Baghdad Journal: Days 24-27

From Wade Hudson, 5-8 April 2003

—[details of and comments on IPT meetings removed per IPT media coordinator]—

During the afternoon, from my balcony, at various times, I notice a truck pulling an old Iraqi piece of artillery going north on the street by the Sheraton (or Ishtar) Hotel, turning around, and going back in the opposite direction. This truck makes this round trip several times. I also see a convoy of police cars and civilian cars rolling by every ten minutes or so with sirens screaming. Police officers and civilians wave guns out the windows. Each time the convoy passes, it has gathered more cars. The last time that I see it, maybe twelve cars are included. Later on, I hear lots of gunfire, and learn that Iraqis had been firing weapons, perhaps in celebration of apparently having turned back the column of troops that was probing Baghdad. BBC reports that it may have turned to begin making a large circle around the airport to help secure it. Jooneed makes a trip to that front and sees what appears to be four American armed personnel carriers that had been disabled.

In the late afternoon, another meeting is convened.—[details of and comments on IPT meetings removed per IPT media coordinator]—

Shortly after sunset, a plane flies overhead and a bomb explodes across the street, only a few hundred yards away, according to Bettejo who saw it. Ed speculates that the American forces may have thought that some defensive positions had been adopted over there.

Since electricity in the city has been out for days now and the kitchen in our hotel is not operating, Martin, with help from Eun Ha, fires up the hot-plate-based kitchen that he put together hurriedly when we went to get our AIDS test and prepares a wonderful meal. Rice and beans, a soup, and raw vegetables make for quite a tasty treat.

After dinner and some chess, Jooneed and I discuss our exit strategy. He reports that he’s discussed it more with Zaed, who agrees that going to Iran, which is only a few hours away, is likely the best plan. Jooneed prefers to stay four more days to get some more stories out, so we agree that we will monitor the American troop movements and try to take note of any activity that might threaten our departure and prompt us to leave more quickly.

For a few hours tonight, public power is restored. Reportedly, the bomb that hit one power plant, anyway, was not a conventional bomb that destroyed the building, but a special bomb that damaged the wiring or some such somehow. Regardless, the nature of the attack enabled power to be restored more quickly than would have been the case otherwise. But a few minutes ago, power went out again and I start looking for candles.

As Cathy put it yesterday, the war crimes report has taken on a life of its own. I’ve taken a break from working on it, but Cynthia, April, Marianella and others are working hard to get it distributed. After getting a friend at a Spanish media outlet with its own satellite dish to send out a bunch of emails, they go to some embassies with hard copies of the report’s Introduction/Summary and floppies with some photos. They also distribute the same information to some journalists at the Palestine, until they run out of time due to the new 6 PM curfew. Some journalists from France and India who challenge the curfew end up at the El Fanar and April gives the cd with our report and photos. The French photojournalist praises us for our work, and says that he wants to come back tomorrow and take our photograph.

I do my stretches (for the first time in days), read Emerson’s The Transcendentalist again, rest, and nap. Frequent bombing in the distance continues de rigeur. The Voice of American falsely reports that American troops are already in the center of Baghdad and can take the whole city whenever they want.

I take a look at my map and note that we are close to the road to Iran. If the Americans don’t cut off our escape route too quickly, Jooneed and I may make it out that way without too much trouble. And if they do set up a checkpoint, hopefully they will let us through anyway. After a quick hot bath, I go down to Neville’s room for another meeting, only to discover that so many people are running around delivering war crimes reports and one thing or another, we don’t quite have enough people for a meeting. With no disappointment, I go back to my room, rest some more, and continue underling passages in Emerson’s essay that may quote and comment on here.

Late afternoon, I spend more than two hours surfing my short wave radio looking for BBC or some other English language news. After a while, I learn some tricks and start getting better reception. I learn that the Americans have moved a second column into position south of Baghdad. There is no clear indication when they will try to move into central Baghdad. One analyst astutely comments that he must withhold judgment concerning how much resistance they will receive when they do. A reporter comments that during the first week of bombing, most Baghdadis were apparently strongly anti-American. But now after three weeks of bombardment and days without electricity, most of these people may now simply be hoping that it will be over and done with soon. I wonder how he believes that he has enough information to form that conclusion.

At this morning’s meeting,—[details of and comments on IPT meetings removed per IPT media coordinator]—

Later in the day, a subsequent meeting focuses on the timing of our departure. The options range from one day to one week. —[details of and comments on IPT meetings removed per IPT media coordinator]—

Meanwhile, this horrible war continues all around us. I hear that the U.S. has already dropped more than 600,000 tons of bombs; I can only guess how many more tons they have available. Reportedly, they caused more casualties when they dropped a bomb in a residential neighborhood that created a crater fifty meters wide, in another futile attempt to assassinate Saddam Hussein. Another report is that an attack on Al Jazeera killed two journalists. The stereophonic, near-constant pounding of bombs persists within only occasional respite. Robert comments that every time he hears a bomb explode, he envisions another civilian casualty.

We’ve received very little news here about the global anti-war movement or about public opinion in the States. I did hear one BBC report about continuing civil disobedience in San Francisco. And Neville tells us that Australian public opinion is running strongly against the war. So I can only trust that the resistance is at least going strong, if not growing. My strongest hope remains that somehow a global general strike will take hold. I still think that it might be best to call a one-day general strike, or moratorium, first, and then increase it to two days shortly thereafter, perhaps the next week, and steadily escalate thereafter as needed. Bringing business to a halt could persuade the power elite to tell Bush to stop this madness. But from here, I have no sense of whether the movement is anywhere close to that point.

Though we are relatively insulated and privileged here at the El Fanar, with the protection of the Palestine Hotel hovering over us, being here still brings home the terror and brutality of war. It is hard to believe that the lust for power could bring humanity to this point. But I fear that Lord Acton and Henry Kissinger had it right. Not only does power corrupt; it can be even more addictive than sex.

On reflection, it’s clearer to me now that my decision to leave was based primarily on my desire to avoid getting trapped here for many weeks, a prospect that was rapidly becoming more likely. —[details of and comments on IPT meetings removed per IPT media coordinator]—

Feeling even more closely connected with my IPT colleagues, I invite everyone to come to my room to listen to my customized Bob Dylan compact disc, that includes only songs with a spiritual theme. Several people join me and I begin by sharing the Hindu 4-7-8 breathing exercise that I learned from Andrew Weil. We also listen to some of my Solomon Burke disc. All in all, it’s a very mellow time, candle-lit and battery-operated, for our hotel’s generator still isn’t working. I would have shared this stress-reduction technique and music at the early morning reflection time, but lately I’ve been sleeping too late, and I don’t believe in alarm clocks.

At the end of the morning reflection, which I manage to attend without setting my alarm clock,—[details of and comments on IPT meetings removed per IPT media coordinator]—

It looks like we may be stuck here together for a while, for there are no drivers available to take us out, due to the great danger that would be involved. This morning, at 11:45, I hear BBC reports that American troops are on the bridge just north of here moving toward central Baghdad. The northbound street in front of our hotel is closed. Then, while I’m sitting on my balcony, looking north trying to improve my radio reception, I hear a loud explosion nearby at about 11:56 AM. Three seconds later I see a large cloud of smoke billowing out of the Palestine Hotel near the top. I yell at Ed through our two doors, both of which are open, The Palestine has been hit. Ed comes in about 20 seconds later and sees what remains of the smoke cloud. People are running around on the tennis court below picking stuff up from the ground. Ed comments, I guess they’re trying to run the journalists out of town. About fifteen minutes after the explosion, we see a fairly small fire burning in a room at the end on the east side of the tower two floors from the top.

Later, I hear that two journalists working with Reuters died from the attack and that one of them worked with the Spanish tv station that had so graciously agreed to forward our emails to the Chicago office. When our people delivered our diskette with emails for Chicago late this afternoon, our contacts there were profoundly distraught. Our people simply expressed their sympathy and left without saying anything about our email.

The Palestine getting hit was bad enough. But then to learn that one of the people who died was so closely connected to IPT made the news even more disturbing.

American forces are reportedly claiming that they were protecting themselves from snipers. Well, I had been sitting on my balcony for some time and I had heard no gunfire, for whatever’s that’s worth. Some reliable sources report that people with rifles have been seen in the Palestine. But no one reports having heard gunfire at any time. If any snipers have tried to inflict any damage from the Palestine, I seriously doubt that they’ve been able to hit anything from so far away (though, granted, I’m no weapons expert), If I read the scale on my map correctly, the tank that fired on the hotel was 1500 meters away, which corresponds to my eyeball estimate that the bridge where the tank was located is about one mile away. From Ed’s balcony, one can see the bridge clearly, but it’s impossible to see if tanks are on the bridge, it’s so far away. If the U.S. military is going to start firing rockets at buildings a mile away in which someone with a rifle is circulating, they are going to have lots of targets. Who knows why they hit the Palestine. But for the moment, Ed’s theory is as convincing as any, especially considering that they also hit Al Jazeera today. It may not even be a mistake that the hit was Reuters, which is widely respected worldwide for being relatively independent and objective compared to mainstream U.S. media. I try to avoid half-baked conspiracy theories, so I emphasize that these thoughts are pure conjecture. But just because YOU are not paranoid does not mean that they have not ALREADY got you.

At dinner time, I learn that Zaed, our official sponsor, guardian, and organizer of the minders who escort us around town, has apparently resigned his post and said good-by to IPT, leaving us on our own. Just yesterday, I was sitting in a car trying to charge the battery on my laptop when three militiamen walked by and noticed my laptop up and running. They started to question me, when Zaed and his people intervened and protected me from what would probably have been a very dicey situation, for the militia could easily have suspected me of being a spy.

The ruling regime is under enormous pressure, and may have largely collapsed. BBC reports that the American troops crossing the bridge one mile from here are meeting stiff resistance, but I assume that they will prevail eventually. I gather than a U.S. officer told Tel Koppel on Nightline that the enormous weapons that hit a residential neighborhood recently may have already killed Saddam Hussein. When the regime does fall, the American troops may well decline to intervene in the looting and chaos that results, as the British have refused to assume the role of policeman in Basra at this very moment. Thus, this so-called coalition can create anarchy and then stand back while Iraqis kill Iraqis.

So today was a one-two-three punch: the hit on the Palestine, the death of the Spaniard, and the loss of Zaed. For the first time, I’m somewhat afraid, and sad. Writing in this journal helps relieve me of some of these negative feelings. And I lay down and meditate on my favorite mantra: the number 40,000, as in the number of children who die every day from easily preventable illnesses and diseases. As bad as one’s situation may become from time to time, I find that it is helpful to remember how bad the global situation really is, compared to the manufactured crises that grab our attention and divert us from fundamental issues. Facing reality is a necessary prelude to accepting life (and death) with all of its mystery and glory. And recognizing reality leads one away from self-centered sadness into a greater, more transcendent realm, where going with the flow is the only option.

The night has been relatively quiet. As I go to bed, I notice several white sheets hanging from windows at the Palestine, white flags to ward off attacks.