Diaries from Baghdad!

FROM NOW ON MY DIARIES WILL BE POSTED ON HTTP://WWW.GEOCITIES.COM/COPYLEFTING

Follows are diaries of my stay in Baghdad (I am posting on regular basis); I am a 24 year old non-violent leftist activist, member of IMC Beirut collective. Currently I am in Baghdad volunteering within the international spectrum to resist occupation, war and injustice thus imperialism and capitalism.

At the moment I am involved in alternative media activism and human rights struggle.

The diaries reflect my personal observations and insights on occupation, social and civil struggle, and daily life of Iraqis and internationals in Baghdad! These diaries are my messages to friends, comrades, colleagues and the world about what is happening here. I reflect -personally - on issues that the corporate media fails to represent – intentionally I believe!

Enjoy, and feel free to spread the word, my diaries is copylefted for non-commercial use only

No Borders No Nation No Occupation!

I-Mad!

Shall you want to join the struggle, I would love to share with you ways to get here and provide contacts! Just let me know!

DIARY ONE

October 26th, 2004

Hi all,

I made it safe and sound to Baghdad! The trip was smooth; Rania and Mazen took excellent care of me in Amman (so did Shelly )

The borders are a chaotic place where nothing seems right! The Iraqi soldier at the passport control did not know where to stamp on my passport until I told him!!! And the blood check I had to do was settled with a 5 Jordanian dinars bribe! Only one US soldier was visible... no heavy military presence. Just a long packed line of feul trucks heading away from Iraq! I wonder who is getitng payed for these!!!!!

My driver was lovely, an old man with amazing dignity and pride! The poor old thing was embarrassed every time I was asked to pay a bribe! I explained to him that things in Lebanon are not much better! He kept on asking me to sleep in the back seat... and I managed to do so for a while, but was scared to do it all the way... Every time we were stopped by a check point, we'd freak out of getting robbed.. but things went on fine!

The road was smooth for the most part of it, but it got scary when I got to Fellujah (after all what you see on the news), but I was lucky to cross it in calm weather except for few helicopters hovering low above our heads and few tanks on the road! It is a lovely town, with burnt tanks all over, and cut down palm trees (The US forces are now cutting down palm trees for security reasons thus cutting off a soruce of food and money for the locals)

The Tigris and the Euphrates !!! Everything is emotionally over charged... the driver and his refusal to eat from my nuts, taking one or two no matter how hard I insist, though he forced half of his cup of tea down my throat. The houses, the burnt tanks, the pointed guns, the long extending empty desert, the cars, the people, old fat women in black abayat trudging through sand... the sadness and fury.. the chaos.

Baghdad! Oh Baghdad! Palm trees, lovely primitive architecture, traffic jam that goes on for hours and hours (and NO Beirut is not worse when it come to traffic) Chaos all over, cars and vans driving on pavements and roads blocked all over by US forces!

As we were stuck in traffic jam, and American soldier got off from the tank behind us, and started screaming his head off on the cars to move (he was freaking out clearly) he started shouting on my driver Haj Ismaeel and banging on his car, I opened my window and tried to talk to him telling him we can not move simply and clearly cause the front of the car is hitting the back of the car in front of us - HELLLOOOO - yet to no avail... after I started repeating the same sentence in a mono tone "He can not fucking move, there is no fucking space, what you are asking for is impossible, hello??" over and over, he looked at me, then he went back to his tank, totally ignoring me!

Baghdad, you can not help crying while you drive around and see the destruction, though it is not total, but the beautiful building that are burnt down are shocking. The blockades they erected, the guns that are pointed at people and at you all over. There is a street that was built in the 20s and called Al Rasheed street... it is one of the most beautiful street I have ever seen in my life! Richness glows in all the buildings but misery prevails... a city that is such a giant one yet it is subordinated by occupation and oppression.

I arrived at Hotel Palestine (after having to detour more than six times due to road blockades) tight security, my bags had to be checked three times in the 20 meters distance leading to the hotel - though it is an only pedestrian zone packed with US soldiers and tanks. The hotel is shabby and packed with journalists running around! The guy who is supposed to pick me up is not there, I wait in the lobby - then try to call him - it fails - wait again - call again - fails -wait ... etc.. Till it works.. comes pick me up... safe and sound at the place I am to stay in!

It was 6 p.m. met few of the guys at al Muwajaha, and they are all young and sweet. So eager to talk, so eager to express themselves and so excited to hear what I have to say. Crashed immediatly in bed!

