The Reluctant Warrior
By Medea Benjamin
Occupation Watch
11 August, 2003
Mohamad Kasem* fought in Saddam Hussein’s army for 23 years. He joined when he was 18 to do his mandatory three-year service, and then stayed on. He fought in the Iran-Iraq war, he fought in the war against Kuwait. He was supposed to fight against the Americans in this latest war, but for a variety of reasons, he refused.First of all, he knew that the Iraqi army, devastated by the Gulf War and 13 years of sanctions, was no match for the Americans. “What we were supposed to do, attack B-52 bombers with rocket-propelled grenades? It would have been suicidal,” Mohamad reflected.
Secondly, he had no allegiance to Saddam Hussein. During Mohamad’s lifetime, he watched Iraq plunge from a sophisticated, middle class society to an impoverished nation. He saw many of his army comrades die in senseless wars. He was angry at the way Saddam treated Iraq as his personal fiefdom, using the people’s money to build his lavish palaces and destroying anyone he considered a threat to his despotic rule.
There was another reason, though, that Mohamad decided not to fight. He believed the US propaganda. “The Americans dropped millions of flyers and made announcements over the radio encouraging us not to fight and telling us that without Saddam Hussein, our lives would be better. We were tired of wars, tired of sanctions. So despite threats from our superiors that we would be hung if we tried to defect, we decided to take off our uniforms and escape.”
Mohamad felt that he and his comrades were the ones who defeated Saddam Hussein by refusing to fight. He thought the Americans would treat the defecting army as heroes. But no, after 23 years of services, he found himself with no job, no pension, nothing.
Now he makes a few dollars a day driving a broken-down taxi through the chaotic, sweltering streets of Baghdad. With the breakdown in civil order after the US invasion, Mohamad’s fighting skills come in handy. The other day, in broad daylight, a carjacker put a gun to his head and forced him out of his taxi. Mohamad obediently got out, and as soon as the carjacker put down his gun to start the car, Mohamad whipped out his pistol, pointed it at the driver’s head and threw him out of his car. “It’s a jungle out in the streets now,” Mohamad laughed. “It’s like being back in the army, but with no one in charge.”
No electricity means no traffic lights, so drivers do whatever they please. The few police back on the streets have no authority to enforce traffic regulations and no weapons to stop the carjackers. Entire sections of the city have been taken over by gangsters. And on top of it all, there are the US soldiers who block off streets with their tanks and cause huge traffic jams, or set up check points throughout the city and harass the drivers.
Mohamad took us to visit his neighborhood off Abu Nuwas Street in Baghdad, a bustling area full of shops just before the war. Now most of the stores are closed because of the lack of electricity and fear of thieves. The men, jobless, sit around in the café playing cards and dominoes. The women hide in their homes, afraid to go outside. The children play in streets full of garbage and raw sewage. “Is this liberation?” Mohamad asks as he looks around his devastated neighborhood.
Everyone complains bitterly about the lack of electricity. During the Gulf War, the electrical grid suffered even greater damage, they claim, but after one month it was up and running. The same is true for the phone system. And that was under Saddam Hussein. “How come in four months, the US, the most highly advanced country in the world, can’t get the electricity or the phones back on?” Mohamad and his friends want to know.
The heat is so oppressive, reaching 120 degrees some days, that without air-conditioning or fans, Mohamad can’t sleep at night. He drags his mattress out on the roof to try to catch a breeze, but you can tell from the bags under his eyes that he’s exhausted. With no refrigeration, his food goes bad. Without electricity to pump the water, water is in short supply. And without electricity to pump gas at the gas station, he either has to wait on mile-long lines for gas or buy it in jerry cans on the black market for five times the price.
A bachelor, Mohamad doesn’t have a family to support, but he helps out many families in the neighborhood. He gives money to the widow down the street who since the war, no longer gets her pension. He helps the disabled war veterans who have lost their veterans benefits. He helps his diabetic neighbor find treatment now that the hospitals have been looted. He helps the beggars on the street. You can tell immediately that this warrior is a sweet, gentle man who is loved and respected by his community.
But Mohamad’s patience is wearing thin. His daily life, and the life of his friends, has become far more difficult than it was under Saddam Hussein. And he sees no relief in sight. He feels betrayed by George Bush’s unfulfilled promises and humiliated by the young American soldiers who bark orders at him in English. He has contempt for Paul Bremer and the new governing council hand-selected by the Americans—many of whom are exiles who know nothing about the reality of present-day Iraq.
Mohamad is no Baathist, but if things don’t get better quickly, the open arms with which he initially welcomed the Americans might well turn to fire arms. “I’m trained to fight. That’s what I’ve spent my life doing,” he said quietly. “Believe me, I’m not anxious to fight again. I’ll give the Americans another few months to turn things around—to provide basic services, to put people back to work, to bring about some order. But if things around here don’t get better soon, what choice do I have?”
*Mohamad Kasem is a fictional name being used to protect the identity of the person featured in this story.
Medea Benjamin is a co-founder of the Occupation Watch Center and the human rights organization Global Exchange.