Baghdad Journal: The Clock Is Ticking

BAGHDAD -- There are two ways to get to Iraq from Jordan--by air and by land. The air option is at best limited: there are no commercial flights and the few UN planes that have extra room are either booked or get canceled at the last minute. Thus, the advance team to set up the International Occupation Watch Center, consisting of myself and Gael Murphy from Code Pink took the overland route.

The International Occupation Watch Center in Baghdad will be an on-the-ground effort to get out reliable information to the global peace movement about the actions of the occupying forces and U.S. companies. The center will also support emerging Iraqi independent groups and serve as a hub for international visitors who want to support Iraqi efforts to end the occupation and rebuild their country.

But first we had to get there, and in the process we learned just how fast the situation is deteriorating for the Iraqis and the U.S. troops stationed there.

Our first encounter with U.S. troops came when we crossed the Iraqi border. Two red-faced boys with fuzzy cheeks who couldn't have been over 18 ran up to greet us, happy to find English speakers. At 9 AM, the day was already promising to be a scorcher and these poor kids, one from Kansas and the other from Arkansas, were dripping with sweat as they stood in the sun in their combat boots, flak jackets and thick helmets, holding submachine guns.

As we waited for our passports to be processed, we talked to a dozen more soldiers. They didn't speak the language or understand the culture here. Their bodies weren't conditioned for the oppressive heat that shot up to 120 degrees in the shade. They were sick of eating tasteless military rations ("What I'd give for a REAL meal," one of the boys said wistfully). They were mostly young kids dreaming about their girlfriends and families and air-conditioning and hamburgers. All they wanted was to be sent back home -- "Yesterday wouldn't be soon enough," said a freckle-faced recruit from Wisconsin.

They had come to fight a war and now found themselves patrolling the border, searching for stolen goods or fake passports. While they were good-natured to us, they were gruff with the Iraqis. They barked orders at them in English, with hand signals. "Stop, pull your car over, get out, get in line."

The Iraqis waiting in line for their entry stamps looked tired, hungry and exasperated at having their country's border controlled by 18-year-old foreigners strutting around with guns or sitting atop heavily armored humvees and tanks. The whole scene was unnerving, a flashback to the days of British colonialism. The U.S. weaponry might be modern, but the model of occupying someone else's country is definitely an old one. Just from watching the scene at the border, you could smell trouble.

We made the dash from the increasingly tense border to Baghdad - through what our driver called "Ali Baba land," the highway robber paradise - at about 120 miles an hour. At about 5 PM, after 11 hours of whizzing by the debris of war -- carcasses of tanks, overturned buses, bomb craters and abandoned houses, we made it safely to Baghdad.

At our hotel, the Andaluz Apartments, where we stayed earlier this year, the owners and staff greeted us with joy and open arms. We were delighted to find them all in one piece, but they told us their terrifying stories of living through the invasion. The manager's home had been bombed by mistake, and several journalists had been killed in the hotel across the road by U.S. munitions. When we asked about conditions right now, their biggest complaints were about two things: the lack of security and the lack of electricity.

The security problem is mainly the result of the chaos the invasion unleashed. With no government and no authority, thieves are constantly on the prowl. The "Ali Babas" had already looted and gutted just about every government building; now they break into businesses and homes, even pulling people from their cars to steal the vehicle. Stories of girls being kidnapped and raped make many women afraid to leave their homes. Gunfire could be heard in different parts of the city every night. Without security, said one of the staff, we have nothing.