The next day I woke up and move to "Voices in Wilderness" where I met Eva and Ed... Eva is such a sweetheart, was with ISM in Palestine and now is volunteering in Baghdad against the occupation and human rights violations. We talked a lot, and agreed to hold some direct action in Baghdad as well!

There is a governmental building that is to be evacuated from its homeless squatters sometimes soon thus we are intending to peacefully block the US Forces from evacuating it! (hope we find enough people to do this) Also there is a demo taking place by the Union of the Unemployed, which Eva and I will try to do some work for and prepare some cool banners and direct action for!

Back home for a while, then off to a painter’s place who in spite of Ramadan had a party going with arak and beer, had a blast, and guess I am falling

Second day in Baghdad, today, We woke up to an explosion that was very near to where I am staying... Just like Beirut in war time, everyone goes out and gather in the street asking where, who, what and how... Women in my neighborhood were running to get their children form nearby schools... Sirens, fire shots, tanks and ambulances scurrying around. Later on we learn there were five different ones around the city. It is outrageous, you can not but feel you want to stay more and be part of the struggle to try and make things better or even speak up against what is taking place. One hour later.. Life goes back to normal.

Then Wasef (part of Al Muwajaha group) drove me to meet Siham Bin Sidreen a Tunisian journalist and human rights activist, writer for an underground paper and member of human rights committee in Tunisia. She is such an amazing woman; we talk loads and agree to meet in Tunisia when I come in January! They operate something like Al Yasari, so guys we will have a twin soon!

Now I have to go do some shopping for food, guys... everything rocks about Baghdad except the food... it sucks... it is torture not food! So I am cooking (well making cheese spreads and eating fruits all the time)

Miss you all guys... I am taking good care of myself so do not worry! Sorry for not writing on regular basis but thinks are hectic here, thank you for your lovely notes of solidarity.

P.S. Raida, please call my Mom and tell her I am fine and not to worry, if she does not pick up try Elias my cousin!

DIARY TWO

October 27th, 2004

Hey all,

Loving every minute in Baghdad, especially the people and their openness, generosity and care. I am being taken care of like crazy, pampered every minute of the day by Wasif, Majid, Walid, Hamsa and the rest of the guys! The life threatening situation makes every minute pleasurable and makes you appreciate waking up the next day.

Bombings are such a weird thing, they go up in weird places and times. Today was relatively a calm day in Baghdad, no bombings so far (or at least none that I know of). News travel really slow here with the lack of power and the vastness of the city leaving us clueless about what is happening in other areas - sometimes a bomb explodes and one never hears it or of it unless he watches the news or receives an email from a friend abroad… or untill the next day where it is mentioned in the newspapers... weird ha?

It is usually one bomb a day - or several bombs relatively at the same time. When you hear one/ of one, the first thing that hits you is a relief of being lucky for not being there at the moment and knowing that you have been saved for the day as the Bomb of The Day has missed you! It is a stupid pleasure mixed with pain and fear.

Last night was a night with no power except for few hours. The hours that we enjoy electricity bring some breeze from the electric fan and some music. Now-a-days electricity hours are much better than few months back. They are enough for people to recharge their mobile phones and batteries that supply power to computers, fans, fridges, TVs or what have you (rings bell for those who lived in Beirut during the war??). I am getting used to the heat though, and for me it is much better than rain and cold!

Food, one thing I am not getting used to, today I did some cooking (salad, and some yogurt with vegetables, lol). If it was not for the yummy bread that comes in more than one form and taste I would have perished. But I am getting there to develop my own survival strategy.

Today I met with few people, who I interviewed for articles I am writing, and quite interesting feedback I got. Tomorrow I am meeting with guys from the Workers Communist Party (there are two parties here, the other is The Communist Party – which seems to do nothing) Also I have established contact with a group who might get me in contact with Armenian and Kildan people.. hope it works.

Army patrols are all over the city since yesterday’s bombings, though it is not longer part of the daily dialect. It is clear that the Americans do not do any direct contact with Iraqi people unless there is a “terrorist” suspicion. Usually this is how it goes, Bremer issues a decree, US forces accompany Iraqi police to apply it. On security checks – i.e. on the ones leading to Palestine Hotel – Iraqi youth search you as US soldiers stand aside and monitor with their guns in their hands. They never interfere except for those who try to smile in an attempt to justify their presence or look around sacred as hell. In the streets the tanks are all over the place, with guns pointed out (I took few pictures that I will send to you very soon) The presence of the coalition forces with their posh outfits and sunglasses is so provocative amid the poor and dusty areas and people.

