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Baghdad Burning... I'll meet you 'round the
bend my friend, where hearts can heal and souls can mend... By riverbend September 11, 2005... "R.- come in here! You have to see this!" It was September 11, 2001 and I was in the kitchen rinsing some dishes from lunch. I paused at the urgency in my brothers voice but continued rinsing, thinking there was some vaguely important news item on Iraq's state controlled channel. "I'm coming- a moment." I called back. The phone began to ring and I stopped to answer it on my way out of the kitchen. R: "Alloo?" I answered. The line went dead and I put down the phone, my heart beating wildly. I made my way to the living room, curious and nervous, wondering what it could be. Had someone died? Were they going to bomb us again? That was always a possibility. It never surprised anyone when the US decided on an air strike. I wondered if, this time around, Bush had been caught with a presidential aide in the Oval Office. I walked into the living room and E. was standing in the middle of it- eyes glued to the television, mouth slightly open, remote control clutched in his hand, and directed towards the television set. "What is it?" I asked, looking at the screen. The images were chaotic. It was a big city, there was smoke or dust and people running across the screen, some screaming, others crying and the rest with astounded looks on their faces. They looked slightly like E., my brother, as he stood staring at the television, gaping. There was someone speaking in the background- in English- and there was a voiceover in Arabic. I can't remember what was being said; the images on the tv screen are all I remember. Confusion. Havoc. And then they showed it again. The Twin Towers- New York a small something came flying out of the side of the screen and it crashed into one of them. I gasped audibly and E. just shook his head, "That's nothing wait" I made my way towards the couch while keeping my eyes locked on the television. There was some more chaos, shocked expressions, another plane and the towers- they began to crumble. They began to fall. They disappeared into an enormous fog of smoke and dust. I sucked in my breath and I couldn't exhale that moment. I just sat there- paralyzed- watching the screen. A part of me was saying, "It's a joke. It's Hollywood." But it was just too real. The fear was too genuine. The incoherent voices in the background were too tinged with confusion and terror. The silence in the living room was broken with the clatter of the remote control on the floor. It had slipped out of E.'s fingers and I jumped nervously, watching the batteries from the remote roll away on the ground. "But who? How? What was it? A plane? How???" E. shook his head and looked at me in awe. We continued watching the television, looking for answers to dozens of questions. Within the hour we had learned that it wasn't some horrid mistake or miscalculation. It was intentional. It was a major act of terror. Al-Qaeda was just a vague name back then. Iraqis were concerned with their own problems and fears. We were coping with the sanctions and the fact that life seemed to stand still every few years for an American air raid. We didn't have the problem of Muslim fundamentalists- that was a concern for neighbors like Saudi Arabia and Iran. I remember almost immediately, Western media began conjecturing on which Islamic group it could have been. I remember hoping it wasn't Muslims or Arabs. I remember feeling that way not just because of the thousands of victims, but because I sensed that we'd suffer in Iraq. We'd be made to suffer for something we weren't responsible for. E. looked at me wide-eyed that day and asked the inevitable question, "How long do you think before they bomb us?" "But it wasn't us. It can't be us" I rationalized. "It doesn't matter. It's all they need." And it was true. It began with Afghanistan and then it was Iraq. We began preparing for it almost immediately. The price of the dollar rose as people began stocking up on flour, rice, sugar and other commodities. For several weeks it was all anyone could talk about. We discussed it in schools and universities. We talked about it in work places and restaurants. The attitudes differed. There was never joy or happiness, but in several cases there was a sort of grim satisfaction. Some Iraqis believed that America had brought this upon itself. This is what you get when you meddle in world affairs. This is what you get when starve populations. This is what you get when you give unabashed support to occupying countries like Israel, and corrupt tyrants like the Saudi royals. Most Iraqis, though, felt pity. The images for the next weeks of Americans running in terror, of the frantic searches under the rubble for relatives and friends left us shaking our heads in empathy. The destruction was all too familiar. The reports of Americans fearing the sound of airplanes had us nodding our heads with understanding and a sort of familiarity- you'd want to reach out to one of them and say, "It's ok- the fear eventually subsides. We know how it is- your government does this every few years." It has been four years today. How does it feel four years later? For the 3,000 victims in America, more than 100,000 have died in Iraq. Tens of thousands of others are being detained for interrogation and torture. Our homes have been raided, our cities are constantly being bombed and Iraq has fallen back decades, and for several years to come we will suffer under the influence of the extremism we didn't know prior to the war. As I write this, Tel Afar, a small place north of Mosul, is being bombed. Dozens of people are going to be buried under their homes in the dead of the night. Their water and electricity have been cut off for days. It doesn't seem to matter much though because they don't live in a wonderful skyscraper in a glamorous city. They are, quite simply, farmers and herders not worth a second thought. Four years later and the War on Terror (or is it the War of Terror?) has been won: Score: Congratulations. - posted by river @ 11:29 PM riverbend Archives 321gold Inc |
