How Do You Say Clueless?

Iraq, I told the woman sitting across from me, finally had an open window from which to see the world. She was Brig. Gen. Janis Karpinski, the commander of the Abu Ghraib prison, and she was taking a large group of coalition and U.N. officials along with several journalists to show off the newly refurbished and redecorated facility. "The sparkling cells," she told her audience that day, "are up to the highest international standards." Outside, and under the scorching sun, hundreds of inmates were gathered in an open-air camp. "Looters," she said, when a journalist asked why the inmates were sequestered there and not in the new cells. I wondered if they would furnish the prison with satellite televisions.

Iraqis are shrewd people. Those we dealt with fell into two very different groups: Those who had opposed Saddam and had just returned from exile and those who had remained in Iraq and had learned to survive by simply saying yes to anything the master said or did. As soon as those from the latter group felt a measure of safety, they unloosed an avalanche of criticism on their master. This tactic was so ingrained that they continued to use it in their dealings with us. But some U.S. officials exhibited a naivete or ignorance that was too glaring for the smart Iraqis, and communication suffered. I suspect that it continues to suffer.

One day I was invited to attend a luncheon for some Iraqi intellectuals in the convention center. The group comprised some university professors, writers, artists and clerics. They were recruited to support our efforts to convene the first session of the Governing Council. They spoke of their aspirations for the new Iraq and wondered about the makeup of the council.

"Iraq is a mosaic, very much like America," someone said. "We want to be the 51st state, and you have to help us," another pleaded. But the black-turbaned cleric from Karbala, who sat silent most of the meeting, finally spoke. "Your president had said that you will not be here one day beyond what is needed. We are very grateful to all your sacrifices to liberate us from Saddam's tyranny. You have to know that Iraq is the cradle of civilization and we gave the world a lot more than just oil. If oil is what you want, then take it and leave us to restore the structure of our society and our culture. You must start thinking of when to leave, for I swear by Allah, if you stay one day longer than what your president promised, we will fight you, men, women and children."

Everyone in the room was wordless. Lt. Col. Bill looked at me for help to break the silence.

Twenty-two men and three women formed the newly established Governing Council. They sat around a large oval table covered in green. The way they were seated was telling. The ambitious Shiite politicians Ahmed Chalabi, Ayad Allawi and Ibrahim al-Jafari sat at the head of the table. Rival Kurdish leaders Massoud Barzani and Jalal Talabani sat across from each other. Two men in tribal headgear sat at the far end of the table, while two women sat next to each other. I noticed my niece Akila sitting separately. Neither representatives of Iraq's political elites from the pre-Saddam era nor Iraqi military officers were present. Those who had not been annihilated by Saddam lived to be ignored by the Western powers. British diplomat John Sawers, the U.N. special representative Sergio Vieira de Mello and Bremer wished them success in leading the new Iraq to the shores of democracy and prosperity.

But an undertow was tugging in the other direction.

Much happened in the months that followed. Everyone in the palace worked heroically to bring a measure of stability and structure to the new Iraq. But reconstruction and budget issues took a toll and the problems of elusive electricity and long gasoline lines continued. The number of car bombs and assassinations escalated. Mortar shells started to come nearer and nearer to the Green Zone. We had insurgency in Fallujah. Al-Qaeda, Abu Musab al-Zarqawi and Moqtada al-Sadr and his militia were thorny problems to reckon with and various parties maintained their own militias.

In September 2003, my niece Akila, while on her way to work, was shot in the abdomen by terrorists who attacked her two-car convoy. Bremer recently wrote that he received the news while dining in the United States with his wife and the Bushes. Mrs. Bremer suggested they pray for Akila, and they did. I went to the hospital with the CPA's surgeon general and we moved her to the Green Zone, but she later died of her wounds.

Members of the Governing Council continued to haggle endlessly over every issue. Every word and every sentence in the Transitional Administrative Law were surgically dissected into the late hours of the night. That it eventually passed to serve as the foundation for the country's first democratic constitution was one of Bremer's major achievements. I felt that finally -- despite Col. Bill, the death of Akila, the ruthless terrorists and feckless politicians -- we had done something right.

On June 28, 2004, I was in the studio dubbing a voiceover of the farewell speech delivered by Bremer; he was already on the plane leaving Iraq. A few days later, I too took the road to Baghdad's airport for my return to the United States. But this time, I promised my family and my friends that I would return. Maybe the sequel to that year would end more happily.

Fade to white.

aljabirym@yahoo.com

Muean Aljabiry is an Iraqi-born filmmaker and political consultant.