Posted on 03/01/2003 4:33:01 PM PST by MadIvan
'I am ashamed to be leaving you at this time of need, but I'm going out of pure, cold fear," Godfrey Meynell, 68, told the two Iraqi factory workers standing before him. His white hair was, as always, unbrushed; his navy windcheater zipped up to the chin. "This power plant is next to a bridge, surrounded by Republican Guard," he continued. "It's obviously a prime target." The men, who understood this fear too well, returned his handshake and thanked him warmly.
As he heaved his rucksack into the taxi, Mr Meynell, a former Colonial Office civil servant, was tearful. He was not, however, the only "human shield" fleeing Baghdad yesterday in a state of high emotion. Nine of the 11 British shields on the pioneering wave of red double-deckers left this weekend. At the Andalus hotel five kilometres away, Dr Abdul Hashimi, the official overseeing their mission in Iraq, had issued the shocked group with an ultimatum: deploy to the "strategic sites" hand-picked by the government or leave immediately.
It was a chilling twist in the saga of the human shields' mission to stop a war in Iraq. It was also inevitable. I accompanied the first wave of shields throughout their 3,500 mile, three-week journey aboard three double-decker buses from Europe to Baghdad and remained with them while they battled unsuccessfully with Iraqi officials to be allowed access to the civilians most thought they had come to protect.
The eccentric, eclectic group, none of whom fitted the "peacenik" stereotype, may have been drawn from all ages, backgrounds and experience, but they all shared one trait: naivety. Beset by problems on the road, lack of sufficient funds or a clear, universally-shared agenda, most had been tested beyond their limits before they even arrived in Iraq.
Among the catalogue of dramas they experienced en route were numerous breakdowns of the creaking 1967 Routemasters, bickering over the preferred route and acrimonious departures and illness.
During one cold, rainy night in Milan, we were left without our sleeping bags after an Italian went AWOL with the support bus. Later, a £500 donation from a well-wisher in Istanbul was squandered on boxes of Prozac in a misguided attempt to cheer up the war-weary Iraqi civilians.
Conspiracy theories spread like a contagion through the ranks. Whenever a puncture occurred it would be blamed on the CIA. "It's sabotage," Peter Van Dyke, 36, had whispered to a bemused mechanic as he removed a thick screw from a flat tyre in a garage outside Naples.
Sue Darling, 60, a former diplomat from Surrey, had been eager to demonstrate her civil service credentials: most importantly, she confided in one shield, she knew how to recognise a spy. Her first suspect turned out to be The Telegraph's photographer.
Little surprise then that so few were alert to the real nature of the regime that welcomed them to the Iraqi capital two weeks ago. After a propaganda lecture from Dr Hashimi, one young American told me: "It's so interesting to hear what is really going on in this country." He scoffed at any suggestion that their good intentions might be misused by Saddam's regime: "All we have seen here is continuous kindness and hospitality."
Bruce, a 24-year-old Canadian wearing a T-shirt saying "I don't want to die", was one of a group of tanned young men who were drafted into protect a grain store. Initially, he, like others, had concerns about the sites, which included an oil refinery, a water purification plant and electricity stations. He was won over when the Iraqis provided televisions, VCRs, telephones and a Play Station.
"Dr Hashimi has explained that we help the population more by staying in the 'strategic sites'," he explained. His friend added: "We play football in the afternoons and the Iraqis bring us cartons of cigarettes. It's just like summer camp."
Not all the sites were as welcoming. Daniel Pepper, a 22-year-old student from Pennsylvania, was not fooled by the oil refinery, despite the comfortable beds with parcels of goodies laid out on the pillows. "The people staying there sleep 50 yards from stacks billowing black smoke." he said. "And it's sinister: 20 minders are there for eight shields. There are three security gates, including one manned by plain-clothed guards carrying AK47s. Most shields want to get out of there and go to the granary.
