A Closer Look

February 4, 2008

After two months in the land of “my enemy” I’ve found myself really taking a closer look, and a real liking, to some of the things I see. The more I talk to these people the more I find myself amazed by their views, culture, and their ignorance. Their national and religious pride seems to really balance on a sharp edge. Their adherence to age old customs is equal parts irrational and practical, but all the while remaining oddly admirable. Thousands of years of tradition dictate their day to day living, yet they want so badly to be a part of the 21^st century and the western influence in which they kill each other to stop from spreading here.

Every day I witness something that amazes me. The other day an inmate turned up dead in one of the units. (It turned out to be natural causes.) When we got there at 9am he had already been dead 8 hours or so, yet they were just bringing him out of the tent unit. He wasn’t on a gurney or anything. He was just wrapped in a blanket and laid in the back of the ambulance on the cold metal floor. (I say ambulance with tongue in cheek because it’s really no more than a small van with a makeshift siren on top. In the states it could easily be seen hauling auto parts to a local mechanic, or ice cream through a local neighborhood.) They took him to Medical so a doctor could have a look, (No…, one hadn’t seen him yet…8 hours post mortem), and we followed to see what they had to say. We had to leave after about 15 minutes to attend to something else and when we left the body was still in the back of the van. We came back about an hour later to follow up and pulled in and found the body lying on the ground, out in the open, in the corner of the parking lot, no ambulance, or anyone who seemed to give a shit, in site. They finally came out and took the body inside after we pressed someone to do so. But even then, they just moved the body inside the door and laid it on the floor. Here’s the kicker though…someone actually told me I couldn’t take pictures of the body because it would offend their religion. Dropping the body off on the dirty pavement in the damn parking lot after 8 or 9 hours was perfectly fine, but taking a picture was offensive or disrespectful. As crazy and utterly foreign as that was, I still found the Iraqi ability to function without remorse in a framework that is utterly medieval, quite amazing.

I have learned to speak a few, simple Arabic words and phrases. And I have pretty much got the numbers down to a tee. I have been able to do this by simply making it part of my business to use their language whenever I can, and to make sure any numbers I ask for are given to me in Arabic. I know to put my hand over my heart when giving a heart-felt “hello” or “goodbye”. I know that it’s rude not to sit down when offered a chair. I’ve learned it’s insulting to refuse food or drink when it’s offered. And I know it’s customary to shake hands from the right to the left when addressing a group of men, (Not by order of importance as would be the American way.) When I do these things in front of Iraq’s they seem to become very pleased. They find it very respectful that I take the time to learn their culture. Sometimes they laugh amongst themselves at my pronunciation of a word or phrase, or they smile and beam like a school teacher who’s just helped a student understand Algebra. But my Terp always tells me afterwards that so-and-so was very impressed that I’m trying. I don’t do it for recognition, but the effect it’s having on my ability to do my job is a kind of recognition in itself. But for every man who is impressed there is an equal who hates me simply for being an American, an occupier, or an infidel. I can feel the glares from the men who I believe would just as soon see me dead as look at me. And I’m not just talking about inmates here. In fact, I think I get more looks like that from ICO’s than I do from the inmate population. They will always be respectful if I confront them with a salutation or question, but I have been around people enough to know what resentment and hate feels like when it’s silently directed at me.

And so it’s this contrast that’s got me taking a closer look. The stark differences that their culture mandates will be what ultimately keep’s these people down. I couldn’t have ever imagined a more conflicted nation of people. It’s not two sides butting heads, or this group versus that group that I mean. It’s everyone I’ve met so far and the conflict inside them. How does a man change what he can’t see need’s changing? How can he want what he seems to hate? How does he get help from those he views as helpless? This is where I live now, the land of my enemy. I’m so intrigued, and I want to take a closer look.

-Jim Franks