Amman, Jordan
Aug 10, 2008
Dear Friends,
“How can the walls ever come down?” was the question I put to three Iraqi friends. Late yesterday afternoon I went next door to ask a neighbor if we could watch Iraqi TV news together. Would he mind translating for me? This young friend often helps me with Arabic, and I had brought my notebook along. We were joined by his brother and another Iraqi friend who will be returning to Baghdad soon. Moslem and Christians, we sat together. The walls I was referring to are the concrete barricades which have been constructed by the coalition forces throughout all of Baghdad. These walls seal off and separate entire communities.
One evening last week, I met with two journalist friends from the U.S. who had just returned from a month-long trip to Iraq. As I listened to them, I was heartened and sickened at the same time. I was amazed at the freedom of movement they described, not only for themselves as foreigners, but for Iraqis. Of course they are seasoned reporters with long-time experience and contacts; they know how to proceed with caution and prudence. While the atmosphere remains tense and explosions continue, they reported, people have begun to feel safer in the last couple of months. They are venturing out more. The economy is a mess with high inflation, but crime is down.
Nevertheless, I was sick at heart to hear that almost all of the neighborhoods in Baghdad have been walled off, each with a single entrance and exit point. In order to enter one must negotiate with the particular militia/entity protecting that neighborhood. The Iraqi army is out in strength and better equipped and trained than they were three years ago. They now have, for example, some armed humvees.
An Iraqi friend told me recently that the lack of electricity and jobs continue to fan the fires of anger and resistance. “Violence would decrease 50%” he said “if there were electricity.”
Just recently I got to see the son of a family from Baghdad, a family whom we’ve known for years. When I lived in Baghdad their twelve year old daughter used to teach me Arabic. She is now seventeen. What a joy it was to meet with him and get an update on each member of the family. As we visited I couldn’t help remembering him as a lanky 18 year old with a lopsided smile going off to fight in Saddam’s army. This was right before the invasion, and he had no choice. Five years later he is working as a bodyguard in Baghdad. He was able to come to Amman because he is accompanying an Iraqi minister here for meetings. He told me that the only work available in Baghdad is as a bodyguard, a soldier or a policeman. His younger brother works as a soldier in the Iraq army. Their dear mother is unwell; no wonder given the worry she must face at the safety of her sons. This son told us of a recent bomb attack against the minister he is paid to protect. Three of his fellow bodyguards were killed. He has survived, so far. He was able to take a handwritten letter from me back to his family, along with a picture I took of us together.
The above mentioned journalist friends said “Everyone is waiting to see how the elections will turn out.” They patiently tried to walk me through the complex myriad of sectarian groupings, parties, militias, army and police. Yet despite their attempts at clarification, I was left feeling confused and overwhelmed. I liken it to a chess game where there are too many players and no rules. Elite Shi’a groups like the Dowa party and the Supreme Islam Council, Moqtada Al Sadr with his Mehdi army, The Awakening or SaHwa, primarily Sunni, the list seems endless. “Everyone at the ground level wants the Americans out,” they said. An uneasy balance of power, it is clear there will be no winners even after the elections in Iraq take place.
And so we sat together yesterday, Moslem and Christian Iraqis. Both from Baghdad, they met here in Amman. No one can deny that the experience of Christian Iraqis is different from that of Moslem Iraqis. The Christians in Iraq have been targeted not only as “infidels” by radical Islamic extremists, but they have been caught in the middle of sectarian violence, a fact born out by our Moslem friend. But they both share in common the unspeakable suffering unleashed by this war. They have both lost family and friends in the killing and violence. Both have lost homes and homeland. Families are separated, and their futures uncertain. As I sat and listened to their heated discussion in Arabic, I was struck by the respectful tone. How can the walls come down? I asked again.
One of the young men responded thoughtfully “It will take time….everything takes time.” Another said smiling “We thought the same of Saddam Hussein’s pictures. They were everywhere, even in the bathrooms!” These men give me hope that maybe some day the walls, like Saddam’s pictures, will come down.
Cathy Breen
