghdad even as hostilities appear certain, Liteky abhors cluster bombs, cruise missiles and the civil unrest that combat causes. As a decorated Vietnam veteran, he knows first hand the chaos and carnage of war. That's precisely why he sounded elated Tuesday morning when he told his wife that the Iraqi government had extended his tourist visa 10 days and is likely to extend it again, long enough for him to help Iraqi children through the difficult time.Most of the peace activists who descended by the hundreds on Baghda this fall and winter have fled. Those who remain have no intentions of leaving. They are anchored to the bull's-eye despite the fact -- or maybe because of it -- that the World Health Organization predicts 100,000 Iraqis could die. "I'm here because I hear the children cry," Liteky said. "In my mind... I imagine the bombing and the noise and the windows shattering and something coming down from the ceiling and children looking up and parents grabbing them and fear being transferred from parents to children." Save yourselves Washington has warned the activists to clear out. The Pentagon hassaid its assault will leave no place in Baghdad to hide. So the rundown hotels that enjoyed full houses as recently as February are shuttering their windows. At the Hotel Al-Fanar on the Tigris river, the Iraq Peace Team is moving to the lower floors because the eight-story building is old and seems unsteady. Its bomb shelter is a musty basement that stores the hotel's chemical cleaning supplies.
Members of the peace team have signed an ominous-sounding contract: "In the event of your death, you agree to your body not being returned to your own country but being disposed of in the most convenient way." They have had awkward discussions about what to do with the corpses that might collect around them. Wrap the dead in hotel drapes, they decided. Pray for help. Iraq Peace Team founder Kathy Kelly had a photo enlarged that shows her with some of her dearest friends - the family of an Iraqi widow and her nine children. The photo is being mailed to Kelly's mother in Chicago. "She can see by that photo that I am very, very happy," Kelly said, sounding serenely calm despite the gathering storm. On Monday, Kelly helped an Iraqi friend pack to leave. Teacher and artist Amal Alwan rushed her three young children into a taxi and paid $300 for the 10-hour drive from Baghdad to Damascus, Syria. Alwan doesn't have relatives in Syria and couldn't tell the cabbie exactly where to go. "She doesn't have a clue where she will stay, but she can't possibly stay in Baghdad, not with children," Kelly said. "Her house is next to a communications center." As Kelly spoke it was almost 1:30 a.m. on Tuesday in Baghdad and she wasawake reading "A Fine Balance," a novel about civil war in India. She planned to rise six hours later for a daily prayer meeting then go with the peace team to the United Nations offices in Baghdad. They would hold aloft several enlarged photos of Iraqi families.
Each photo would carry a single question: "Doomed?"
"I don't have the slightest sense of not belonging exactly where I am right now," said Kelly, 50, a three-time Nobel Peace Prize nominee. "The thought of leaving has not even crossed my mind." The Pentagon says the presence of U.S. pacifists will not deter the course of war. Although there are no plans to arrest them for violating sanctions on Iraq by traveling to Baghdad, officials throughout the U.S. government, from the White House to the State Department to the Pentagon, sound confused about how to best to deal with them "There's not a whole lot of precedence," said Pentagon spokesman Lt. Dan Hetlage. "It's not like you had human shields protecting the Taliban." Armed for war Members of the Iraq Peace Team say they are as prepared for war as they will ever be. They have "crash kits" packed neatly and set by their hotel doors. Liteky's is the size of carryon luggage. It bulges with bandages, antibiotics, water-purification tablets, three liters of water, dried fruit, canned tuna, biscuits, power bars and a short-wave radio. He hopes to ride out Operation Shock and Awe in Baghdad's Orphanage of the Sisters of Mother Teresa. Or at least to rush there as soon as the bombing subsides. He's compelled to at least try to quell the inevitable trembling of the children.
"I'd rather die doing something," he told his wife, Judy, "then die ... in some old folks home. Liteky, 72, is a former Roman Catholic priest and Vietnam war hero awarded the congressional Medal of Honor for crawling under volleys of gunfire in 1967 to rescue 23 injured U.S. soldiers. According to Army reports, during the firefight near Phuoc-Lac the wounded became too heavy to carry so Liteky turned onto his back in the mud, pulled the men on top of him and crawled backward under gunfire,using only his heels and elbows. He's plenty scared of war, he said, but his fear is for the children. When the attack comes, he said, "the most beautiful thing that can happen for me is if I am permitted to be at the orphanage. At least I could pick the children up, hold them, and try to let my calm and love transferto them."
Liteky speaks every morning to his wife 11 times zones away in San Francisco. Since arriving in Baghdad three weeks ago, it has become increasingly difficult to hang up the phone. On Tuesday they spoke for 40 minutes, said goodbye twice, and kept talking. "I don't have a death wish," he said in an interview Monday. "I have everything to live for. I have a wonderful wife and a wonderful life back home." Liteky and his wife have thought for a week that the invasion of Iraq would begin sometime between March 10 and 17. So when Judy Liteky, a math teacher at a community college, left for work on Monday, she put a bumper sticker on her car.
"Attack Iraq? No," it read.
"The bumper sticker made me feel just a little bit better," she said Kelly heard late Monday that the United Nations would evacuate most of its remaining office staff on Tuesday. Still, she sounded steadfast in her decision to stay in Baghdad, even if it meant dying.
"A lot of people are concerned for the foreigners who remain here; you wonder if anyone is concerned for these very ordinary Iraqi people who are
going to die here," she said. When photographer Thorne Anderson chose to travel to Baghdad with Kelly in January to document the people and the war, he informed his family of the trip in an email. Anderson, who has freelanced for Gannett News Service, Newsweek, The New York Times and other publications, said he expected a little preaching, lots of concern, and some pleas to reconsider. Instead, his father, the Rev. Eade Anderson of Montreat, N.C., was succinct in his reply. "I've always said life shouldn't be wasted on the small things," he wrote in an email. "Love, Dad." A little note...Please say some prayers for these people -- my very dear friends in Baghdad.After our first day at the Iraq/Kuwait border, we all sat around to discuss our feelings and touch base with each other. Spirits were high and we wereall so happy to be where we were. When Charlie Litkey's turn came to speak he chose to pass. After we had all finished gushing our joy Charlie finally spoke. He said, "I hesitate to say anything because some of my thoughts might be taken as negative. And I don't mean anything in a negative way.

