Report From Iraq

Baghdad, Iraq—On Thursday, I decided that I would make the journey from my hotel to the U.S. controlled Green Zone, which is just across the Tigris River. This being my first full day in Baghdad, I began by getting my bearings. I knew from the map that there was a bridge to the northwest of my hotel, and I began making my way there on foot.

The area immediately outside the Green Zone is crowded and chaotic. Shops are squeezed together tightly, and trash and debris litter the streets. Mix in random street crime, and Baghdad outside the Green Zone is basically New York City before Giuliani.

The streets near the hotels smell of oil and diesel used to fuel generators (while it appears that electricity is constant now, these generators were presumably used in the past as backup for the hotels, and are now used to provide electricity to outdoor checkpoints). Traffic is heavy. Cars do not readily stop for pedestrians (indeed, in taxis I have had the distinct impression that the drivers accelerate in the presence of pedestrians), and there are no pedestrian crosswalks.

I was a few blocks north when I hit a checkpoint. By now, I had grown accustomed to being stopped by men with automatic weapons, so I dutifully opened my bag and submitted to a pat down. The security guard asked me for a badge. When I could not produce one, he fetched what appeared to be an American named Tom to translate. Tom explained that this was a checkpoint to the hotel, and because it had been hit recently, they were not allowing any past who was not a guest. I explained that I was simply walking toward the bridge to cross over to the Green Zone. It was clear that this was not a good idea. The area just north of the hotel was a rough neighborhood, Tom explained. Better to get a cab and enter from the south. With the assistance of one of the officers, I hailed a taxi and was off to the July 14th bridge. The cab let me out about 50 meters from the Bridge, and traveled on. When I got to the bridge, the American officers standing behind the official decoration of Baghdad—razor wire—informed me that the bridge was closed. The next closest bridge was the Jadriya Bridge, a considerable distance away. I hailed another taxi, and managed, despite the language barrier, to get a ride to the Green Zone.

The difference between the Green Zone and the area outside the Green Zone is striking. The Green Zone housed numerous key facilities, so the buildings actually show more evidence of U.S. bombings than the area outside the Green Zone. That said, the streets appear wider, and the traffic is almost non-existent, differences which hit you immediately after the rush on the other side of the bridge. The other thing that hits you is the response of the children. It is hard to find a soldier walking down the street who is not accompanied by an Iraqi child. The children take to the soldiers easily, and the soldiers, bristling with armaments, respond graciously. Some of the children appear just to be tagging along, while others beg for candy or gum from the soldiers, who seem happy to oblige. The children also are everywhere selling things, most prominently DVDs—many of which are recent U.S. titles which have undoubtedly been bootlegged. It is clear that the proliferation of computers with DVD players and mini-DVD players has made movie sales big business for the young entrepreneurs.

While the streets are easier to traverse, as one might expect there are not many signs, such as the one I was interested in: "CPA HQ here." That was where I was headed, in order to register as an American in Iraq and to get a CPA ID. I knew the CPA HQ was located at the palace, but having entered at a different bridge than I had intended, that did me little good. After asking a few people, I made my way to the security checkpoint at the palace. The army officer asked for my CPA ID. I explained that I was attempting to enter the CPA HQ to get an ID. "I can't let you by without CPA ID," he replied. To which I asked the pregnant question: "Is there any place outside the CPA HQ where I can get an ID?" Of course, the answer was, "No." I then offered the most ironic look a man can give someone holding an automatic weapon. Understanding the look, he offered that I could get in with the authorization of Force Protection, or with an escort who had an ID. Unfortunately, my satellite phone proved to be out of power, and it was too late in the day to make either of these options viable. The ID would have to wait until Friday.

After dinner at the famous Green Zone café, I made my way back to the bridge. When I was just a few blocks away, I heard a loud boom coming from outside the Green Zone, followed by the wail of emergency sirens. When I arrived back at my hotel, the local news reported that there had been a rocket attack on three Iraqis traveling in a passenger car. The pictures betrayed that there would be no survivors.

Baghdad, Iraq—The Interim Iraqi Constitution was supposed to be signed today. But as CNN reports here, there have been delays.

