Franti, Raising The Alarm

As a musician, writer and now documentary filmmaker, Michael Franti is a triple threat.

"When I came back, I thought I would write a whole bunch of songs that would, perhaps, point a finger at the president," Franti explains, "but something happened to me while I was over there. I saw that when we spent all our efforts trying to prove that we're right and convince another person that our side is the right side, and they're trying to do the same thing, we never reach the middle ground that leads to a lasting peace. That's been the biggest lesson for me, coming back to America and trying to communicate what I had seen to other people.

"I don't believe anymore in the politics of trying to convince somebody that my way is the right way. I believe in the politics that considers the other side, that listens to the other side. It's the key to what's happening in the Middle East, to the environment, to all of it."

Franti's journey began in May 2004, when he arrived at the Baghdad airport via Jordan, learning quickly how dangerous things were when the pilot of his small passenger plane explained that its spiraling descent at a 45-degree angle was necessary to reduce the chances of being hit by surface-to-air missiles or small-arms fire.

According to Franti: "As soon as you get on the ground, you look around the airport and see the holes in the field where missiles and rocket-propelled grenades have landed. The road leaving the airport and into the city used to be lined by palm trees, and every one of those trees has been chopped down to matchsticks. And you see where cars have gone off the road and blown up and are still sitting there. It's a really vivid thing."

How vivid?

"As we were leaving the airport, there were two cars that had just been blown up and were on fire, with bodies still in them, and soldiers all around pointing their weapons in ready position," he says. "We lifted our cameras to film it, and our driver slammed them down and said, 'You can't ever film anything around U.S. military operations, or they'll open fire on our vehicle.' That was an awakening."

Iraqi officials asked Franti the purpose of his visit and classified him as a tourist when he said, "To play guitar in the streets." So, was he there as a tourist or as a reporter?

"I felt maybe something in between," Franti says, "but mainly I felt like a troubadour, somebody who was just traveling and bringing music to people and then having conversations."

The towering Franti -- he's 6 feet 6 inches tall -- spent his time busking the streets of Baghdad and chatting with locals, learning how they made it through their daily lives under extraordinarily tough circumstances.

"When I was playing music on the street, people would come up and I would say, 'Tell me about your life here.' At first people were a little bit hesitant. But when they'd hear the music, they'd start to open up, and they would invite me to their homes, invite me into their cafes or whatever, and then they would really open up. And you'd see this passion: 'This is the moment we've been waiting for to tell our stories to the world.' It was through the power of music that would really open people's hearts up."

Even a simple vamp consisting of a single word, "habibi," an Arabic term of endearment along the lines of "my beloved friend": When Franti sang it, little kids and wary adults alike would dance and sing along to its momentary relief, he says.

"That's what I found as I was going around, that the people who were hit the hardest were the people who were most responsive to music. You could feel the pressure drop."