.What a Way to Go
BAGHDAD — I am sitting in the departure lounge at Baghdad International Airport, waiting for my flight to Syria. My family is there, and I am going to spend a couple of weeks with them before flying to the United States.
I have been invited to spend a year as an international visiting scholar at the University of North Carolina, and today is my last day in Baghdad.
There is a mixture of feelings inside me. I feel very excited because the fellowship is a great opportunity for anyone and especially for an Iraqi like me: a chance to get out of the war zone, away from the violence, at least for some time, and also to learn and see more of the world we hear about and see only on TV.
I am also scared because I’m going to a new world, somewhere unknown to me. I don’t know what I will find there. Am I going to be accepted or rejected? Will I be able to get along, or will I die from homesickness? What about culture shock? I’m an Iraqi and a Muslim, and my traditions and religion are different from what I’m going to see there. Will it be easy for me to deal with? Or will it be difficult?
I’m happy because it is a great achievement for me, and at the same time I am sad to leave Baghdad, where I was born and raised. I was hoping to leave it in a better way, to see it happy and loving, not sad and destroyed.
In every street I drive in Baghdad I have memories of my youth and childhood, but it was meant to happen this way. It was meant for me to leave Baghdad with tears in my eyes.
What I’m hoping for when going to the States is to see and learn and test American democracy, the same democracy that was brought to my country — or so I was told.
Because I haven’t really liked it in my country. What is happening now is nothing but chaos.
For instance, yesterday I was driving to Karada, where I could wire my money to Syria instead of carrying it with me. It is dangerous to travel with lots of cash in Iraq, because you don’t know what will happen in any given minute.
My route required me to drive across Jadriya Bridge, but when I got there I saw that an Iraqi Army checkpoint had been set up in the middle of the span and that an American convoy was passing through. We poor drivers have to stop at these places, of course, lest we be considered a possible enemy and get shot.
The American convoy was followed by a convoy of commandos from the Iraqi Ministry of Interior, known here as the National Police. The American convoy found its way through the traffic and passed the checkpoint. The National Police convoy, however, was stopped; the Iraqi soldiers guarding the checkpoint didn’t like having the National Police passing without showing them who was boss.
The two sides started arguing, and the argument soon developed into a gunfight, with the soldiers firing on the tires of the police convoy and the police using their radio to call for backup. In a matter of minutes we had more than 20 trucks full of armed men blocking the two sides of the bridge and pointing their guns at one another.
The funny thing was that all of them were Iraqis, members of the security forces, the people who are supposed to keep peace and order in the streets. But what happened was that they were fighting over power, and because of that hundreds of cars — civilian cars, including mine — were stopped, with nobody knowing what to do. If they started fighting, we would all be caught in the crossfire.
I thought in that moment that I could take a bullet. I was carrying all my savings, driving my car and waiting for tomorrow to come in order to fly to my family. And here I was, in the middle of a confrontation that could erupt into a gunfight at any minute, and between whom? The people who were supposed to protect me; me, the poor Iraqi citizen.
This is the kind of democracy we have. You can do whatever you want as long as you have power, and you can express your opinion and force it whenever and wherever you want, not caring about others.
This is democracy in Iraq.
So I’m going to the United States to see, is what we have here an American democracy? Or is it Iraqi democracy?
When I go there, I will know the difference.
Baghdad Bureau
I have been invited to spend a year as an international visiting scholar at the University of North Carolina, and today is my last day in Baghdad.
There is a mixture of feelings inside me. I feel very excited because the fellowship is a great opportunity for anyone and especially for an Iraqi like me: a chance to get out of the war zone, away from the violence, at least for some time, and also to learn and see more of the world we hear about and see only on TV.
I am also scared because I’m going to a new world, somewhere unknown to me. I don’t know what I will find there. Am I going to be accepted or rejected? Will I be able to get along, or will I die from homesickness? What about culture shock? I’m an Iraqi and a Muslim, and my traditions and religion are different from what I’m going to see there. Will it be easy for me to deal with? Or will it be difficult?
I’m happy because it is a great achievement for me, and at the same time I am sad to leave Baghdad, where I was born and raised. I was hoping to leave it in a better way, to see it happy and loving, not sad and destroyed.
In every street I drive in Baghdad I have memories of my youth and childhood, but it was meant to happen this way. It was meant for me to leave Baghdad with tears in my eyes.
What I’m hoping for when going to the States is to see and learn and test American democracy, the same democracy that was brought to my country — or so I was told.
Because I haven’t really liked it in my country. What is happening now is nothing but chaos.
For instance, yesterday I was driving to Karada, where I could wire my money to Syria instead of carrying it with me. It is dangerous to travel with lots of cash in Iraq, because you don’t know what will happen in any given minute.
My route required me to drive across Jadriya Bridge, but when I got there I saw that an Iraqi Army checkpoint had been set up in the middle of the span and that an American convoy was passing through. We poor drivers have to stop at these places, of course, lest we be considered a possible enemy and get shot.
The American convoy was followed by a convoy of commandos from the Iraqi Ministry of Interior, known here as the National Police. The American convoy found its way through the traffic and passed the checkpoint. The National Police convoy, however, was stopped; the Iraqi soldiers guarding the checkpoint didn’t like having the National Police passing without showing them who was boss.
The two sides started arguing, and the argument soon developed into a gunfight, with the soldiers firing on the tires of the police convoy and the police using their radio to call for backup. In a matter of minutes we had more than 20 trucks full of armed men blocking the two sides of the bridge and pointing their guns at one another.
The funny thing was that all of them were Iraqis, members of the security forces, the people who are supposed to keep peace and order in the streets. But what happened was that they were fighting over power, and because of that hundreds of cars — civilian cars, including mine — were stopped, with nobody knowing what to do. If they started fighting, we would all be caught in the crossfire.
I thought in that moment that I could take a bullet. I was carrying all my savings, driving my car and waiting for tomorrow to come in order to fly to my family. And here I was, in the middle of a confrontation that could erupt into a gunfight at any minute, and between whom? The people who were supposed to protect me; me, the poor Iraqi citizen.
This is the kind of democracy we have. You can do whatever you want as long as you have power, and you can express your opinion and force it whenever and wherever you want, not caring about others.
This is democracy in Iraq.
So I’m going to the United States to see, is what we have here an American democracy? Or is it Iraqi democracy?
When I go there, I will know the difference.
Baghdad Bureau
posted by madtom at 4:04 PM
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