The word on the ground is that the Shiites have put the brakes on the signing ceremony. A rumor I heard (and have not been able to confirm) is that Sistani, who is the cleric for the Shiites, has issued a fatwa against any Shiite who signs the document. The key issues appear to be the treatment of women, and, of perhaps greatest concern, the fact that the document states that Islam is "a" source of the law, rather than "the" source of the law. As a lawyer, I mist up over arguments which involve the meaning of the article "a." But of course, the difference is huge. If Islam is the source, then the state is essentially subject to the rule of the clerics, who would be the ultimate interpreters of the law. It is for this reason that I understand Paul Bremer to have said that he would not sign any document which made Islam the sole source of law.

The only other observation I can give you is that security was very tight in the Green Zone today. There were a considerable number of helicopters taking off and landing at any given time. Additional checkpoints were set up, and badge checks were frequent. This, of course, made it virtually impossible for me to complete my task of actually getting a badge of my own. Oh well, tomorrow is another day.

Baghdad, Iraq—I got a slow start today, in part because they found a suspicious package near the checkpoint to the hotel, and therefore locked the complex down. Eventually, the checkpoint reopened without comment or fanfare. People seemed relatively calm throughout, although the soldiers did have to herd curious children back from the scene. I never did receive confirmation as to whether it was real or a false alarm.

Al Rasheed Hotel, Baghdad—Approximately eight mortar or rocket rounds were fired into the Green Zone moments ago. The target appeared to be the Al Rasheed Hotel. None of the rounds hit the target, however onlookers at the scene referred to this as the most intense round of attacks in recent memory.

I was standing at a shuttle stop just outside the Al Rasheed when the rounds hit. The first sounded as if it were at a reasonable distance. But the second was close enough to loosen the fillings in your teeth. The flashes from the detonations were clearly visible from my vantage point, about 100 meters from the hotel. The passengers on the shuttle quickly took refuge in the bomb shelter. A few moments later, the helicopters were in the air.

Many onlookers were surprised that we did not launch an instant rocket response. Generally, attackers cannot get off more than two rounds before we launch a response. There are two theories as to how they got off so many rounds. First, the attack may have involved multiple attackers coordinated from multiple locations. This level of coordination may be an indication of al Qaeda's involvement. Second, the missiles may have been launched from a highly populated area.

The blog about the missile attack last evening was probably one of the first reports from the scene. I actually wrote the brief blurb and sent it via my satellite phone from the edge of the bunker. A few things struck me about reporting such things from the ground. First, you have to remember to count the missiles. It may sound silly, but most people want to know how many were fired, and in the heat of the moment, counting is not exactly what is on your mind. The second thing you realize is that if all you see and hear are explosions, it is very difficult to tell what type of munition caused the explosion. Thus, last evening, when the first explosion occurred, a number of people thought it was a car bomb. When the next missile hit, however, it was apparent from the numbers that these were mortars or missiles, and not car bombs. But how to tell the difference between mortars and missiles? I am told that some of the folks who have been here for a while can tell the difference by sound. I could not, and therefore I tried to be non-committal on the type of device.

Samir, my driver from Amman to Baghdad, did not speak much, if any, English. We had originally been scheduled to depart from Amman at 2:00 am on last Wednesday morning, but were not able to leave until about 4:30 because of yet another delay in getting my luggage. I had explained to Samir's boss, who spoke a little English, the reason for the delay. I am not sure how well his boss conveyed this information to Samir, because at every stop where he found someone who spoke English, Samir had a translator tell me that next time I make this trip(!), we should start earlier. He did not say why, and I thought that it was because of the afternoon traffic in Baghdad, which seemed to raise poor Samir’s blood pressure.

Throughout the trip, Samir would point off to a direction, sometimes making a motion like a missile, and say "Ali Baba"—which is local slang for bad guys. I have just heard that the Ali Baba are much more prominent on the roads after 2:00 pm. If we had left at 2:00 am as originally planned, then we would have been in Baghdad before the ever important 2:00 pm, but because we left at 4:30 am, we did not arrive until 4:00 pm. Samir was therefore justified in his concern.

That's how long it has been since I've had a cup of coffee. Be very, very afraid.

Having offered the story of a shuttle driver, I thought I would give you a little more information about what life is like for workers in the Green Zone. Everyone works seven days a week, and the average work day tends to run from around 7:30 or 8:00 in the morning until about 7:30 in the evening, at least for most of the people with whom I have spoken. When a civilian employee first arrives, they are housed in what is affectionately called "the homeless shelter"—a room with around 200 cots. (It is also called "Jurassic Park," based on the noises that come from the dark corners of the room.) They will stay here for a number of weeks (the number seems to be getting longer), until a trailer is prepared for them. The trailers are classic college dorm living. You and your roommate (yep, roommate—doesn’t matter that you’re 50) share a small room, which itself shares a bathroom with another unit. At the entrance to this housing development is a lovely sign calling the place "River Villas."

