 |
 |
| ||||
|
|
Kidnapping in Iraq By Janine di Giovanni (The Times of London) The news that Iraqi insurgents have begun kidnapping civilians has nudged the images of Falluja off the television screen. Instead, we get images of terrified civilians, blindfolded and guarded by men with Kalashnikovs. It is estimated that between 10-30 foreigners are currently being held in captivity in Iraq. The fear of kidnapping has the reconstruction projects – largely staffed by foreigners – grinding to a halt. Ports are full of goods that can not be delivered. No one but a fool would run the risk of driving trucks down roads that may lead to potential kidnappers. Last week, Japanese and British civilians were taken hostage, this week Chinese, American and Iraqi-born drivers working for the American-led coalition. We are holding our breaths waiting for the next wave. In Beirut in the 1980s, it was journalists. In El Salvador, it was nuns. In the Phillipines, the Abu Sayeff snatched snorklers and sun bathers. In war, no one is exempt, even Gary Teeley, a 37-year old Brit who had the seemingly harmless job of working as a laundry firm consultant. Kidnapping touches a primal fear in all of us – no one wants to be chained to a radiator for months, or years – but it is an effective method of warfare for desperate guerrillas. For one thing, it gets the point across. In Chechnya, where kidnapping is part of the every day culture, the threat of hostage taking is so severe, that aid workers and journalists have ceased working there. In Grozny, I remember kidnapping was almost a sick joke. One night, myself and a German photographer were forced to sit listening to a war lord – who was paid to protect us – gloat to a comrade over how valuable we were as a package. But it is one thing to kidnap a soldier or even a journalist, another to snatch an unarmed civilian – and a laundry specialist at that. But unfortunately for Teeley, many of the hundreds of foreign workers attached to large companies such as Halliburton, Parsons or the British engineering firm Amec, are seen as right arms of the occupying forces. Often times this is unfair. While some contractors do work directly with the coalition soldiers – such as firms that supply logistics or supplies to bases – others are there merely to provide renovations skills and to attempt to get the country up and running, such as employees of foreign banks or telecommunication specialists. These days, however, anyone seen as working for a new Iraq is as much an enemy as George W. Bush. Teeley's capture, however, makes one wonder what drives a worker to go to a place like Iraq. It's one thing for a reporter, an aid worker or a soldier, or even a demented mercenary, to go. But it is bizarre how often I have seen civilians in unlikely and gruesome places carrying out mundane and every day tasks. There is no doubt that war attracts odd characters. In Iraq, there are plenty of private security firms staffed with former Green Berets or Navy Seals wielding MP-5 submachine guns who are now being paid a fortune to protect workers from Dick Cheney's oil services firm, Halliburton. But not all contractors have such glitzy jobs. Some are there to do such un-glamorous roles such as renovating public buildings, overseeing sewage facilities, or – like Teeley – set up laundry facilities. Most often, they are drawn to countries that have been gutted by war – such as Bosnia, Kosovo, Afghanistan or Iraq – and are in need of a new infrastructure. They are motivated perhaps by a larger salary, perhaps by a sense of adventure, perhaps by the challenge of restoring an economy. I remember sitting on a plane next to an American Midwesterner newly arrived in post-war and bleak Kosovo, who kept marvelling at how wonderful the food was. It was the first time he had worked outside the US. Because they are often apolitical, these workers feel immune from the danger. They forget the anger and resentment of the local population and the fact that not only are they being linked with the unwanted occupying force, but they are seen as profiting from a destroyed country. After the American civil war, when the Southern states lay burnt and devastated, an army of gentlemen known as carpetbaggers and scallywags arrived. They were sometimes driven out of town at gunpoint. While be unfair to put Gary Teeley or the other civilians working in Iraq into that category, they must also put themselves into the shoes of the ordinary Iraqi. For many – psychologically damaged after a year in which life has gone from bad to worse – any foreigner coming to profit from their country is a potential enemy. In the days before the war began, when Saddam ruled but there was not mayhem on the streets, many of my Iraqi friends predicted that foreigners would arrive and carve up their country for profit. And watching Iraq being sliced like a pie in the heady days after the fall, when companies like Halliburton and Parsons, she appeared, sadly, to be right. Iraqis also have the hangover xenophobia left over from the paranoid Saddam days. A businessman might be travelling in Central Iraq to advise on a water treatment facility. But to an Iraqi insurgent, he is a powerful symbol: of an unwanted occupation which reminds them too sharply of all of the occupations they have endured throughout history. Perhaps the only good news is that the comparisons between Vietnam and Iraq – President Bush's Achilles heel – might come to a sharp halt. No one got kidnapped in Vietnam unless they got shot down on bombing raids over Hanoi. But the bad news is that, sooner or later, everyone is going to start drawing even more unpleasant comparisons – like Lebanon. And as bad as Iraq is getting, no one wants it to get to the dark days of Beirut. Janine di Giovanni's last book, "Madness Visible: A Memoir of War" was published this year by Bloomsbury. |
|
|
||