Personally, I didn't feel any risk there and have a habit of encouraging other people to take risks. And as Mike [Ferner] pointed out, that people back home regard this as a risk by us just being here. I think I felt that way before i came the first time because I didn't know what it was like and I had all sorts of feelings in my mind. Ever since I've been here I've never really felt afraid to any great degree. I've imagined more than felt fear.So, that's one of my feelings." Charlie went on to say that he felt it was important to circle up and say a prayer when we went back to the borderline in the morning. "A prayer, in a sense is silent because our fasting is a prayer. I long for a way to do what we do as people who are trying to be nonviolent -- that is that we impose ourselves in some way between the elements of violence, of depression and I know this is pretty hard to doin this situation." My last conversation with Charlie before I left I asked him to go and look in the mirror. That although he might be such an incredible spirit that he did not feel fear in that very fear-inducing situation, he was in a spot that 99.9 percent of Americans would not dare to be -- because of their fear.
That he was helping, by his simple presence at the border and in Iraq, people to work through their own fear. I pray, that when the moment comes (and I hope with all my heart that our efforts here will avert this tragedy of war from occurring), he will still be able to walk without fear and keep himself
safe.I pray for he safety of all these wonderful people. Please help me send out the energy to keep them safe.
Thanks, Lorna

2003-03-07T11:55:00.000-08:00

Lorna on Fox, Friday 3/7/2003 7pm

Dear friends,
I will be on Fox's Hannity and Colmes tonight, Friday, March 7 at 9 PM
speaking about my journey to Iraq. Please tune in and if you feel so moved,
call afterward the folks at Fox and let them know what you think and feel.
And please send me some positive energy if you can.
Thanks!
Lorna