City of Fear
When Paranoia Isn't Paranoia

        Everyone in Baghdad saw the hope of a peaceful Iraq crumble from 2003 to 2004 when suicide bombings begin to occur with regularity. 2005 and 2006 brought further descent into kidnapping, mass murder, and civil war. Before going back to Baghdad this summer, I received e-mails from Iraqi friends, warning me that it was nothing like last year and much more dangerous. I get the same ones each time I go, and it always makes me wonder what could have possibly gotten worse.
        The death tolls spike and ebb, but really, the high level of violence has sustained itself for years. All the main security issues stay the same, but specific conditions change constantly, testing everyone’s adaptability. There’s always a laundry list of hurdles to jump, such as a travel route being unexpectedly blocked, or perhaps the local fishing industry is ruined because of carp feeding on the hundreds of corpses found every week in the Tigris. These add up and can have an observable change in the general mood of the population.
        What strikes me most this summer, is a particular fear that has captured nearly everyone I meet. People speak more softly, choose their words more carefully and are always mindful of who might be listening. The issue of who can and can’t be trusted comes up often. Though the word ‘paranoia’ conveys well the sort of fear that has everyone looking over their shoulder, it is incorrect. Paranoia is an irrational fear. The classic symptoms associated with it are completely logical for the residents of Baghdad. People really are out to get them.
        A good example is my driver and friend, whom I’ll call Amir (using his real name could get him killed). There are places he would freely go with me last year that he now avoids. One such example is the infamous Airport Road.
        Nobody in Baghdad wants to drive on the Airport Road, but for Amir, it’s more personal. Since I saw him last, he was shot there.
        It was not enough that he was hit by an insurgent sniper from a rooftop in a roadside town. After he stopped his car abruptly, he was almost fired upon by American soldiers who were afraid that he was a suicide bomber because of his erratic driving. Just having been shot, and while the sniper was still firing, he had to make the soldiers believe that he was not the gunman. After they left, he had to lie on the ground next to his car, bleeding, until a friend could rescue him. All the while, he had to just hope that passing soldiers and private military contractors wouldn’t fire upon his car.
        That’s how the Airport Road is, and that’s how Baghdad is. Any number of sides can get you at any time, for any number of reasons, usually beyond your control. I, personally, feel more comfortable taking my chances with insurgents rather than driving near military vehicles or convoys of hair-triggered foreign mercenaries (from America, Europe, etc.) who routinely fire upon any car they might find suspicious. American soldiers have strict rules of engagement, but the contractors do not, and cannot prosecuted for their actions under either American or Iraqi law. These non-prosecutable actions can include murder.
        It’s amazing how little those on the street have always reacted to gunfire, even if it is very close to them. I’ve often witnessed young boys gravitate towards gunfire out of curiosity. Now, people seem to stop and pay more attention. On this visit, I saw a boy of about ten (pictured) stand motionless for several minutes after shots rang out. His face remained frozen in a surprised expression long after everyone around him had forgotten.

A young boy reacts to the sound of machine gun fire.

        While Amir and I walked out of a hospital we visited to his car, he noticed two men look at us and make calls on their cell phones. He immediately became very nervous. We rushed off, and he called a doctor in the hospital (who had been scared to be seen with me) to find out if these men belonged at the hospital. They didn’t, so it was assumed that a plan was being made to kidnap me.
        Again, it all could sound like paranoia, but things can be just that simple in Baghdad. One of their cars did follow us for a while, and we sped on back roads and cut between cars until we thought he’d lost them. Even then, we weren’t sure of anything. After dropping me off, he told me to be careful, that people were watching the hotel. He quickly left by a different entrance.
        That night, I received a call in my room from someone that clearly knew an English speaker was staying there, and who hung up after a few seconds. It wasn’t from the front desk or from anyone I knew. I found myself looking out windows, checking exits, and even slipping out of the hotel unnoticed for a while. The whole thing could have been nothing at all and I felt a little silly skulking around, but people have tried to kidnap me before, and I just didn’t know.
        The night before I left, Amir and I sat in my hotel room, talking. Televisions broadcasting a soccer game between Iraq and Iran could be heard in other rooms, but the volume was lower than one would expect and I heard no cheers from viewers.
        Before he left to go home to his family, who were waiting for him in a house without power, I asked if he had any hope for the future. He winced and said, “We are afraid, and we have nothing. Always, we have nothing.”