Life in a time of suspicion
Who can you trust? What do you do when the two people you trust most tell you not to trust anyone?
I was given the first of two frank warnings just after I had walked into my office this morning after a few weeks out of Baghdad.
I dumped my flak jacket by the door, and exchanged three kisses on the cheeks with an old friend I call brother. We had sweet coffee. He smoked, and as he twisted out a third cigarette he told me, "only dumb people trust these days."
An hour later, a young Iraqi who has risked his life to keep me safe several times told me, "Trust no one."
They are perhaps the two people I trust with my life in this land of opportunism, and perhaps still opportunity. But both told me not to. So should I trust what they say? And then do what?
It reminded me of a joke by comedian and master of irony Stephen Wright. He said he'd named his dog "Stay" just so he could torment it by saying, "Come here, Stay," "Come here, Stay."
I felt just as paralyzed, wanting to go forward, but always pulling myself back out of caution in this city that does not forgive mistakes.
How can I work in a country without trust?
How can people live in a country without trust?
I suspect the answer is they live and work in fear.
Here’s a rundown of family stories I heard from Iraqi friends I spoke with today. (I hear these kinds of stories all the time.)
Photographic execution
The tragedy of a young Sunni man from a middle class family.
His uncle and cousin were gunned down in an electronics store in an upscale Baghdad neighborhood last month.
According to survivors, two cars filled with gunmen stopped in front of the store. The militants herded the employees and customers into a back room and lined them against a wall. The gunmen took photographs of each person, snapping pictures as they went down the line. Then, they opened fire, killing eight men and five women.
The militants took more pictures, this time of the dead bodies; the ‘before and after photos’ were presumably to be used as proof for their bosses that they had completed the job.
The survivors of the attack, who hid in another room, are now trying to leave Iraq.
They also say there had been two checkpoints (one Iraqi army, the other Iraqi police) posted near the store for weeks before the attack, but that when the gunmen arrived both checkpoints had mysteriously disappeared.
Door-to-Door Body Deliveries
The tragedy of a young Shiite man from a poor Baghdad neighborhood.
His brother went missing two months ago. His family presumed he was kidnapped, but have yet to hear from him or any kidnappers. Last week, police arrived at his house with a body in the back of a pick-up truck. It turned out not to be the man’s bother, and the police left.
I was left with the bizarre image of police driving around Baghdad (it was 92 degrees here today) with a body in the back of an open truck, looking for someone to claim it. I did not know the police here offered home delivery service. It made me think of bodies as just another commodity like groceries or lumber.
I told the story to one of my friends who had warned me not to trust anyone. He said, "Everything is expensive now. Tomatoes, fuel, everything is expensive. The only thing that is cheap is human life."
So what do you do when the people you trust most tell you to not to trust anyone?
I don't know, but I think the warnings today from my Iraqi friends were an invitation or sorts... an invitation to live like they do.
Fog of War: The truth goes MIA
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