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Wednesday, February 19, 2003 |
Today in History
February 19, 1990
After a historic 10-month strike, rank-and-file miners at the Pittston coal Co. ratified a new contract. It was one of the few victories for the labor movement in the last two decades of the 20th century.
Thanks to Workday Minnesota
12:31:38 PM
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Report #24 - Three Professors. As my time here seems to wane, I feel like I am quite pressed. I am rather much in a situation where I realize there is so much more to see and do - but also that perhaps I have served my purpose and it is time to return. Included in this are the extraneous factors that are out of my control - such as my total lack of money, my visa and the fact that things are still very limited. Kathy has set the IPT on needing to focus on preparations for war, so there are less opportunities to travel around, and I certainly wont be seeing anything outside of Baghdad before I leave. I've thought to turn my attention to getting things done as soon as I can, as the malaise of my impending departure is beginning to set in. Nothing is definite, of course, but I should probably take off as I am really unable to be away from any income for much longer. One of my priorities then has been to meet up with as many academics as I can, for I really relish talking to the well-educated people here. College professors in Iraq are not only incredibly intelligent (and usually fluent in English) but are also very passionate people with a myriad of ideas on a wide variety of topics. They put a great deal of emotion into their conversations, if for no other reason, much of what they teach is in some way hampered or directly affected by the situation around them. Last night, I went to dinner with a several people and two Iraqi English literature professors who are married. I sat next to Dr. Saad Fadhill Abass, and spoke with him most of the night. We were at an Italian restaurant, which featured live piano music and souvenirs from Italy that lined the walls. It was the classiest place I had been to in Iraq, and predictably, was mainly filled with foreigners. Dr. Abass specializes in modern English/American drama, and most prefers to teach "theater of the absurd". That evening, he was given as a gift, a large bag full of drama books from the last ten years. He was delighted by it, as (as I've mentioned so often) new material cannot be imported due to the sanctions. He invited me to visit the English department's library where dilapidated books from decades ago are what constitute 'contemporary' literature in Iraq. Educated in Lancaster, England, he is a well-rounded man who also paints on the side. "I paint in the Iraqi style," he told me. This was explained to be several things. First of all, he did many country settings in an impressionistic style, trying to include black-clad women in chadors in rural areas. He said that his quirk was to leave the painting unfinished: "it is up to the viewer to finish the painting; to add his or her own touch." But he further explained that the "Iraqi style" was straight from the imagination, because sanctions had stagnated the country. Painters in Iraq, he asserted, no longer could study or train abroad, and nor could they get out to see anything new, "so we look inside our heads to imagine things, and we do a wonderful job of it." The conversation turned to politics as the evening wore on. Dr. Abass asked us of our views on why the US seemed hell-bent on moving in on Iraq. I explained my theory that the US only goes to war with nations that don't open up their resources to American firms - while it happily does business with brutal regimes that do open their economies. But I was interested in how Iraqis felt cutoff from the West that they had grown accustomed to before 1990. He wanted to stress the multi-cultural and multi-ethnic nature of Iraq and how it is almost unique to the Middle East. "Once a foreigner asked me if we Shia naturally hated all Sunni Muslims. I said, I don't know, why don't you ask my wife who is Sunni." He went on through how all the different members of his Shi'ite family had married people of other faiths or ethnic groups. "We have total love for all types of people here." On the next day, Monday, I returned to Baghdad University to try to meet with faculty of the Political Science department. I was having a spate of very bad luck in catching professors there, primarily due to the fact that I kept forgetting to call ahead. This time the Dean and two other professors I knew of were all away at the time. But we were assisted in meeting the director of the Palestine Studies program, Dr. Huda Al-Naimi and her colleague who translated for us, Dr. Samir Radi. Dr. Al-Naimi greeted us warmly with her blue eyes lit up, happy to have the chance to talk to foreigners. She has spent the past fifteen years on this topic and I was eager to pry into the Iraqi viewpoint on the Palestinian crisis - and how it related to another war in the region. She stressed that the Iraqi approach to the situation was unique because Iraq was the only nation to never waiver in its stance. "While politics are never constant," she noted, "Iraq