April 09, 2003

Dateline Baghdad --

What am I doing here?

My embedment was unintentional, I assure you.

I was attending a party after an antiwar demonstration in Madrid, and somebody slipped something into my Madeira. When I woke up, I was traveling to Baghdad with the Spanish Food Service Corps, hidden in a laundry hamper. What they were doing this far in-country, they wouldn't tell me. But it wouldn't be the first time Special Forces has used catering as a cover.

Escorted by US Armored Cavalry, we reached the city, and our objective, The Palestine Hotel. We went around to the service entrance, and a Spanish Lieutenant told me to get lost. I made my way up to the lobby, and soon realized the place was full of Iraqi officials and western journalists.

I knew some of them from my time in Paris, and was able to talk my way into a room and food money. It's a strange thing to find yourself in a war zone, living in the second-poshest hotel in town. Despite the underlying terror brought on by the daily bombardment, I felt almost safe in the company of all these reporters. After all, this is a big hotel, and the world knew we were here. It's not the kind of place you blow up by accident.

I went out into the city, just once, feeling some obligation to play the part of intrepid war correspondent. Never again. The sight of a bombed-out market, stray fingers scattered like confetti, the crunching sound of teeth as I clumsily crushed them under my shoe, was simply too much.

I may never get the taste of this place out of my mouth.

And it turns out being a journalist is no protection at all in this war. Two days ago, Julio Anguita Parrado from El Mundo was killed by the Iraqis. And yesterday, three stories above my room, Jose Couso from Telecinco was killed by the Americans. At least ten other "media deaths" have occurred here, many the result of friendly fire incidents.

Today they're saying that Baghdad is in the hands of the Americans. People are out in the streets, some to celebrate, some to loot. No one seems to know where Saddam is, or his weapons of mass destruction, for that matter.

Dick Cheney stepped out of the shadows today, just long enough to rub his hands together and say "exx-cellent", in that sinister whisper of his. Within hours, I'm sure the western media will be trumpeting the glorious victory of the coalition forces over the emissaries of evil.

I don't see the virtue in this madness. All I see is oily smoke and butchery. The Iraqis have not been liberated, they've only traded a brutal iron fist for a "compassionate" iron fist. No one should be celebrating this hypocrisy.

I look out my window now, and see a large group of American tanks surrounding The Palestine. I have to wonder, are they here to get the Iraqi officials, or are they here to get me?

Best regards,

Newton