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BAGHDAD KAFKA

October 06, 2006 10:06 PM

An Iraqi friend was “taken in for questioning” earlier this week, by armed men who claimed to be from the government.  They came to his house in the early evening – they would only take him for an hour or two, they told his wife.  But he did not come home that night, nor did he call her on the telephone.

It was an anguishing piece of news, which became increasingly ominous when all the official security forces -- police, defense ministry, etc -– denied any knowledge of the man’s whereabouts or of an arrest warrant for him.  It was as if he had fallen into a black hole.

There is something Kafkaesque about Baghdad these days, where innocent people can –- and do -– disappear without any trace or explanation into the dark sectarian underworld which is beyond the reach of law, or reason.  This is a world of blindfolds in car trunks, windowless basements and mock trials by extremists who are deaf to the pleas of the accused.  There is ghastly torture in this world -- eyes are gouged out, acid is used, power drills.  The dumping grounds for the bodies are now well known around the city.

It feels as if Baghdad is collectively losing its reason, dissolving into a gothic nightmare of violence and retribution that is tearing society apart.  There are an estimated 23 different death squads now operating in the city, their calculus of terror operating outside of any political constraints.  Their aim is simply to spread fear -– and they are succeeding.  Nobody knows whom to trust, nothing is what it seems.  Men in police uniforms manning checkpoints may turn out to be members of a death squad.  Many Baghdad residents go out of their way to avoid checkpoints, or simply don’t drive outside their own neighborhood any more.  A man standing on the street corner smoking a cigarette may be a lookout for a militia, picking out potential target cars and calling ahead to inform armed comrades.  One man I know says he is always looking in the mirror when he drives to work in case he is being followed.  “If I feel an eye on me,” he says, he drives several times around a roundabout to check for a tail.  If he still feels nervous, he drives through side streets until he is sure he is not being followed.

At the end of the week my friend was released and returned to his family.  There was much relief.  But it is still not clear who took him, or why he was released, and that only further contributes to the overall atmosphere of fear and uncertainty.  Baghdad is a sorry place as it slides inexorably towards the inner circles of madness.  The residents don’t even know who to shout at –- or if anyone is listening at all.

October 6, 2006 | Permalink | User Comments (0)

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