A Hundred and One Days: A Baghdad Journal Read Online Free PDF
Author: Åsne Seierstad
committee, and then on to New York.
So far 400 sites have been inspected with no proof found that the regime in Baghdad has produced weapons in contravention of UN resolutions. The inspections continued yesterday with more than 10 sites inspected.
The Iraqis might have agreed to cooperate but the country’s newspapers are taking a much tougher line. Iraqi citizens must not get the impression that Saddam Hussein has given in to western demands. Al Thawra ‘The Revolution’ , the Baath party’s mouthpiece controlled by Saddam Hussein, accused the weapons inspectors of spying. - The inspections are a direct interference in our internal affairs, the newspaper reported on Monday. - They go in to the homes of normal citizens, to their bedrooms and bathrooms. They do not respect Muslims, or our day of rest, and insist on inspecting even on Fridays and holidays, said the editorial. - Initially we thought the inspectors were neutral, now we know they are American spies. This has nothing to do with the search for weapons of mass destruction. Anyhow, we have neither chemical, biological nor nuclear weapons, so they are looking in vain, it concluded.
The demonstration is tapering off. Satem Jassim wobbles the last few yards on sky-high heels and in tight jeans. The host of one of Iraq’s most popular TV music programmes is heavily made up and her long blonde hair is bleached.
- The most important thing at the moment is to stand behind our leader. We must inspire people. In my programme we play lots of songs that support Saddam Hussein.
- Have you got a favourite song?
- Yes, all of them.
- What about songs dealing with life, love?
- The songs about Saddam are nicer. Nicer and more important, Satem assures me. She says that everyone who works at the TV station is marching in the demonstration.
- What would have happened if someone refused?
- Nothing, this is a free country.
After a few hours the spectacle is over. The clenched fists relax, shoulders sag, placards are collected. Othello and Desdemona disappear into the crowd, their paces heavy and stooping. The curtain has come down.
In the hotel reception Abdullah nods politely and receives a cheerful greeting in return. I whistle at the canaries, describe a large circle around Mino and step into the rickety lift up to 707. I sink into the grey and white speckled lump which passes as an easy chair. My first article is in the can and it said something, in spite of, or because, no one said anything. Said arrives with loo paper and a clean towel. I thank him and tip him. After just a little while there is another knock on the door.
There stands Said with a TV. He places it proudly on the table in the corner and shows me how to turn it on. There are five channels. Channel one shows Saddam talking, channel two the day’s demonstration, channel three music, channel four snow and channel five sport.
Said explains the different channels and presses all the buttons so I see all the channels several times. He turns the TV on and off, on and off, to make sure I know how it works. In spite of not understanding Said’s Arabic, I get it. The bit about the buttons.
I decide on a different strategy. In place of my usual little tip I give him a huge sum intended to last for some time, so that I won’t have to open the door continually. Said kisses the money and leaps for joy.
The TV is on channel one. Saddam Hussein sits at the head of a long table, puffing on a cigar. Around him are men in uniform, probably the Defence Minister and various generals. I recognise the man on his right, his son Qusay, head of the armed forces.
The president talks, uninterruptedly. Some of what he says we hear, but the better part is transmitted without sound, accompanied by seductive violin music. Now and again he waves his cigar in the air in time with the music, now and again out of time. Suddenly the sound is reconnected, but
So far 400 sites have been inspected with no proof found that the regime in Baghdad has produced weapons in contravention of UN resolutions. The inspections continued yesterday with more than 10 sites inspected.
The Iraqis might have agreed to cooperate but the country’s newspapers are taking a much tougher line. Iraqi citizens must not get the impression that Saddam Hussein has given in to western demands. Al Thawra ‘The Revolution’ , the Baath party’s mouthpiece controlled by Saddam Hussein, accused the weapons inspectors of spying. - The inspections are a direct interference in our internal affairs, the newspaper reported on Monday. - They go in to the homes of normal citizens, to their bedrooms and bathrooms. They do not respect Muslims, or our day of rest, and insist on inspecting even on Fridays and holidays, said the editorial. - Initially we thought the inspectors were neutral, now we know they are American spies. This has nothing to do with the search for weapons of mass destruction. Anyhow, we have neither chemical, biological nor nuclear weapons, so they are looking in vain, it concluded.
The demonstration is tapering off. Satem Jassim wobbles the last few yards on sky-high heels and in tight jeans. The host of one of Iraq’s most popular TV music programmes is heavily made up and her long blonde hair is bleached.
- The most important thing at the moment is to stand behind our leader. We must inspire people. In my programme we play lots of songs that support Saddam Hussein.
- Have you got a favourite song?
- Yes, all of them.
- What about songs dealing with life, love?
- The songs about Saddam are nicer. Nicer and more important, Satem assures me. She says that everyone who works at the TV station is marching in the demonstration.
- What would have happened if someone refused?
- Nothing, this is a free country.
After a few hours the spectacle is over. The clenched fists relax, shoulders sag, placards are collected. Othello and Desdemona disappear into the crowd, their paces heavy and stooping. The curtain has come down.
In the hotel reception Abdullah nods politely and receives a cheerful greeting in return. I whistle at the canaries, describe a large circle around Mino and step into the rickety lift up to 707. I sink into the grey and white speckled lump which passes as an easy chair. My first article is in the can and it said something, in spite of, or because, no one said anything. Said arrives with loo paper and a clean towel. I thank him and tip him. After just a little while there is another knock on the door.
There stands Said with a TV. He places it proudly on the table in the corner and shows me how to turn it on. There are five channels. Channel one shows Saddam talking, channel two the day’s demonstration, channel three music, channel four snow and channel five sport.
Said explains the different channels and presses all the buttons so I see all the channels several times. He turns the TV on and off, on and off, to make sure I know how it works. In spite of not understanding Said’s Arabic, I get it. The bit about the buttons.
I decide on a different strategy. In place of my usual little tip I give him a huge sum intended to last for some time, so that I won’t have to open the door continually. Said kisses the money and leaps for joy.
The TV is on channel one. Saddam Hussein sits at the head of a long table, puffing on a cigar. Around him are men in uniform, probably the Defence Minister and various generals. I recognise the man on his right, his son Qusay, head of the armed forces.
The president talks, uninterruptedly. Some of what he says we hear, but the better part is transmitted without sound, accompanied by seductive violin music. Now and again he waves his cigar in the air in time with the music, now and again out of time. Suddenly the sound is reconnected, but
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