Truth and Lies in Iraqi Kurdistan
by
Borzou Daragahi
in
Iraqi Kurdistan
Dissident Voice
March 15, 2003
My favorite
part of all of Iraqi Kurdistan is the Halabja valley, a lush, lively patchwork
of farmlands, streams and villages at the foot of the massive Zagros Mountains.
It’s a place of so much beauty and so much misery, where the sounds of roosters
crowing compete with bursts of gunfire and mortar rounds, where funeral
processions are all too common and the ruins of past wars scar the landscape.
It was here that Iranian and
Iraqi forces fought some of their fiercest battles during the bloody 1980s war
that left an estimated one million dead on both sides. It was here that Saddam
Hussein sprayed chemical weapons on his own citizens, not just on Halabja but
numerous other locales, the bombed out shells of which I’ve seen with my own
eyes. It was on the muddy roads here in 1991 that Kurdish refugees stumbled and
coughed and died as they fled Saddam’s wrath.
And it was here that I got
my first taste of war reporting last December, coming upon the scene of an
ongoing battle between government forces and Islamist radicals. It’s been by
covering this ongoing dirty war – replete with bombings, massacres and shootouts
- that I realized that I could be a war reporter, and began sketching out plans
to cover the coming United States war to crush Saddam’s government.
I’ve come to the Halabja
valley well over a dozen times. Each time I’ve managed to learn something new
and profound.
The villagers are
quintessential little people, literal peasants constantly caught in the
crossfire of crises not of their making and beyond their control. Soldiers on
all sides speak of revenge and loyalty. Guns and troops pour in and out of the
valley daily, competing with ancient tractors and exhaust-spewing hand-me-down
buses from Eastern Europe for space on the narrow roads.
Last December I visited the
village of Khailyhameh right after it was freed from the control of Islamic
radicals. I had always thought that being in the middle of such a war would
harden people to violence. But I remember vividly the look of terror that came
upon on the face of a shivering old man I was interviewing every time the sound
of mortar fire erupted in the valley. Meanwhile, my photographer and I were
sipping Iranian-made colas. “Ha,” I remember thinking to myself. “War doesn’t
make you more tough. It makes you more fragile.”
I have spoken to government
officials and soldiers about the war between the militia of the ruling
Patriotic Union of Kurdistan and Ansar al Islam. They go on and on about how
rotten Ansar is and how it’s linked to al Qaida and Saddam and the goddamn
devil himself. But the Patriotic Union invited the predecessor of Ansar to hole
up in the mountains here in the first place! They wanted to spite their then
blood-rivals, the Kurdistan Democratic Party, who had just kicked the Islamists
out of their territory.
Their strategy sure
backfired, and now the government here touts its secularism and opposition to
Islamic fundamentalism. It made me realize that even at the level of crackpot
warlords, just how opportunistic and slippery politicians are.
I have even spoken to Ansar
radicals, the heavily bearded Islamic fundamentalist warriors who may or may
not be harboring al Qaida terrorists. They once let us enter one of the
villages they control right after that speech Colin Powell gave to the United
Nations Security Council in which he showed a satellite picture of a poison
factory.
After a long morning of
negotiations and lunch at a neighboring Islamic group’s hangout, they allowed
me and a bunch of other journalists past their checkpoints and into their
territory. They said they wanted to show the international media that there was
no poison plant in the place identified in the picture.
On the way there, we drove
past ruins of villages destroyed in the region’s multiple wars. Saddam sprayed
chemical weapons in the area controlled by Ansar, as well, but it didn’t get
much ink. On this day there were more graveyards than people along the mountain
road leading up and up and up toward Ansar’s mountain stronghold. It’s a shame,
for the area is striking in its beauty, with waterfalls and grassy sky-high
valleys. Before the Iran-Iraq war, it was a major tourist destination.
When we finally reached the
satellite photo, the Ansar folks let us roam around and look for chemical
weapons. The place was a horrifying dump. The residents were dirt poor. The
Ansar soldiers looked mean and dirty and somewhat confused. There were too many
journalists, and they began prancing around, opening doors and drawers and
taking too many pictures and film. It was a circus. It was surreal.
But then things got really
weird. The Ansar folks showed us the real purpose behind the compound that
Powell had labeled a poison factory: it was a video production studio! These
guys, back-to-the-land freaks who were planning out their Islamic revolution
way high in the mountains without electricity or running water or telephones,
had set up a film production studio to make propaganda movies. They sat us
around in their little studio and began to hold an impromptu press conference
that they videotaped. Apparently, they dream of starting their own television
station.
I remember thinking that the
only poison coming out of this compound was of the variety that also comes from
Hollywood.
Ansar are Islamic radicals.
Violent, crazy guys who shoot children and send hapless teenagers on suicide
bombings. But I don’t think they’re controlled by al Qaida. I get the sense
that maybe they just got tired of being the kind of people who fervently
believe, who just sit around dream up crazy ideas they never follow through on.
So they abandoned their old lives and became warriors.
A lot of government
officials later told me and the journalists who went to visit Ansar that we
were crazy, that we’d taken a huge risk heading up there. But though I was
nervous the whole time, I was among the journalists who had pushed for
permission to enter Ansar territory. I knew it was risky, but I thought it was
worth the risk. I had a vision of catching the greatest super-power on earth
making a huge mistake.
It was a similar impulse
about 18 months ago that led me to abandon my comfortable life and high-paying
job in New York and come to the Middle East with $5,000 in my underwear and the
hope of pursuing my dream to become a foreign correspondent. It’s been a
similar impulse that’s compelled me to research routes between the
Kurdish-controlled village of Chamchamal on the Iraqi-Kurdish front and the
Baghdad-controlled city of Kirkuk, where Arabs, the different Kurdish groups,
the Turks and the Americans might converge in a battle for one of the most
oil-rich spots on earth.
I know it’s crazy, but I
have a vision. And I’ve become the kind of person who tries to do the crazy
things he dreams about.
Borzou Daragahi is a freelance journalist currently
operating in Iraqi Kurdistan. He has written for U.S. News & World Report,
MSNBC.com, South China Morning Post, and the Christian Science Monitor, among
many others, and his radio reports have appeared on NPR. His writing and photos
can be viewed at his web site: www.borzou.com.