Beggars are all over the city, and homelessness is so common. I am still trying to find more about Palestinian refugees but most of the people I am talking to are not fond of them or keen to take me for a visit. (Seems the Palestinians are detested for the privileges they received from Saddam)

For the boycott lovers here are few points….

Nestle’……. the way it is spread all over the city is disgusting, I am trying my best to explain to people about the boycott yet it is hard with there current situation. Some are responding though few! I have been checking the bottles of water, Pure Life; none of those I found is made in Lebanon rather it is made in Turkey! It is even in the daily dialect as people call any chocolate spread nestaleh (the t is not silent) and when they ask for it they say in Arabic “do you have any Nasatel (in plural)”

Coca cola is not yet in the market, or at least I have not seen any, though Lebanese Pepsi is all over the place.

LG is big.. you can see banners of it all over the place and in large quantities.

I am still researching Israeli products which I have been told do exist but in very restricted shops.

That is it for now, I do not want to bore you so far.. I have to go eat… actually suffer, lol!

Keep me posted - your lines mean loads, miss you all.

P.S. for all those who care… I am still not smoking! Am I not great?

No Border No Nation No Occupation!

I-Mad!

DIARY THREE

October 29th, 2004

Occupied Baghdad, Wednesday, October 29th, 2003, 11:30 a.m.

Today, and for the first time ever since I arrived, the area I am living in has been witnessing continuous US army patrols. First it started when I saw an American soldier walking past my window, I tried to remain calm, walked to the front door, opened it and stood there crossing my hands in front of my chest visibly as not to insinuate any provocative gesture and at the same time not to look scared or welcoming to their presence.

Eight young men, some of them look even younger than me (I am 24 for those who do not know) all dressed in all-embracing military outfits covered from head to toe except for faces and hands (though some had stylish sun glasses on!!!!). Four on each side, walking slowly in a separate distance of one meter between each two, the second soldier form the front was followed closely with an old Iraqi guy who was dressed in civilian clothes, unarmed and with some kid of an ID dangling from his neck. The man was trying his best to follow the slow steps of the soldier trying to imitate him in a machine-like attitude which came out rather stupid and funny. The patrol was concluded with a young Iraqi man (who I estimated his age to be 20 -24) also dressed in shabby civilian clothes and carrying a gun that did looked everything but working and seemed a plaything compared to the guns of the US soldiers. He was looking back and to the sides, with every look he’d turn around in a scan-like movement yet it only reflected fear and brought sarcastic smiles to those standing on the sides of the road and more confusion and tension to the poor guy’s body movement.

All of them avoided eye contact with me or with the two men who stood across the street watching them along with around five kids who were whispering among each other and checking out the soldiers in astonishment. The way the soldiers avoided eye contact with me and my newly discovered neighbors was so obvious, they just looked through us, and across us trying to keep the poker __expression on their faces yet failing miserably. You could easily tell how hard they are trying to look confident and that showed their hesitancy and fear immensely. I was joined at the moment by Hamsa and her driver, we all stood in the door way and examined the parade like army-patrol (who surely had no clue what they are doing here)

The neighborhood I am staying at for this week is rather upper-class; it is packed with middle class houses and upper class villas. The street is called 52nd in an area close to the down town. It is rather quiet with everyone minding their own businesses. I have noticed aside from the relatively clean streets (compared to those I visited in under developed areas) a lot of unveiled old women (above 50) wearing short sleeved tops. No wonder, these were Christians. I have met few unveiled women that are Muslim, but none of them was above 30 so far. It makes you wonder what these soldiers are doing in such a calm area!!

Ten minutes later, an army vehicle followed by a tank passed in front of my place, slowly, with the same pose of the soldiers. Two in the front seat, one showing up from the top with a gun pointed to where he is looking.

I get back in the house, made me a cheese spread sandwich with Tomatoes, cucumbers and zucchinis… eat it quickly and head to the internet café which is three blocks away from where I live. On the way another army patrol passes me by, and as they are moving slowly it takes them more time than it usually takes a regular car to pass you by. As usual, no matter how hard I stare, they avoid any eye contact with me.

For those of you have been asking about the situation of the Iraqi police, military, and government officials.

The guy who takes care of the garden in front of my house is an x-military officer, an old man in the age of 60. He was in charge of the cannon squads responsible for attacks in the north of Iraq. He is now a gardener, who daily forces me nicely to copy totem Quran verses for him, and everyday I decide to turn him down the nest day but end up copying it the next morning.