Meals are offered at a common dining area. When you get tired of the standard rotation of food, there is the Green Zone cafe, where you speak to Achmed if you would like a warm beer. There are also two Chinese restaurants. I have eaten at one of these, and I must admit that the food was better than the Chinese food I got in Medina, Ohio! Finally, there is a sports bar in the Al Rasheed, which has a big screen for catching the games (although one of the screens invariably has soccer on), and which offers adult beverages.

Given the amount these people work it is not surprising that a worker should say to me following the Al Rasheed rocket attack of a couple of nights ago, "[A]t times you forget where you are… until something like this [the bombing] happens."

Here is a link to some pictures from my travels so far. I hope to be adding some more soon.

I previously mentioned the booming market for bootleg DVDs in Baghdad. Because they are bootleg, I have seen many titles for sale that were in the theatre when I left the States. While walking into my hotel a couple of nights ago, I saw for the first time a copy of Mel Gibson’s "The Passion of the Christ" for sale. Now I’ve seen everything.

By now, I presume that you have all seen the news about the bombings on the Spanish trains. I just wanted to offer a couple observations. First, soon after the bombings, CNN World interviewed one of Spain's foreign ministers. She read the CNN interviewer the riot act for referring to the Basques as "separatists" rather than "terrorists." The CNN anchor protested that they did so because separating is the Basque group’s goal. Spain's foreign minister would have none of it, and insisted that this was a terrorist organization. I generally thought that it was good to see CNN taken to task for trying to be too neutral on matters in which neutrality is not required. When a militant group brutally kills average citizens riding the train to work, we don't need to focus on their objects—they are terrorists. Or are we too uncertain to place moral disapproval on anyone?

The second observation is a personal one. I was in Spain in 2002 on the anniversary of September 11. Sitting in a cafe, the waitress walked over to me and my friends and, upon recognizing us as Americans, offered her apologies: "This is a sad day for you." The Spanish people were very sensible about the war on terror, and were among the first to fully support the United States. The reason, which was highlighted in the papers while we were there, is the Basque threat. They have lived under the specter of terror for years, and it means that they speak sensibly—and, as CNN learned this morning, candidly—about such things.

One of the major infrastructure issues that the U.S. has struggled with in rebuilding Iraq is the power supply. From my hotel, you can hear the nearly constant hum of large generators, which assure that I have power throughout the day and night. But when I go just down the block to the internet café, hardly a visit goes by where the power does not drop out at some point. This system of blackouts is the norm for Iraqis.

To understand why, you must first know that Iraqis do not pay for power—not under Saddam's regime, and not now. While there was a move to shift to a pay-for-power service, when the first collectors were killed, the idea was discarded. In a system where there is not incentive not to use, it is not surprising that while the U.S. has made huge strides in improving electricity production, Iraqis have kept pace by increasing consumption in a classic example of the tragedy of the commons. Thus, without the California option of, to quote Dennis Miller, charging "mini-bar prices" for electricity, the only option is rationing electricity, with regulated blackout periods. This is how electricity was managed under the old regime and that is how it is managed now.

However there are also unregulated blackouts. The U.S. has been installing miles of new cables to renovate the electrical system. But the bandits who roam the desert have been pulling it down for the copper. This causes random outages in power, and leads some Iraqis to the conclusion that the electrical system is performing worse now than under Saddam. Aside from generally improving crime control, there does not seem an easy solution, because it would be virtually impossible to effectively monitor the miles of cable running across the deserts. This explains why keeping the lights on is a bigger challenge than merely assuring sufficient power generation.

When you walk the streets in Baghdad, there is something noticeably missing: supermarkets. There are small convenience stores which sell sodas and water, some fruit stands, and the occasional café, but no grocery stores sufficient to meet the food requirements of the local population. The reason, as explained to me by Col. Ferrari, a security planner for the military, is that Iraqis do not pay for food. Rather, they receive an allotment of food for the month. The U.S. had considered giving the people a fixed monthly stipend for food, but opted instead to do the actual food distribution, which I believe is similar to the system utilized by the former regime.