"We need to negotiate with Dr Hashimi about this." Any negotiations with the Iraqi official, however, would undoubtedly be met with a frosty reception.
The Iraqi government has invested an estimated £10,000 to provide free food and hotel accommodation to the 200 shields and have lost patience with their dithering. It could be argued that this confusion is as much the fault of their leaders as the Iraqi government. On the bus, Sue Darling, who was in touch with Dr Hashimi, had told the shields they would stay with families or in schools, hospitals and orphanges.
"As a former diplomat, I should deal with the Iraqi officials. I speak their language," she said. Once in Baghdad, Ms Darling, who had traded her red puffa-jacket and walking boots for smart suits and Jackie O glasses, quickly acquiesced to the demands of the regime and moved into the granary.
Kevin and Helen Williams, a soft-spoken couple from Wales, were baffled by this volte-face: "We always understood that human shield meant a shield of humans and that we would be allowed to work with Iraqi civilians. Why it is being interpreted differently now?"
Others acted on their suspicions and left without a word. Adele Peers, a 23-year-old special needs teacher from Liverpool, and Peter Van Dyke, a therapist from Portsmouth, left for Jordan three days ago after the Iraqis reneged on a promise to allow them to work with children.
Not everyone was upset by the latest turn in events. Ken O'Keefe, 33, the founder of the human shields movement who served as a US marine during the Gulf war, had always planned to protect Iraqi "installations" should bombs rain down on the capital.
During the journey, the heavily-tattooed O'Keefe, who earned the title "black Ken" on account of his penchant for the colour and outlook on life, had alienated his companions who felt he had developed both a death wish and a messiah complex. Prone to tantrums and mood swings, his credibility had not been helped by the fact that he had, for much of the journey, been accompanied by his mother, Pat.
In Baghdad, Ken came into his own. Dressed in a thick, grey dishdash, he took to ambushing me in the Andalus corridors to brief me on his latest soundbites. "Dark forces have worked against me," he said, "but I have survived. My mission is hard core, in-your-face activism."
O'Keefe's nemesis was Joe Letts, 52, a former television cameraman from Dorset and the owner of the two red buses. Dressed in his fawn duffle coat and a ragged, bright jersey, the Glastonbury Festival regular devoted his unswaying optimism to propelling the convoy to Baghdad regardless of O'Keefe's absence.
"We will stop the war," he would tell me cheerfully everyday. "If that doesn't happen, I'm taking my buses back to London - with a detour via the vineyards of Lebanon."
It was precisely this attitude that enraged the militant O'Keefe, who yesterday waved aside any talk of the exodus affecting his mission. "They have a soft, fluffy attitude to activism," he muttered. "We are better off without them."
While the group visibly "radicalised" once in Iraq, Godfrey remained charming and affable. One afternoon, Sue Darling posted an angry message on the Andalus hotel noticeboard: "Can whoever stole my bag of nuts, sultanas and dried bananas, please return them. They are my emergency rations". Godfrey scrawled below: "Sue, I can let you have some of my prunes. If it would help."
Back at the Andalus hotel yesterday, the British contingent who arrived on the red double-decker buses were packing up to leave, their faces chalk-white with exhaustion.
Closeby Erdogan Erikci, a 25-year-old who had never before left his village in Turkey, was telling Turkish CNN that he planned to stay: "I have a message for my mum," he told the camera, "You should be proud of me, I am a human shield. "
For real. What do these people expect from a dictator who murdered his way into power and gasses his own people?
The idea that they would become human shields for this sick evil criminal and think they are doing something good, shows how delusional they are.
They remind me of the "everyone is beautiful" flower children of the 60's who ended up with a Charles Manson as a room-mate.
I call it "thinning the herd". :-)
Please FReepmail me if you want on or off my infrequent ping list.
Now that is really saying something, considering you are Freeper #179.
It is, I agree, hysterically funny, and equally sad and hopeless. It really is one for the archives of the best things ever posted on FR.
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