Iraq’s borders were sealed (Liberate THIS, Part 12)

A continuing series by Dr. Dahlia Wasfi

Map of Iraq & Kuwait
Image in public domain

In late 2004 through early 2005, kidnappings of Westerners became prominent news stories.  Fearing for my safety amidst ever-escalating anti-American sentiment, my Iraqi family advised me to stay safely at home.

Yet I was undeterred from making another trip and selfishly gave little thought to the potential danger for my family’s “harboring” an American.

That my father is Iraqi and I was on vacation probably wouldn’t mean much to those seeking expensive ransoms to feed their families or wishing to send a message to foreigners to get out of Iraq.

But I was mostly oblivious to the risks.  I figured that if I were kidnapped, I could use the few words of Arabic I’d learned growing up (from when my father was angry) in reference to my government.  Surely, I thought, with such skills of wit and a photo of my father, I could get myself out of any sticky situation.

By the end of 2005, with no end to the chaos in sight, my family agreed to host me once again, before the situation deteriorated further.

Because the road from Amman to Baghdad was now exceedingly dangerous, my trip was planned only for Basra this time. Hostility still governed relations between Iraq and Kuwait, not only from the era of Gulf War I, but from the decades of territorial dispute dating back to the early twentieth century.

Even with an American passport, I knew my Iraqi background might be sufficient cause for Kuwaiti border officials to make my trip more difficult. But I didn’t see any other option. I bought tickets to fly via London to Kuwait City, which sits about 82 miles (132 kilometers) from Basra, with the Iraq-Kuwait border about halfway in between.

I had a planned layover in London for two days to attend an anti-war conference organized by the UK Stop the War Coalition. My scheduled flight to Kuwait was for the following evening, December 11th.  If Kuwait had been my final destination, I could have made the trip without a problem.

However, four days before the scheduled December 15 elections, Iraq’s borders were sealed for “security” reasons.  I had to postpone my trip out of London until the borders were reopened.

With bitter sarcasm, I joked with my family that the new Iraq had so much freedom in it that occupation forces had to close the borders to contain it all.

 

I promised that I would return (Liberate THIS, Part 11)

A continuing series by Dr. Dahlia Wasfi

My father was one of ten children, so we have a lot of family in Iraq.  Seemingly everywhere I was escorted during those six days in Basra, I met blood relatives or my father’s former students.

Marines fire on Fallujah
U.S. Marines fire on Fallujah. Image in public domain.

Most Basrawis (pronounced “bas-RAO-weez,” meaning people of Basra) live their whole lives in their hometown. My father, though, had traveled to the U.S. and become successful.

I heard so many wonderful accolades about him and his teaching during my short stay. I later joked with my father that all the images of Saddam Hussein that had been destroyed after the invasion soon would be replaced with his picture to honor his courage and success.

I experienced joy with my cousins that I had not felt for long as I could remember. My spirits were up, so much so that I stopped my anti-depressive medications. I felt cured.

Because of the unpredictability of a country without law and order, my stay was cut short.  I had to return to Amman via Baghdad to make my flight home. But I promised my family that I would return for a longer stay—very soon, we hoped—when conditions in the new Iraq had improved.  I left in early March 2004.

While we looked toward the horizon for better days, conditions in Iraq went from bad to worse. Electricity and water became scarcer, as did jobs and security. But the lack of these basic necessities was quickly overshadowed by the monstrous obscenities of the American-led occupation.

The atrocities committed against Iraqis by occupation forces at Abu Ghraib prison (and many other prisons throughout the country) came to light. With good reason, anti-American sentiment in Iraq skyrocketed to new highs. The indiscriminate slaughter of Iraqis continued, exemplified by the April 2004 siege of the city of Fallujah, the October 2004 bombings of Fallujah, and the November 2004 massacre of the people of Fallujah.

That November, I had wanted to take my return trip to Iraq, but U.S. Marines had blocked the route of my last trip, the road from Amman to Baghdad.

 

Street sewage in new “democratic” Iraq (Liberate THIS, Part 9)

A continuing series by guest author Dr. Dahlia Wasfi

In February and March 2004, I made a 19-day journey to Iraq. The first memories of my life were from my early years in Iraq. My life would start over again there, too.

Sign: What have you done today for the Iraqi people?
Photo by Peter Rimar, in public domain

With Baghdad International Airport controlled by American occupation forces (as was true for years to come), I flew to Jordan and made the 10-hour car ride to Baghdad.

In Iraq’s capital, a year after the invasion, damage from bombing raids was omnipresent. Iraq had been liberated, alright—from sovereignty, security, electricity, and potable water. The new “democratic” Iraq modeled sewage in the streets, rolling blackouts, shootings, and explosions.

After several days spent visiting my Baghdadi relatives, I needed to reach my father’s immediate family in the south. Ahmed[i], one of my cousins from Basra, drove 12 hours round trip with a friend to pick me up and bring me to visit the rest of the family. With numerous checkpoints and no security, their efforts were Herculean.

To my naïve foreign eyes, Basra’s condition appeared to be much the same as Baghdad’s, except that the damage seemed more extensive. This city had been destroyed during the Iran-Iraq War of the 1980s, the 1991 Gulf War, and the 2003 Shock and Awe invasion.  Throughout that time, sanctions and neglect had thwarted the city’s—and her people’s—recovery.

I expected to encounter resentment during my visit.  After all, my immediate family had left Iraq for America during the good days of the 1970s.  So much destruction had been wrought against the Iraqi people by my government since then.

Every destroyed building we passed, every sewage-flooded street, every child suffering in poverty, I despairingly thought to myself, “You’re welcome, Iraq. I helped do this to you.”  I held resentment towards myself and deep shame as an American in this occupied land.


[i] Name changed.