has been towards the Palestinians." She covered many aspects of the matter that I well understood - such as the belief among Arabs that there was never an Arab-Jewish problem until Zionism came about, and that that was a direct result of the problems Europeans and Jews had. "It has been forced on us," she emphasized. She furthermore explained the belief that the West uses Israel as a paragon of superiority over Orientalism. The main issue however was how a war with Iraq would affect the situation in Palestine. She repeated fears I had heard before that PM Ariel Sharon in Israel will use a war with Iraq as a cover to cleanse the West Bank of Palestinians. She noted that even without such a war, the current crisis has already distracted attention and Israel "is doing now what it couldn't get away with before," stepping up its abusive policies. But she wasn't hopeful about the future. "How can I have a dialogue with you," she gave as an example, "when I don't know what you might do to me? You may come and destroy my home at any time, so how can I approach you?" Dr. Radi stepped in and commented that if there is a war in Iraq, "Sharon will have a festival." Then we began discussing the US. Dr. Radi seemed quite lucid about the current situation in America. He insisted that problems began not with 9/11, but in November 2000, "when Bush stole the election in America." He continued, "it is the beginning of the collapse of the American dream and democracy. How did the Nazis begin?" I observed that time and time again, Iraqi intellectuals seem more aware of the faltering state of true democracy in the US than most Americans. "This is going to be a different America," he added. "It is going to be a monopoly, and monopolies are evil." Every now and then, he managed to make such nuances. The conversation turned to the impending war and the two professors became much more emotional. "We are waiting for a miracle," they repeated. Dr. Radi added, "We are crossing all of our fingers, not just two." They were sure that Iraq was only the beginning, but that nothing could change it. The admitted to being pessimistic. We asked about the massive and unprecedented worldwide demonstrations on Feb. 15 - the largest in world history. They were encouraged, but assured us that people in power held the real sway. "I was called a pessimistic, but now I don't think so," Dr. Radi said. He observed how as people matured, they began to become more skeptical. Even Dr. Naimi mentioned that before 1990 she never wore her hejab, and now she constantly does. "Radical, liberal, conservative, reactionary." Dr. Radi listed denoting how people age. Instead of showing much hope, they both reflected on their survival skills. "You must learn the art of living," Dr. Radi insisted. "Right now, we are in a forest. But even in a forest, things survive." The allusion was not lost on me. [MidEastLog]
11:40:33 AM
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Report #23 - Market to Barber. I finally made an attempt to get some photographs at a market I had previously discovered while walking about the week before. I had been fearing that I would not be able to secure a visa extention, and that these might prove to be my final days in Iraq. So I had to get around to doing everything I had meant to in a short time. Bernadette, the woman working on the NBC film, opted to follow me as I went with the driver/escort Muhammed to the radio-parts market. This was an area tucked behind one of the electronics markets, set in a dingy and dank alleyway just a few blocks from Tahrir Square - the heart of Baghdad. Piles of garbage swelled in street corners and sidewalks were hardly distinguishible as they crumbled into the narrow alley road. Men hawked chassis of radio sets from the 1970s - things that were built to last. Some had tables full of speakers or gears for tape decks. I hoped that photographing the area would well illustrate the resourcefulness Iraqis have turned to in the face of total sanctions. I began by taking a picture of a large pile of electronics boards, tossed together in no order. Several were broken and I was rather unsure what use they still had. Still, I liked the look of the pile (still practicing my technique.) and made an attempt to capture it with some people in the background. Not thirty seconds later and just as we were about to move on, a man ran up to me and began yelling. "What are you doing here?!" he demanded. I instantly got nervous, not knowing who the person was. In his tan button down shirt and disheveled hair, he didn't seem too menacing, but his eves wore an incredible anger. I told him I was taking photographs. "Of what??" he continued fuming. Of daily life in Iraq - markets and things people do, I explained. "No you are not! You are taking pictures of garbage!" He went on relentlessly. "Why this? What is this to you? You are photographing garbage!" I told him it was artistically pleasing. It didn't work. "No!" he repeated. "You are looking at garbage. Why?" He then asked me if I was a student. At this point a small crowd had gathered around us, and Bernadette was filming our exchange. I told him no, and then realized I didn't have one of the Arabic printed sheets explaining IPT's