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Friday, Nov 27, 2009
Now, a year later, Saddam's weapons of mass destruction have yet to be found and it's become increasingly clear that the intelligence regarding Saddam's destructive abilities and intentions in regards to the U.S. was at best faulty and at worst criminally manipulated to serve the interests of the Bush administration. In addition, no credible evidence has emerged of a pre-war collusion between Saddam Hussein and Osama bin Laden.
In the U.S., we're all familiar with the long discussion about the lack of WMD, the lack of a link between Saddam Hussein and al-Qaida. It seems very important to figure this out; whether the Bush administration did or did not prevaricate to justify occupying Iraq should stand as an essential piece of the debate in the coming elections. But here in Iraq, the point is moot. The essential question here now revolves around the war's legacy.
Postwar Iraq has emerged as a nexus for terrorism. While some argue that most attacks are perpetrated by people crossing the borders from neighboring countries in order to maintain the lack of security, the failures of the U.S. over the past year are also creating a breeding ground for potential Iraqi terrorists, like the angry man at the bombing site. And while the majority of Iraqis would probably not take up arms against the U.S., it's that minority that we have to worry about. Based on the ABC/BBC poll, 17 percent of Iraqis think that attacks against U.S. coalition forces are acceptable. That's 17 percent of about 25 million people -- more than 4 million people, in all. When the Bush administration declares that it is winning the war on terrorism, it is obviously discounting the situation in Iraq. What's happening here is not a question of a few hiccups in light of the postwar transition.
I arrived in Iraq last May, when the country had just begun staggering to its feet following the fast knockdown of the American invasion and the days of riotous looting (unchecked by the new American occupying force) that left hospitals, ministries, museums, libraries, schools and countless other buildings as decimated as those actually targeted for bombing during the war. Garbage lay in drifts along street medians and sidewalks. The flipped, charred and skeletal remains of military vehicles dotted the freeway and open park areas that had recently been the scene of battles. Few women and children ventured outside those days. They stayed at home while men did marketing in the nervous city.
In some ways, a lot has changed in Baghdad since then. Most stores have opened again and women and kids walk the streets where vendors have set up shop elbow-to-elbow selling everything, literally, from soup to nuts. Construction is booming all over the city as Iraqis build or rebuild homes and shops. The U.S. is spending billions of dollars to fix aspects of the country's battered infrastructure.
But despite the American investment in Iraq, the needs remain overwhelming. Last June, I visited Yarmuk Hospital, one of the largest public hospitals in Baghdad. The hospital was in a dire state, deficient in medicines, machines, staffing -- in other words, everything. I returned to Yarmuk last week in the hope of seeing changes. Just inside the hospital, I met with Dr. Mariwan Hweel Saka and asked what, if any, improvements had been made. "Honestly," he said, "regarding the hospital, we are in the same position." He told me that, months earlier, American representatives from the Coalition Provisional Authority had come to inspect the hospital. They promised that Yarmuk would be the best hospital in not just Iraq but all of the Middle East. But nothing had changed and, except for journalists, he hadn't seen any Americans since that day.
In the medical ward nearby, I met with Dr. Nora Hisham. I found her in her office, which was furnished with a bare desk and a pair of rusting metal examination tables covered in ripped vinyl cushioning. She was a young woman wearing a maroon hijab and a clean white doctor's coat. As I introduced myself, another doctor popped into the office to borrow her stethoscope. There aren't nearly enough at the hospital and most doctors don't have their own.
Dr. Hishan offered to give me a tour of the ward and we walked down a corridor flanked by doors to recovery rooms. Along the corridor, in between the doors to the rooms, recessed niches behind glass held faded bouquets of red plastic flowers. Dust as thick as a wool blanket coated the flowers and the niches in which they sat. The cracked tiled floor of the hall showed occasional bloodstains and flattened cigarette butts. We walked to a room at the end of the corridor. "This room is for burn patients," said Dr. Hishan. She ushered me into square, windowless room ringed by cubicles partially obscured by the dark. Each cubicle contained a bed tented over with a shabby assortment of blankets. The blankets were meant to protect the patients from infection, but looking at them it was hard to believe they could be very effective.
In one cubicle, a woman who had been sitting on the floor next to a tented bed rose to greet us. The woman's 15-year-old daughter was in the bed, though the tent of blankets obscured her completely. Dr. Hishan told me that the girl had been burned when a kerosene heater exploded. She asked if I wished to see and pulled back the tenting to reveal the young girl's fire-ravaged face. I had to swallow a gasp as I saw just how bad the damage was. Her condition made the dilapidated, unsterile surroundings all the more awful. The girl moaned for her mother who whispered and cooed to her but couldn't hold her hands because they also were burned.
As we left the room, Dr. Hishan told me that the hospital did have medication to treat the girl's burns, but that so many other things in the hospital were deficient she didn't know where to start.
