[Baghdad Journal] Day Eight (March 21)

[Wade Hudson]

Day Eight (March 21)

by Wade Hudson

Late morning, four of us go visit the Peace Camp at the hospital and water
treatment complex. We learn that seven people spent last night in two tents
and one building. Those seven people were Cliff, Shane, Martin, Betty, Eun,
Peggy, and Charlie. The Iraq Peace Team banner and several large photos of
Iraqis are strung on a rope between the two tents.

Earlier in the day, the campers met with staff at the pediatrics hospital.
The staff told them that the hospital was mostly empty because families
were afraid concerning the glass windows, not because the staff had
discharged the patients. They will treat any children that are brought in
at any time, including children injured during the war.

The campers report that lots of neighbors visited them yesterday. Moreover,
they now have official permission to move about the complex. These
developments please them immensely, for their hope from the beginning was
to deepen ties with folks in the neighborhood.

They plan to take three walks a day to various locations in the area, at
10:30 AM, 1:30 PM and 4:30 PM. IPT members are welcome to join them on
their walks. Also, IPT people can call them on the phone at the water
treatment plant, which will help reduce what otherwise could be
substantial isolation from the rest of IPT.

They ask me to relay to the others that a good time for the press to visit
is 12 Noon. As we are about to leave, an Iraq Daily news crew -- including
a reporter, a photographer, and a military escort -- come to do a story.
Following the interviews, the crew said that they would inquire and assist
concerning getting permission to treat injured civilians and to document
war crimes by talking with victims and family members at hospitals. The
crew indicated that they knew that we aren’t Human Shields.

After lunch, I spend an hour at the Internet Center and then run into Jo, a
human rights law student who wants to work with our Monitoring Team. We
connect with Zehira, go over our forms and procedures, and agree that Jo
will proceed with trying to get an Arabic translation of our basic
questionnaire.

Following an early dinner, I take a two-hour nap. I want to get as much
sleep as I can when I can, in case the bombing resumes tonight. Sure enough
shortly after 8:00 PM, the explosions begin and continue off and on rather
frequently for two hours or so. Tonight is much more intense than last
night. On occasion, I hear what sounds like jets flying over head, though
for all I know they could be missiles. Over the course of these two hours,
in addition to the audio, we feel the physical effects of maybe forty or
fifty powerful explosions that either rock the building or send blasts of
air through the building. It’s similar to being in one major San Francisco
earthquake after another, except that we know that for many people
elsewhere in Baghdad, it is worse than that. We keep all our doors open to
minimize the percussive effects of the explosions. From the fourth floor,
we can see three fires burning in a row across the Tigris River, each
maybe a few hundred yards one from the other.

After the bombing subsides, Robert and I explore a bit. We notice that
several tiles have fallen off one wall next to the elevator, go downstairs,
walk out front, and look around. One of the hotel staff joins me and
angrily comments, “Why is the United States doing this?” I can only
respond, “I don’t know,” which is the truth. There are many factors
involved, all of which have been extensively discussed. But I don’t know
what the decisive factor was in the mind of George Bush. His religiosity.
His delusions of grandeur. His desire to get re-elected. His desire to get
Republicans elected. Old-fashioned imperialism. Who knows how to rate
these and other factors? I certainly cannot read Bush’s mind. I don’t even
know if he can.

I ask the hotel staff on duty if I can take their photograph and they
respond quickly, with enthusiasm. After I take the photograph, most of them
thank me profusely, repeatedly. I then engage in conversation with the
director of a Turkish film crew who is sitting in the lobby and then
around 10 PM, I touch base by walkie-talkie with Doug at the El Fanar. For
some reason, the Aldar does not join in. Doug says that one window in
front of the El Fanar has been blown out, but spirits are strong.

I go to bed around 10:30 pm and sleep well, except for when I’m awakened by
phone calls from media looking for interviews. Robert continues to get many
calls from Montreal, and I get calls from Vienna, the NBC affiliate in San
Jose, Ontario, Toronto, and the San Jose Mercury News. One of the
journalists offers to call Steven Shults, my contact person, and another
offers to call my sister, Mary Hudson, to tell them that I’m ok. The
reporter from the Mercury News tells me that a good number of their readers
have been in touch with them inquiring about my safety, which I find
comforting. Fortunately, following each call, I’m able to go back to sleep
rather quickly, partly because I closed the door to my bedroom when Robert
was on the phone. I sleep until 9:30 AM or so, and feel rested, as if I got
my eight hours, even with all the interruptions.