Ala’a, an army officer who was in charge of a large area in Baghdad called “the jami3a (university) neighborhood”, an only son to a father of three daughters, in his early thirties, a sweet heart that I met at a common friend’s place over some olive sandwiches and cold beers. We talked a lot about his past job and he shared a lot about his days in the military. For him the war was lost due to Saddam’s favor of politicians rather than for military personnel. He wants freedom, yet he does not believe what he has got now is freedom. He spends his days and night drinking, and he is attending to his father’s palm trees now. During his days of “reign” - as he puts it – his friends enjoyed freedom, they drank, and partied and went in and out of the area with no problems. He was good to them and to the rest of the neighbors (a fact acknowledged by six people who were in the room).

Traffic policemen, have you ever been ignored by hundreds of people around you, and tens of cars? Well this is your chance if you are a policeman trying to organize traffic in Baghdad. He will be standing in the middle of the street trying his best to whistle and gesture to no avail. No body listens (except for the people who abide by what the police man is saying by stopping when he says so - to the distress of the cars behind.) Cars driving over pavements are a common thing, same as cars going the wrong direction in highly dense streets. Police stations are a no-go zone… all of them are located in areas that blocked by cement blocks and barrels in the streets leading to them, let alone barb wires and wooden shafts.

We are in a city where the police is fighting hard to protect itself not the people… in a city where the only concern of most of the people is survive and make it on their own regardless of those around. Again … Beirut haunts me!

N.B. For those who have been asking if they can forward my emails… well sure thing!

DIARY FOUR

Occupied Baghdad - we have been blessed by electric power for the past two days!

Saturday, November 2nd, 2004 10:00 p.m.

This is my second night at the new apartment that I moved to. It is a dump compared to the place I lived in for the past week. Last night I could not sleep due to the near-by mosque which did not stop praying and to a rat that kept crossing back and forth in my room trapping me on the sofa – and no one dares laugh cause it is not funny! I wonder where he is right now!

It is getting really cold at night, to my misfortune and distress. I have been trying my best not to get sick, having my vitamins daily due to the non-food diet I am having and trying to keep as warm as possible.

Today was not a regular day in Baghdad. You can not but feel the tension in the air. It was clear on people’s faces and with the excessive military presence. Helicopters hovering low all over the place, and tanks and soldiers all over town in unusual density and more frequent 3-tank patrols (that are usually two-tank patrols on regular days). For the past two days rumors filled the city that Saddam and Ousama Bin Laden are going to bomb universities, schools and governmental buildings if people broke the strike that was conforming by the newly declared so-called Day of Resistance. Posters with such news were posted all over the city, yet I found it hard to believe and decided to go out.

It was 9 a.m. and it was my first time to take a cab alone in Baghdad. The street was full of people, seemed like more people did not buy the story. I was heading towards the headquarters of the Worker - Communist Party of Iraq, who I was told were among the very active groups in the civil struggle and very out spoken against the occupation.

Traffic…as usual! It takes around an hour to two hours (sometimes three) to get to any place in Baghdad that might have taken you around ten minutes before the occupation. I figured it could be another roadblock by the U.S. forces. The only thing that makes me want to leave this town is the traffic jam. I hate it. Sometimes an hour passes and the car does not move an inch.

Two hours passed and we arrived at the block point. Three American tanks were blocking the road with few Iraqi policemen waving for cars to make a detour. It was an unusual roadblock, the neighboring car told us that there is a booby trap in one of the traffic officers’ cubicles on the intersection ahead. Then more details came through the window. The US forces were trying to dismantle it. The explosions expert was not there yet, so no one can pass - added the Iraqi policeman who asked us to move faster.

Detour, and take another route… something one does frequently in Baghdad with the roadblocks and the newly happening bombs that you barely go anywhere without having to take one or two (if you are lucky).

I arrived at 12:10 p.m. at the headquarters of the Worker - Communist Party of Iraq. I met with the comrades, an amazing group of people that welcomed me heartily and immediately we started organizing for me to find things I can assist with in Baghdad.

The party’s work is divided to three parts: women rights, labor union activism, and support to the squatters in governmental buildings (that are to be evacuated soon).

I took copies of their publications to all of you guys in Beirut to see, and gave them some of ours. After the regular cup of tea, I accompanied a group to visit one of the squats at what used to be one of the residential compound for Saddam’s army officers and the Republic Guards and their families (and mistresses of course).

We arrive and the minute the squatters spot the van loaded with donations of shoes for the barefoot children they start gathering in what used to be a tennis court.

