Love and hate in Baghdad

This is the extraordinary blog of ‘Riverbend’, a young Iraqi woman who lays bare her life in occupied Iraq. It has been long-listed for the Samuel Johnson literary prize

I’m going to set the record straight, once and for all. I don’t hate Americans, contrary to what many people seem to believe. Not because I love Americans, but simply because I don’t hate Americans, like I don’t hate the French, Canadians, Brits, Saudis, etc. It’s that simple. I was brought up, like millions of Iraqis, to have pride in my own culture and nationality. I was also brought up to respect other cultures, nations and religions. Iraqi people are inquisitive, by nature, and accepting of different values — as long as you do not try to impose those values and beliefs upon them.

(snip)
Although I hate the American military presence in Iraq, I don’t even hate the American troops . . . or wait, sometimes I do:
I hated them all through the bombing. Every single day and night we had to sit in terror of the next bomb, the next plane, the next explosion. I hated them when I saw the expression of terror, and remembrance, on the faces of my family and friends, as we sat in the dark, praying for our lives.
I hated them on April 11 — a cool, grey day: the day a family friend lost her husband, her son and toddler daughter when a tank hit the family car as they were trying to evacuate the house in Al- Adhamiya district, an area that saw heavy fighting.
I hated them on June 3 when our car was pulled over for some strange reason in the middle of Baghdad and we (three women, a man and a child) were made to get out and stand in a row, while our handbags were rummaged and the car was thoroughly checked by angry, brisk soldiers. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to put into words the humiliation of being searched.

On the other hand:

I feel terrible seeing the troops standing in this merciless sun wearing heavy clothes, looking longingly into the air-conditioned interiors of our cars. After all, in the end this is Baghdad, we’re Iraqi — we’ve seen this heat before.
I feel bad seeing them stand around, drinking what can only be lukewarm water after hours in the sun — too afraid to accept any proffered ice water from “strange Iraqis”.
I feel pity watching their confused, frightened expressions as some outraged, jobless father of five shouts at them in a language they can’t even begin to understand. oI get hopeless, seeing them pointing their guns and tanks at everyone because, in their eyes, anyone could be a “terrorist” and almost everyone is an angry, frustrated Iraqi. oI feel sympathy seeing them sitting bored and listless on top of their tanks and in their cars, wishing they were somewhere else.

So now you know. Mixed feelings in a messed-up world.
Someone wrote that I was naive and probably spoilt, etc, and that “not one single American soldier deserves to die for you”. I completely agree. No one deserves to die for me or for anyone else.

more
http://www.timesonline.co.uk/article/0,,2092-2114217,00.html

and wish we had never ever ever intruded upon her life.

I've read her since she first cameoed on Salam Pax's blog three years ago when she was a free spirited gainfully employed young women earning more than her male co-workers due to her astute IT capabilities, wandering the streets of Baghdad unescorted and wearing whatever she wanted to wear.

About 5 months after the invasion she started her own blog. Reading all of the true Iraqis: Salam. Raed and his brothers and his mom Faiza, it was torturously hard to watch their hopes for real liberation evaporate in the face of our lawlessness & bungling incompetance.

Now she can no longer work, has to cover her forearms and head, and must be escorted by several male relatives. Her's has been one of the few voices of truth in this horrific travesty. I pray for her well being every day. She is the best.

http://riverbendblog.blogspot.com

Blessings upon her.

:cry: