You are there. This is as good a read as any novel. Medea Benjamin puts a dimensional human face o­n what it's like in Iraq for our troops and for the Iraqis, and paints a sobering picture of the dangerous quagmire we are in. After all our outrage, this is something else again. Just start reading it and see if you can stop.

JOURNAL FROM IRAQ by Medea Benjamin, 6/27/03

Our entry point to Iraq was Jordan, where we arrived after 16 hours of plane rides. Gael Murphy from Code Pink in Washington DC and I are the “advance team”, with a larger group scheduled to join us in Baghdad in early July. We are coming as emissaries of different US peace groups Global Exchange, Code Pink, Fellowship of Reconciliation, and the umbrella coalition United for Peace and Justice.

The purpose of our trip is to lay the groundwork for setting up an International Occupation Watch Center in Baghdad that would get out reliable information to the global peace movement about the actions of the occupying forces and the US companies. The center would 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 truly help Iraqis rebuild their country.

There are two ways to get to Iraq from Jordan — by air and by land. The air option is limited, however, as there are still no commercial flights. There are UN planes that sometimes take staff from humanitarian organizations when there is extra space. But they are often booked or get canceled at the last minute.

The main route to Baghdad is overland. This is the way we had entered Iraq o­n our last trip in February, just before the war. Then, it was a grueling 16-hour drive across the desert, but the o­nly harrowing aspect of the trip was that cars and oil tankers would fly by at 100 miles an hour and risk smashing into each other or careen off the road. Now there was another factor to worry about — Ali Babas (the word Iraqis use for thieves). Since the fall of Saddam Hussein and the ensuing chaos, the road has become part of the wild, wild west, with gunmen shooting at cars and robbing the passengers. We were told that there had been five robberies o­n the road in the past week. We were also told that the US military refuses to take responsibility for patrolling the road, so it's no man's land.

We stopped by the fancy Intercontinental Hotel and ran into an ABC film crew who had a 5-vehicle convoy, including armed ex-New Zealand special forces, leaving for Iraq at dawn. They had plenty of room in their vehicles and wanted to invite us along, but they weren't allowed to because of the liability. They suggested we hire our own car and driver and join their caravan. We figured there was safety in numbers, especially since they had armed guards for protection.

For $300, we hired an Iraqi driver, who picked us up in his big white GMC suburban at 4:30 am.

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We met up with the ABC crew, and we were positioned as car number 4, just in front of the armed vehicle. We were told that the most dangerous part was the final leg, about 150 miles before Baghdad. At that point, we were to halt for a short pit stop, then race ahead — non-stop — at 140 miles an hour. Each of their cars had a walky-talky and flack jackets that the crew was encouraged to put o­n in the final lap. There were no extras for us, but I couldn't imagine wearing o­ne anyway. I figured that the thieves were interested in robbing us, not killing us, and wondered if the danger factor wasn't a bit exaggerated to drive up the price of the overland trip.

The convoy started out towards the border, which was about a 3-hour drive, with another 6 hours from the border to Baghdad. An hour into the drive, the last car — with o­ne carrying the “firepower” — started sputtering from a clogged fuel line. We kept stopping every ten minutes to try to fix it, until the head of logistics decided to call in a replacement vehicle.

Our Iraqi driver spoke just enough English to let us know that he thought it was dangerous to wait because he didn't want to enter Baghdad in the dark. He also said that if we wanted to travel with a caravan, we could hook up with other cars at the border. We weighed the pros and cons of staying with the ABC crew. Besides the wait, we wondered if perhaps their souped up vehicles with flashing lights and ABC signs in the windows sent out a message ” Rob me, rob me — we're rich Americans with plenty of cash and expensive equipment.” We decided to venture off o­n our own.

The border crossing leaving Jordan was a chaotic mess. Unlike our pre-war trip in February when there were o­nly a few cars and oil tankers o­n the road, now there was a sea of vehicles — rickety old cars and modern suburbans, trucks and trailers loaded with plywood, wheat, electronic goods. The US military had declared that with the exception of weapons and drugs, anything could be brought into the country duty-free for a period of three months. Since 13 years of sanctions had starved the country of many goods, the floodgates were now open. The post-war reality, however, is that most Iraqis have no jobs or purchasing power, so the bulk of the supplies coming in was to house and care for the US military.

Our first encounter with US 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, flack jackets and thick helmets, holding AK47s.

As we waited for our passports to be processes, we talked to a dozen more soldiers. They didn't speak the language or understand the culture. 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 as he allowed me to sample his MREs). 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 o­n 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 US 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.

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Once we cleared the border, we still had a six-hour drive into Baghdad. We had been told that at the gas station after the border crossing, vehicles waited to hook up with other vehicles to make the trip together. But our driver, Razak, didn't want to be slowed downed by a big caravan. He hooked up with o­nly o­ne other car. We worried that we didn't have the safety of numbers, but by that time we were pretty much resigned to do whatever our driver told us. He had made the trip many times before and seemed to know the lay of the land.

On his advice, we stopped to hide our money and other valuables in the crooks and crannies of the SUV — the air vents, the side rests, the cracks in the back of the seats.

Our two cars drove through what our driver called “Ali Baba land” at about 120 miles an hour. Whizzing by the road from time to time we could see the debris of war — the carcasses of tanks, overturned buses, bomb craters, abandoned houses. At about 5 pm — after 11 hours o­n the road — we made it safely to Baghdad.

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Our hotel, the Andaluz Apartments, is the same place we stayed when we were here in February. The owners and staff greeted us with joy and open arms. We had become very close during our last visit, as it was an incredibly tense time just before the US invasion. 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 he was still in the process of fixing it. Just across the road is the Palestine Hotel, where US troops had been stationed and where several journalists had been killed by US firepower.

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, there were thieves constantly o­n the prowl. “Ali Babas” had already looted and gutted just about every government building, and now they were breaking into businesses and homes, even pulling people from their cars to steal the vehicle. Stories of girls being kidnapped and raped made many women afraid to leave their homes. Gunfire could be heard in different parts of the city every night. There was an 11 pm curfew, but most people were in their homes by 7 am. In fact, many businesses were now closing at 3 pm. Without security, said o­ne of the staff, we have nothing.

The other major complaint was the lack of electricity, The gas pipeline that feeds the power stations in Baghdad had been bombed during the war, and since the war, looters or saboteurs steal the electric wires and topple the pylons. The shortage of electricity is exacerbated by the suffocating heat. Without fans or air-conditioning, people have trouble working and sleeping. Without refrigeration, they can't stop food from getting rancid. Without electricity, the water pumps don't work. Without electricity, the gas can't be pumped from the gas stations. Without electricity, the traffic lights don't work and the roads are clogged and utterly chaotic. And without electricity, the streets are dark at night, making it easier for the thieves to roam at will.

The complaints about security and electricity that we heard the moment we walked into our hotel were complaints we would hear repeated over and over again during our stay. The other preoccupation was the lack of jobs, with hundreds of thousand of people — from soldiers to state functionaries — now out of work. And for the lucky few who have jobs, the salaries are totally inadequate to compensate for the rising prices.

It's true that there are many positive changes since the downfall of Saddam Hussein's regime. Iraqis are for the most part delighted that Saddam is gone. We met people who had family members tortured and killed by the prior regime who, for the first time, are able to openly grieve and seek justice. We met Iraqis returning from decades in exile who are overflowing with emotion at being able to come back home. Iraqis are just discovering the newfound freedoms like freedom of speech, assembly and association. We accompanied workers at the Palestine Hotel who went o­n strike and successfully got rid of the hotel's abusive general manager. We walked with women from a newly formed women's group demanding their rights and a say in the new government. Young students who had little access to outside information are now saving their money to get o­n-line at o­ne of the new Internet cafes.

But despite these positive openings, most of the people we meet say their lives were better before — under Saddam Hussein — than they are now. Before, at least there was order. Before at least they had jobs and salaries, electricity and water. Before, at least women were not afraid to walk the streets.

A common refrain is “How come the Americans were so prepared and competent when it came to making the war but so utterly unprepared and incompetent when it comes to rebuilding?” Every day, the US is loosing ground here in Iraq. There is an average of 13 attacks a day o­n the occupation forces, and there is less and less sympathy among Iraqis when US soldiers are attacked. To many, the words freedom and liberation now seem like a cruel joke.

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One of our visits in Baghdad was to the famous circle where the statute of Saddam Hussein had come tumbling down, the scene that was showed over and over o­n US television. Now, a new, rather indecipherable three-headed statue by a young Iraqi artist was in its place. But curiously, o­n the column just beneath the statue, someone had written in bright red paint and imperfect English, “All 'donne'. Go home.”

Sitting around the circle in the brutal heat were money-changers with thick wads of Saddam Hussein bills, which is ironically still the currency being used. Behind the money changers were mounds of barbed wire and US soldiers sitting atop ferocious-looking tanks, weapons readied. This was now a common scene o­n the streets of Baghdad. Armored vehicles. US soldiers in camouflage uniform, guns pointing at the locals. Checkpoints where Iraqis get enraged when male US soldiers check Iraqi females.

Two elderly money-changers in long flowing robes and white caps were sitting at their outdoor stand and we started chatting. They asked where we were from. “Oh, America,” o­ne answered, crossing his arms against his chest, “I love America.” “How about the soldiers?” we asked, pointing behind them. The man who “loved America” said how happy they were to be free of Saddam Hussein, but the other man pointed to the column with the graffiti. “So you think the soldiers should go home to America?” I asked. Both men broke out in big grins. “Yes, Saddam gone. That's good. Soldiers should go, too. Many Iraqis don't like them here.”

They told us that if conditions in Iraq do not improve soon — a month, two months, six months — it won't be just Saddam loyalists or Shi'ite fundamentalists but ordinary Iraqis who would fight to get rid of the Americans. “We have a 9000 year-old culture, you have a 200 year-old culture,” o­ne of the men said, “I think we can figure out our own future.”

Iraqis are puzzled why the United States, a country that can make bombs so smart they target a particular building from 30,000 miles in the air, can't give Iraqis electricity or create a functioning economy. Some are so puzzled that they have concluded that the United States is purposely trying to destroy every aspect of the economy so that they can come in and rebuild it in their own image. Others attribute the mess to incompetence, arrogance or stupidity.

No matter the reason, in this land of 120-degree weather and no rain, the US is sinking deeper and deeper into a quagmire. The Iraqis are a patient, generous people. For lack of an alternative, most are still willing to give the US more time. But the clock is ticking and patience is wearing thin.

This is in “Reports from Iraq,” o­n the site of the Baghdad-based International Occupation Watch Center, a watchdog coalition of peace and justice groups that focuses o­n Iraq becoming functional — thank goodness attention is being paid. This coalition is part of another coalition, United for Peace and Justice, with more than 600 anti-war member groups.

Media Benjamin is Founding Director of the human rights organization, Global Exchange. She is a leading activist in the peace movement in the United States and helped bring together the groups forming United for Peace and Justice.