September 11,
2005...
By Baghdad Burning
13 September, 2005
Baghdad Burning
R.-
come in here! You have to see this! It was September 11, 2001
and I was in the kitchen rinsing some dishes from lunch. I paused at
the urgency in my brothers voice but continued rinsing, thinking there
was some vaguely important news item on Iraqs state controlled
channel.
Im coming-
a moment. I called back. The phone began to ring and I stopped
to answer it on my way out of the kitchen.
R: Alloo?
I answered.
L: Are you watching tv??? L., my best friend, cried out
with no preliminaries.
R: Uh
no- but
L: GO WATCH TV!
The line went dead
and I put down the phone, my heart beating wildly. I made my way to
the living room, curious and nervous, wondering what it could be. Had
someone died? Were they going to bomb us again? That was always a possibility.
It never surprised anyone when the US decided on an air strike. I wondered
if, this time around, Bush had been caught with a presidential aide
in the Oval Office.
I walked into the
living room and E. was standing in the middle of it- eyes glued to the
television, mouth slightly open, remote control clutched in his hand,
and directed towards the television set.
What is it?
I asked, looking at the screen. The images were chaotic. It was a big
city, there was smoke or dust and people running across the screen,
some screaming, others crying and the rest with astounded looks on their
faces. They looked slightly like E., my brother, as he stood staring
at the television, gaping. There was someone speaking in the background-
in English- and there was a voiceover in Arabic. I cant remember
what was being said; the images on the tv screen are all I remember.
Confusion. Havoc.
And then they showed
it again. The Twin Towers- New York
a small something came flying
out of the side of the screen and it crashed into one of them. I gasped
audibly and E. just shook his head, Thats nothing
wait
I made my way towards the couch while keeping my eyes
locked on the television. There was some more chaos, shocked expressions,
another plane and the towers- they began to crumble. They began to fall.
They disappeared into an enormous fog of smoke and dust.
I sucked in my breath
and I couldnt exhale that moment. I just sat there- paralyzed-
watching the screen. A part of me was saying, Its a joke.
Its Hollywood. But it was just too real. The fear was too
genuine. The incoherent voices in the background were too tinged with
confusion and terror.
The silence in the
living room was broken with the clatter of the remote control on the
floor. It had slipped out of E.s fingers and I jumped nervously,
watching the batteries from the remote roll away on the ground.
But
who? How? What was it? A plane? How???
E. shook his head
and looked at me in awe. We continued watching the television, looking
for answers to dozens of questions. Within the hour we had learned that
it wasnt some horrid mistake or miscalculation. It was intentional.
It was a major act of terror.
Al-Qaeda was just
a vague name back then. Iraqis were concerned with their own problems
and fears. We were coping with the sanctions and the fact that life
seemed to stand still every few years for an American air raid. We didnt
have the problem of Muslim fundamentalists- that was a concern for neighbors
like Saudi Arabia and Iran.
I remember almost
immediately, Western media began conjecturing on which Islamic group
it could have been. I remember hoping it wasnt Muslims or Arabs.
I remember feeling that way not just because of the thousands of victims,
but because I sensed that wed suffer in Iraq. Wed be made
to suffer for something we werent responsible for.
E. looked at me
wide-eyed that day and asked the inevitable question, How long
do you think before they bomb us?
But it wasnt
us. It cant be us
I rationalized.
It doesnt
matter. Its all they need.
And it was true.
It began with Afghanistan and then it was Iraq. We began preparing for
it almost immediately. The price of the dollar rose as people began
stocking up on flour, rice, sugar and other commodities.
For several weeks
it was all anyone could talk about. We discussed it in schools and universities.
We talked about it in work places and restaurants. The attitudes differed.
There was never joy or happiness, but in several cases there was a sort
of grim satisfaction. Some Iraqis believed that America had brought
this upon itself. This is what you get when you meddle in world affairs.
This is what you get when starve populations. This is what you get when
you give unabashed support to occupying countries like Israel, and corrupt
tyrants like the Saudi royals.
Most Iraqis, though,
felt pity. The images for the next weeks of Americans running in terror,
of the frantic searches under the rubble for relatives and friends left
us shaking our heads in empathy. The destruction was all too familiar.
The reports of Americans fearing the sound of airplanes had us nodding
our heads with understanding and a sort of familiarity- youd want
to reach out to one of them and say, Its ok- the fear eventually
subsides. We know how it is- your government does this every few years.
It has been four
years today. How does it feel four years later?
For the 3,000 victims
in America, more than 100,000 have died in Iraq. Tens of thousands of
others are being detained for interrogation and torture. Our homes have
been raided, our cities are constantly being bombed and Iraq has fallen
back decades, and for several years to come we will suffer under the
influence of the extremism we didn't know prior to the war.
As I write this,
Tel Afar, a small place north of Mosul, is being bombed. Dozens of people
are going to be buried under their homes in the dead of the night. Their
water and electricity have been cut off for days. It doesnt seem
to matter much though because they dont live in a wonderful skyscraper
in a glamorous city. They are, quite simply, farmers and herders not
worth a second thought.
Four years later
and the War on Terror (or is it the War of Terror?) has been won: