An Educator Learns the Hard Way

"What I expected was the Mothers March for Peace or the Don't Kill Our Kids movement or somebody to come out and say: 'Stop this. We want democracy,' " he said. But that never occurred. Iraqis held funerals and went on with life. U.S. troops erected even larger concrete blast walls in front of the gate.

When he asked Iraqis working for the CPA why there was not more outrage, he sensed apprehension. Everyone he talked to was too scared to condemn the insurgents in public.

"I saw people still afraid," he said. "I saw how easy it was to speak against the Americans and how dangerous it was to speak for democracy and liberty."

The aftermath of the bombing led Agresto to rethink some of his most fundamental assumptions about the American effort to transform Iraq. Suddenly, a goal that had appeared attainable seemed so far from reach. Perhaps, he concluded, U.S. planners should have settled for something less than full democracy.

He reasoned that the occupation's chief goal should have been to restore security, and only later to begin other work in earnest.

"We're trying to establish a democratic government without a democratic people," he said. "I don't know how possible that is."

Agresto's views are a break from those of his allies in the Bush administration, including Deputy Defense Secretary Paul D. Wolfowitz and national security adviser Condoleezza Rice, who argue that Iraqis are ready for democracy.

"We should have been less ambitious," Agresto said. "Our goal should have been to build a free, safe and a prosperous Iraq -- with the emphasis on safe. Democratic institutions could be developed over time. Instead, we keep talking about democratic elections. If you asked an ordinary Iraqi what they want, the first thing they would say wouldn't be democracy or elections, it would be safety. They want to be able to walk outside their homes at night."

Academic Freedom

As his white Toyota Land Cruiser pulled out of the Green Zone one day earlier this month and entered what CPA staffers call the Red Zone, Agresto took a deep breath. He was in the middle of Baghdad's hurly-burly morning rush-hour traffic. And he was exposed.

Instead of traveling in an earth-tone GMC Suburban with armed guards as many of his colleagues do, Agresto had chosen a lower profile. His Land Cruiser had blue Ministry of Higher Education license plates. He was not wearing a flak jacket or helmet. He hoped his Mediterranean complexion would allow him to pass for a fair-skinned northern Iraqi.

As his vehicle crossed the Tigris River and sped through central Baghdad, he betrayed a pang of nervousness. "There's no safe way to travel here," he said, looking out the window.

Even higher education in Iraq has been dangerous business. A soldier guarding Agresto's predecessor, Andrew Erdmann, was shot dead at Baghdad University last summer. Agresto's translator received repeated death threats over the telephone for collaborating with Americans. An Italian in his office who had volunteered to teach at the informatics college was accosted in May by students who pounded on his car and shouted, "American! American!"

After a 15-minute drive, Agresto pulled up at the ministry's temporary offices at the National Informatics Commission. The ministry's headquarters -- an imposing, 12-story building in central Baghdad -- was gutted by looters and has not been rebuilt.

After a round of hugs with ministry officials, Agresto settled into the first meeting between the newly appointed minister of higher education and university presidents. In the past, such gatherings involved the minister lecturing to the presidents. But the new minister, Tahir Bakaa, the former president of Mustansiriya University, announced new procedures.