Women all dressed in black chadors carrying or dragging children whom the minute I got out of the van gathered around me inspecting me. To their shock this stranger speaks their language and turned out to be Lebanese (seems being Lebanese in Iraq means: “ahh, Lebanese, Ya Leyl Ya Ain !!!” followed by a smile and a nod! There is nothing worse than being identified with a nationality except being identified by a TV program or “Ahhh Marian and Tony”).

I said “Allah bil Kheir” which is the Iraqi greeting. The kids smiled and I started to shake their hands as we exchanged names. One kid approached from afar with stunning courage - though he bearly reached my knee. He silently cut through the group till he stood right next to me. Naturally I extended my hand to shake his and to my astonishment he pulled me down and planted the gentlest kiss on my cheek with an adorable smile only to walk away after it leaving me speechless and stunned. I had to fake a cough to cover the tears that ran down my face. This little barefoot boy of three is Hassouna.

Ali, a 16-year-old skinny squatter with a smile that did not leave his face and eyes that were astonished even when he himself said something. He started talking to me without me addressing him, telling me everything; where he used to live, how they came here, and how people ripped this place down to sell its metal window rims, brass knobs, tinted glass and furniture. They later broke what was left of the marble floors and ceilings and brunt the place down.

Ali was complaining to me, for him this was not something acceptable. He explained how Saddam stole the fuel and that his people should have been “civilized” if they were given the wealthes. He did not mind the presence of the Americans, yet he wishes he can go back to school which he dropped out cause of the unsafe path to it. Under Saddam he had a better place to live, though now at this squat there are no fights cause the US forces are nearby and have tight security measures. At that moment he was showing me the place; taking me around the swimming pools that are now stinking swamps and the cinema houses that are now garbage dumps. Ten minutes later, bullets erupted from a nearby building, and I was the only one started by it, the rest went by normally and Ali, of course, continued speaking with the same smile and the same stupid astonishment look on his face.

“These shots are either of the police or at the police… or maybe someone is being stolen or someone rejoicing” he explained!

Later he took me to his place, an apartment shared by two families in addition to his family of five. Few kids followed us and walked in the house with no permission (except for me, as I had to wait for the women to be veiled and/or hide where I can not see them).

In the house Ali showed me the TV, the decoder of the satellite the three families share, and insisted to show me Al Jazeera where he said we can see Saddam!!!

I asked Ali what would the people do if they were to be evacuated. I had my direct action in mind, and I wanted people to lock down with the internationals and myself in the face of the occupying forces. For Ali it was simple. “Some people said they will not leave unless it was to the cemetery, some said they will camp outside the compound where the newcomers can see them and feel the guilt, and some others are ready to either blow themselves up or throw grenades on the compounds.” he explained. I was about to start one of my boring endless lectures on non-violence but to his fortune I was called to leave.

Before I left Ali went in the kitchen (which is the entrance to the apartment) and came back with a metal bowl filed with water and ice from which he poured me a glass and insisted I’d drink it explaining it is cold. Cold water here is served to honored guests and it is always hard to say no in such cases. But the stomachaches afterwards are always tough and this time I managed to escape drinking it courteously. I said goodbye promising that I will try to come visit again.

As I was about to leave with the group, a woman stopped Leila (one of the frequently visiting activists) and started crying telling her about this man who comes to her place beat her up, take whatever she has of donations and leave her with nothing. She was crying hard, hugging Leila and attempting to kiss her hand begging her to bring her a blanket and stop this man from beating her up. The women went on to tell us that this man, Raed, punched her in the eye. Leila called one of the men and asked him to handle the man if he shows up again, and promised the woman help as soon as possible (which we all new means as soon as we find funds).

I am getting used to how things go under such massive in justice; emotional over ride leading to few tears and throat dryness then you’d wipe your face and move on… maybe to find another misery somewhere else!

As I was about to get in the van to leave, Ali came running from the compound handing me a piece of candy. He said it is his gift for me… the same smile was still on his face… the same stupid look of surprise in his eyes. I took it and shook his hand and said “fi aman allah” the Iraqi goodbye.

I went back to my place, then out of it, called my best friend in Beirut, and my Mom. I spent four minutes with them both, hung up and burst in tears!

Distant suppressed sounds of explosions can be heard. Things we will know about tomorrow in the news.

Ali’s candy is lemon flavored and as I am typing now it is resting next to my keyboard. My trip to Baghdad has just started today!

Peace and solidarity, I-Mad!