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--- Begin Message ----Caveat Lector- Even as we shop for canned food and painkillers, it is difficult to grasp the reality of what is coming =========================By Robert Fisk in Baghdad The Independent, London 20 March 2003 In Yasser Arafat Street, at the Sana Nimr al-Ibrahim pharmacy, Riad offered to give me two rolls of bandages free. I told him I'd better pay, since I thought the RAF was going to bomb him in a few hours time. "I think they are,'' he said. Then he shot me the kind of grin I didn't deserve. As a Brit, buying emergency rations in the shops of Baghdad yesterday evening was an instructive experience. Riad's pharmacy was crowded, his customers buying up not just bandages but splints, painkillers, tweezers, cotton wool, disinfectant and rubbing alcohol. It had been the same on Tuesday night, from 5pm right up to 10pm. Yet in all Yasser Arafat Street, there wasn't a curse or a bad word for a Brit. I was told always that I was "welcome in Iraq''--the few journalists here must fervently hope this remains the case when the blitz begins --and that it was pleasant to see a sahafa, a journalist, taking the same risks as the people in the street. This was not, of course, the moment to remind them that I had a flak jacket when they did not, that I had a gas mask, which they have not, that I even have a helmet that would fit any of their heads but is likely to be only on mine. At the Alastrabak grocery store, I bought 25 loo rolls, a mountain of biscuits and a stack of red and green candles. Abbas, the proprietor, told me I was his 200th customer of the evening. Usually, fewer than 100 visit his shop in an entire day. At the Tabarak store--in English, the "God Bless You" store--I put 24 bags of crisps, boxes of long-life cheese and 30 cans of the most tasteless soft drink in the whole world on the counter. After a siege or two-- the 1982 Israeli siege of Beirut was my first--you develop an uncanny knack of knowing what to hunt for. I bought two electrical adaptors from Sami's little store for my computer leads, though they won't be any use if the Americans bomb the Iraqi power grid. Meat and vegetables of any kind are a waste of money, unless the meat is canned. And that's what Baghdad residents were buying yesterday. Dr Mohammed of the Karameh Hospital was buying razor blades, so he could shave in cold water--if there is electricity to drive the pumps. The most popular food at one store was tamaniya, an Iraqi sweet made out of date palms, so long-lasting that it's reputed to be edible for a decade and so sticky that it can wrench out the weakest molars. Tamaniya doesn't go off in the heat. Most of the shops in Yasser Arafat Street have already been shuttered by their owners for fear of thieves and the pavements were scattered last night with a gloomy mixture of last-minute shoppers and soldiers. A uniformed and bearded member of the Republican Guard crossed the road with his arm round his small son on a last visit home before the war. Yet even last night, it was still difficult to grasp the reality of what was in store for us. Two old Soviet-made anti-aircraft guns sat on top of the ornamental gates of a palace, brilliantly illuminated by the floodlights below. There were piles of sandbags at street corners, the soldiers behind them chatting to shoppers. Is this what constant war does to people? Does it turn them into men and women who know they will survive for the simple reason that they survived last time? At Baalbek Nuts I bought pistachios from the Lebanese owners, who answered my request for their thoughts on the war with the typically Lebanese response of "no problem". It's a lie, as we all knew. After all, Dr Mohammed invited me to his hospital because we both assumed there would be civilian casualties. On Iraqi television, they were replaying this morning's theatre at the National Assembly, where parliament members dutifully chanted their undying loyalty to Saddam and routinely offered their blood and souls to the same gentleman. The Iraqi Minister of Information had told foreign journalists earlier that this war would be "no picnic'' and added that the Americans and British would be killed. Which may be true, although the Iraqis, it has to be said, were more interested last night to know how many of them would be killed by the Americans and the British. ======== Follows is Cathy Breens report from Baghdad. Baghdad March 20, 2003 Dear Friends, You will excuse me if this is somewhat disjointed. Bombing began at 5:35am this morning and I will attempt to tell you something of this. We don't know for how long the Internet center will be open and the servers up and running. So I will be thinking and typing rapidly. We feel most fortunate that the center is even open as the streets are almost deserted, and stores closed. Everyone is waiting for the next wave of assault. We had heard that the bombing would probably begin after 4:00am. I had had a call at 2:00am from Newsweek, and Kathy Kelly was also awake and on the phone. Being up already, we began to knock on doors to wake folks up. "Where might the safest place be in the hotel" we asked each other. And what items other than the crash kit should we take? These were not new questions, but somehow it was different now that the hour had arrived. Those of us on the peace team are new to this. It was and is a grace to be together. I can't imagine going through this alone. And I can't imagine a finer group of people to be with. We are a mix of Iraqi and internationals in the hotel. Some of the staff have brought their families here, so we have children around us as well. And then it began. The thunder of bombs and the tremors to the building we were in. It was very strange. Some of us were gathered in a little tea section of the downstairs lobby which is about 15 yards away from the glass-front of the building. Cynthia handed me a bag of earplugs which I began to hand out to everyone downstairs. Children and adults alike took them and thanked me gratefully. Some of us went back and forth to the shelter in the basement, others of us lingered downstairs or even stepped outside now and then as the sun was coming up. As a couple of us stood outside for a moment wondering when the next onslaught would begin, the call to prayer sounded outside. One Muslim woman began to weep quietly and another get up to comfort her. An elderly man bent with age walked back and forth with a cane. This CANNOT really be happening I thought. It cannot be MY COUNTRY that is doing this. Dear God in heaven have mercy on us. My prayers joined with the call to prayer that was being sung even as the bombs fell. The bombing went on sporadically in bursts about every 15 minutes and then stopped after a couple of hours. We heard later that a military installation had been hit, a special target attack, and that this was a last minute change of strategy. Now we can expect, beginning tonight, the "Shock and Awe" tactic that will be massive and non-stop. All the more reason I am so grateful to have this unexpected window of opportunity to write you. Or to get out to visit the hospital this afternoon. Bettejo and I took advantage of our friend, Waleed, the University student and taxi driver who came by the hotel later in the morning. He was able to take us to the Children's hospital and then on to the nearby water treatment plant where some of our folks have set up two tents. One is a 4-person one for women and another 6-8 person tent for men. This is close to the same hospital, only 5 minutes or so by foot, and the idea is that some of the IPTers will be able to actually stay there and walk over to the hospital. As we walked into the hospital the image that met us was rows of empty hospital beds made up with white sheets and ready to receive the soon-to-come "war casualties." On the Pediatric Cancer unit there not a single bed occupied. It was quiet and lifeless. Beds that should have been filled with children needing chemothereapy were emptly. This is because all of the mothers, except for Adra and her 5 year old son Atarid, had taken their children home yesterday. They were afraid they wouldn't be able to get to their other children due to the impending bombings. Atarid had been transfered to the neonatal unit. Adra who has a 4 year old and 1 1/2 boy at home could not bring herself to take Atarid out of the hospital. "He will die if he doesn't get the medicines" she told us. And how long will the treatment take that he needs? I asked her. "Until he dies," she told us. Mothers in the states can understand what mothers suffer the world over, we said. She agreed to have us take her picture with Adra. And I will include it with this letter. Facinated by the camera which played back the photos, Adra became animated and distracted, and for the first time he was a captivated audience taking pictures himself of ourselves and his mother! I must go, my time is up. I know you are all praying for us. cathy I sent you a picture yesterday of Kariima and myself and one of the Kariima's twin daughters, Duah and Hebe. Aren't they beautiful. Today I send you one of Adra and Atarid and one of the empty hospital beds awaiting the wounded. May these photos bring these realities close to those you know forwarded by Jack Radey __________________________________________________________________ Try AOL and get 1045 hours FREE for 45 days! http://free.aol.com/tryaolfree/index.adp?375380 Get AOL Instant Messenger 5.1 for FREE! Download Now! http://aim.aol.com/aimnew/Aim/register.adp?promos=380455 portside (the left side in nautical parlance) is a news, discussion and debate service of the Committees of Correspondence for Democracy and Socialism. It aims to provide varied material of interest to people on the left. Post : mail to '[EMAIL PROTECTED]' Subscribe : mail to '[EMAIL PROTECTED]' Unsubscribe : mail to '[EMAIL PROTECTED]' List owner : [EMAIL PROTECTED] Web address : <http://www.yahoogroups.com/group/portside> Digest mode : visit Web site Your use of Yahoo! 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