Of course, distribution issues exist not only with electricity and food, but also with fuel. Because the refining capacity in Iraq was not sufficient to accommodate post-war consumption, the U.S. imported large amounts of fuel. They then all but gave the fuel away (I believe that, once again, Iraqis are not accustomed to paying for fuel), charging something like a penny per liter for fuel. It did not take long for the Iraqis to realize, however, that they could resell the fuel at huge profits in Jordan and Kuwait, where the fuel was purchased to begin with. So the fuel was being exported as soon as it was imported.

These are just a few of the issues facing the country in reconstruction. Reminiscent of the fall of the Soviet bloc, the people here were and largely still are dependent on the government for the basics of life. And of course, when the people are this dependent on the government, shifts to more capitalistic and democratic systems are, while not impossible, certainly more difficult.

A large part of my daily life involves taking taxis around Baghdad. The drivers often speak little if any English, and I speak little if any Arabic. It is therefore an interesting dance to get where I am going. For example, a common destination is the Green Zone, but I have yet to find a driver who understands the words "Green Zone." After a series of trials and errors, I have settled on the phrase: "Hotel Al Rasheed." Most of the drivers understand this, and will take me to the gate closest to the Rasheed. (Because of the difficulty in getting through security, the taxis drop you off at the gate, and do not attempt to drive through.) On a couple occasions, however, they have taken me to Rasheed Street, which is not particularly close to the gate.

The cars vary tremedously, from old 1970s Toyotas and Peugeots to large American cars, to well maintained BMWs and Mercedes Benzs. The traditional taxis are painted orange and white, but many taxis are virtually indistinguishable from any other car, making it difficult to know who to hail. If you are leaving a gate or your hotel at a reasonable hour, there are often drivers who will call out to people like me who they recognize as foreigners.

The drive itself is generally something straight out of those films they used to scare you in drivers ed. You know, "Blood on the Highway," and "Red Asphalt." Driving on the wrong side of the road at full speed toward an oncoming car is not unusual. I have not seen a taxi actually hit anyone or anything yet (which I consider nothing short of a miracle), but a soldier from Ohio I chatted with last week says he has had his foot run over, and has been hit by mirrors of passing cars on numerous occasions.

Last night, the poker game at the Green Zone cafe got out late (just to show that all war zones are like M*A*S*H). I got a ride to the gate from a gentleman who took my shirt in a particulary unfortunate hand of Acey-Deucey, and sought a taxi. It took a considerable amount of time for one to pass by, and the unmarked car ultimately arrived, I was not entirely sure it was a taxi. Nonetheless, when I asked if he was a taxi and gave the name of my hotel, he responded affirmatively, and we were off. As we crossed the bridge, he asked where I was from. I said, "United States." His eyes lit up, "American!" He then said Saddam’s name with something like a spitting gesture, and "America good." Doubtful as always about the sincerity of sentiments offered so freely to strangers, I tried to ask him a question after that, but it became apparent that he did not speak much English. But when we arrived at the hotel, I asked him how much for the trip. He quickly responded. "No, no. For you. No." Funny, after that, I no longer questioned his sentiment.

I previously mentioned the booming market for bootleg DVDs in Baghdad. Because they are bootleg, I have seen many titles for sale that were in the theatre when I left the States. While walking into my hotel a couple of nights ago, I saw for the first time a copy of Mel Gibson’s "The Passion of the Christ" for sale. Now I’ve seen everything.

....the unmarked car ultimately arrived, I was not entirely sure it was a taxi. Nonetheless, when I asked if he was a taxi and gave the name of my hotel, he responded affirmatively, and we were off. As we crossed the bridge, he asked where I was from. I said, "United States." His eyes lit up, "American!" He then said Saddam’s name with something like a spitting gesture, and "America good." Doubtful as always about the sincerity of sentiments offered so freely to strangers, I tried to ask him a question after that, but it became apparent that he did not speak much English. But when we arrived at the hotel, I asked him how much for the trip. He quickly responded. "No, no. For you. No." Funny, after that, I no longer questioned his sentiment.

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Journal from a brave American in Iraq, including his accounts of Constitution day (and yes, xzins, there are pirated copies of "The Passion" available), up to the bombings in Madrid.

Thanks, FlyLow. Great post.

Great post. That's the first time I've read how dependent the Iraqis are on gov't for the necessities of life. It will be horribly difficult to get them to learn to pay for food, gas, utilities, etc.
It may be easier to get to democracy than to free markets.

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