Iraq After Saddam: A Reporter's Notebook

This personal report from a veteran journalist and cameraman captures the sense of frustration and lack of direction found in post-war Iraq

By Doug Vogt in Baghdad: 17 June 2003

We rolled into Baghdad down the road from Amman, Jordan some days after the city was stripped of its Ba'athist decorations. The most powerful image I can remember was not that of destroyed Iraqi tanks, smashed government ministries or litter-strewn desolate streets but rather the sight of American troops standing around looking fairly relaxed in the heart of Baghdad. For most of these boy soldiers, whose average age is just over 20, this was their first time in an Arab country. I'm not sure if they grasped the fact that their mission had changed. With Saddam's regime now demolished, the most vital battle that remains is that of restoring security and rebuilding a paralyzed country.

For the most part, the US soldiers don't appear to have received any such orders. Undermanned, exhausted and overwhelmed, they have their hands full just taking care of their own needs. The cavalry might have arrived, but the generals commanding them seem far, far away.

Saddam had been effective and ruthless in eliminating any credible opposition during his long years of rule. Today, long-exiled figures like Ahmed Chalebi and Mohammed Zubaidi have returned to Baghdad and hold court in their guarded offices, pressing the flesh of local tribal and religious leaders who complain bitterly of poor living standards and a lack of basic necessities. They promise to do something about all this, but that is far easier said than done. Both men even find it difficult to leave the security of their compounds and meet with the citizens they hope to represent.

Chalebi, who denies wanting a leadership role in Iraq, looks uncomfortable and insecure back in his own country. He feels he needs a private security force just to guard him within the walls of his compound. He may be a favorite of the Pentagon, but cannot claim much support in Iraq.

Meanwhile, the mysterious Mohammed Zubaidi was holding court across town in the shadow of the Baghdad Sheraton Hotel, which is guarded by the US Army. Many Iraqis are not sure who he is or where he comes from. Some say he is an American spy, others a Syrian agent. At the moment, that doesn't seem to matter very much to the confused locals. What they are after is anyone who has important friends, be they American or otherwise.

The Americans seem to be saying that they do not want to be involved in an Iraqi popularity contest. They do, however, need willing, competent and brave people to rebuild the country. Of the hundred and fifty Iraqi exiles picked by the Pentagon as advisors to the Iraqi Reconstruction and Redevelopment Council, some could perhaps win the people's respect. The problem is that exiles are viewed suspiciously in Baghdad and it's even doubtful whether many would want to return to Iraq after living in the West for many years.

The longer the Americans wait around or sideline resident Iraqis who are willing to work, the more the country may rally behind the Shi'ite clerics who are already organizing their communities and listening to the pleas of the people. So far, the Shi'ite community - 60% of the Iraqi population - has shown great unwillingness to participate in the American-led reconstruction effort.

The Iraqis are demanding results and they want them fast. After so many years of economic hardship and the excesses of a brutal regime there is a sense of impatience everywhere.

This leaves the Americans dangerously exposed - blamed for everything that does not go well or improve quickly. The shootings of dozens of Iraqi civilians in the town of Fallujah and a major ammunition dump explosion in Baghdad were blamed on the Americans. The new friendship between US troops and the Iraqi people is already coming under intense pressure. There's a feeling that things could quickly spiral out of control.

In more than a decade of covering conflicts as an international news cameraman, I feel that the the Iraqis have suffered unlike any other people I have met. In twelve years of traveling to Iraq, talking with people both officially and off the record, I never felt I understood their true feelings about Saddam's regime. I thought I knew how they should feel or how I would feel, but they would rarely if ever show their true feelings.

Now the Iraqis cannot talk enough. They sit down for conversation at every opportunity, relishing for hours the fact that they can say pretty much what they want. And there is a lot they want to say. They speak of lives of paranoia and the shadowy threat that anything they said could be used against them. They never knew whom to trust and rarely trusted anyone because trust could kill you.

Prisons like Baghdad's Abu Ghraib were the size of entire towns. The cinderblock cellblocks were filled with 30,000 prisoners including many who had merely complained, spoken out or not cooperated. Many emerged from these barbaric hellholes forever scarred; many never emerged at all and were buried in the prison grounds. Bitterest of ironies, the prison's murals portray Saddam as Lady Justice holding the scales of impartiality.

At Abu Ghraib prison I saw the execution room where countless men were hanged. There I found an odd collection of hopeful looters, ex-prisoners and curious locals. Thick rope nooses lay scattered on the floor and were strewn outside. Two middle-aged Iraqis were piling nooses into the trunk of their car. I asked them why they wanted such grizzly souvenirs. "It's our history," the older man told me.

Having lived through a nightmare for decades, the Iraqi people are now embracing new aspirations. They dare to dream of a better future. If it does not arrive, then there is going to be serious trouble.