mission on me. I told him that I was a journalist trying to capture all facets of life. He still didn't believe me - or at least my intentions. I couldn't quite fathom how I could be using photographs of rubbish in the middle of a market against the people of Iraq. I didn't understand how doing so would actually give cause to starting a war back home. If anything, I reasoned, photographing such things brought sympathy by revealing how bad the economy is here. I didn't tell him this as it then dawned on me that it was probably just an issue of pride. He didn't want that as the face of Iraq. So I tried to relate to that. I told him I wanted to show America all sides of Baghdad - how the rich and poor live, and how difficult things were with the sanctions. "I don't believe you!" he again exclaimed. I was running into a dead end. Look, I told him, this looked interesting - I wanted to take a picture of it because as art, it is interesting. I said that if it was a pile of electronic boards in an American street, I would just as much want to photograph it. Indeed, there was certainly an artistic quality to it. I noticed a man behind him grinning widely- obviously amused by all of this. He smiled at me, and I had the understanding that he didn't get this guy either. So I then said that I had been to many galleries as saw all sorts of interpretation of art. "Are you a student?" he again demanded of me. I stuck to the artist story, and he finally relented. "Well I'm sorry. If that is what you like - fine!" As he turned to storm off I said to him in Arabic, 'thank you' and 'with peace (Arabic for 'good-bye')'. He ignored me and walked away. The others in the crowd laughed out loud and shook my hand. Perhaps I was out of line with my photograph, or perhaps Iraq just has difficult people like anywhere else on Earth. Muhammad though was shaken by the affair, and in his protective way ushered us out of the market. Yesterday afternoon some IPT members from New York state held a ceremony for planting a "peace pole" at the UN Development Project building. The occasion was rather large in fact, and organized with numerous university students to urge peace for all nations. I went with Kathy Kelly and others, who brought along Karima and her family. Mahmud, the young boy of 8 who I hadn't seen in over a week, immediately recognized me and stuck by my side the whole time. I've begun to realize that I've spent more time playing with children in Iraq than I ever had at home. Lacking any toys, I again gave Mahmud my videocamera and let him runabout. I didn't catch him in time for the press conference at the UNDP, and out in the lawn with all the other journalists with cameras on tripods I found him imitating them. As photographers moved in for shots, Mahmud followed. He even tilted the videocamera sideways, as photographers were doing. After that brief affair, I went to go get my hair cut. Lacking clippers, I had been only moderately tolerating the condition of my hair, so I thought that a local hair cut might do the trick. The parlor was brightly lit by several florescent bulbs which reflected off of a sparkling clean floor. The owner only spoke a tiny amount of English, and the person actually cutting my hair knew none. So I did my best to explain that I just wanted the side and back trimmed with clippers and to leave the top alone. With patient care, the barber did a fine job without much input from me. Then he went at my neck hair with a straight razor. I had to have my glasses off and was quite blind, but it didn't take me long to understand what he was doing. I panicked, realizing that he was close to my ear and my head was not quite being perfectly still. Joel had earlier seen a straight razor job done at another shop where a man with some spots on his face wound up bleeding. Just as I breathed a sigh of relief when he finished, he returned with something far more frightening. He twisted bits of elastic twine between his fingers and pulled it taught in his teeth. He then proceeded to snap the elastic across parts of my upper cheeks, tearing out hair follicles I never knew existed. I squealed and squirmed in pain as he continued. He only chuckled at my misery. I exclaimed in English that this was the brutality of Iraq. [Pictures will be posted soon] [MidEastLog]
11:40:05 AM
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upbraid: Dictionary.com Word of the Day. upbraid [Dictionary.com Word of the Day]
Word of the Day for Wednesday February 19, 2003
upbraid uhp-BRAYD, transitive verb:
To scold or criticize harshly.
Afterwards, Grace roundly upbraided the boy for his boorishness.
--Paul L. Mariani, The Broken Tower
That single incident is the only time I can remember my father upbraiding me for my dismal performance as a midshipman.
--John McCain with Mark Salter, Faith of My Fathers
It could have been mistakenly concluded from this speech upbraiding bad landlords that G. H. Moore was against landlordism as a whole.
--Adrian Frazier, George Moore, 1852-1933
Upbraid is from Middle English upbreiden, from Old English upbregdan, "to twist up, hence to reproach," from up-, "up" + bregdan, "to move back and forth; to weave."
11:34:02 AM
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