November 18th - Convention Centre
The weird world of the civilian-military administration in Iraq.
I went to the Convention Centre by the Al Rasheed Hotel once before the war and it was a strange enough place already. Now it’s the centre of a fortress in whose grounds a maze has been constructed out of razor wire, concrete wall pieces, barrels, tents and checkpoints.
There are five checkpoints to get through between the last passable bit of road and the front door. At each one you’re frisked and metal detected and your bag is fumbled in, lest you happen to have found a rocket propelled grenade launcher or other such item in the tens of metres since someone last checked. The place swarms with soldiers, security guards, bodyguards and I don’t know what else, all traipsing about with phones, curly wires coming out of their ears, big guns in their hands and small ones strapped to their legs.
I went primarily to ask about mobile phones, since there used to be free MCI network cell phones available to NGOs working here. In fact the MCI network is soon to be replaced by a new network so they’re not distributing them any more. The new network is expected into service the beginning or middle of next month or towards the end of the month when hell freezes over, depending whose estimate you trust. There’s talk of problems, investigations, etcetera, etcetera.
There are posters everywhere for things like the internet bazaar – “don’t walk the streets, order online…” Some of the international staff even sleep here, in the corridors, a short distance from their desks, because they’re afraid to leave the compound. Other signs indicate the whereabouts of various offices. The British consulate is more or less opposite Bechtel’s Baghdad bureau, which is next to the Ministry of Planning, so it’s good to know there’s no danger of undue influence there.
In the same area there’s a welcome desk for “Human Rights and Transitional Justice”. It was unattended but for a sign stating “This office handles only the following cases: 1. past human rights abuse under the former regime: killing, disappearance, torture and rape; 2. NGO education.”
There’s actually a Ministry of Human Rights, which is based in the Ministry of Oil. Where else could you file human rights in this country? The minister apparently wants to investigate some more recent abuses by coalition forces in Falluja and to look into conditions in the detention centre at Baghdad airport. To do the latter, I’m told, he has to ask Emperor Bremer and the governing council for authority. The Human Rights Minister has to ask permission to investigate human rights abuses. Somebody sack the script writer. He’s lost the plot.
A friend taught me a new expression – “wala democracia, wala batierq” which literally means ‘neither democracy nor a water melon’ but more accurately translates as ‘democracy my arse’.
I bumped into a Brazilian journalist I know at the Conference Centre. He was waiting to interview a bloke called Derek (name changed for no real reason other than it seemed like a good idea) who was giving a lecture on the transfer of the control of the Oil for Food programme from the UN to the CPA. I stayed and waited for the interview primarily so I could get a lift back with the journalist and his translator, a very funny man who speaks perfect English and teaches me bits of Arabic.
‘Derek’ eventually came and said sorry, he couldn’t do the interview, not for at least 2 weeks and when I tell you what’s been happening you’ll understand why. Then he turned and did a Blair-esque Earnest Look and said, as if divulging a great secret, “They’re shooting at us.”
No. Are they really?
They’re shooting at us and if the Bad People found out that this is where the programme is moving to and I’ve got $8 billion here, well, for the Bad People that would be a really great bit of propaganda if they could hit us. I swear, he used the words “the Bad People’. I find people often underestimate my age: I believe it’s my fresh-faced, youthful appearance rather than my immature behaviour that does it, but I know I look more than five years old. “The Bad People”?
It’s common knowledge that the Oil for Food programme is to be operated from the Convention Centre. It’s common knowledge that some of the least desirable activities undertaken by the Civilian-Military administration are based there – see reference to Bechtel, above. It’s not as if a resistance fighter / insurgent / terrorist / Very Naughty Boy was going to refrain from hitting the Convention Centre if he was able to because he hadn’t realised the Oil for Food Scam (ah, scheme, sorry) was about to be controlled from there.
‘Derek’ was really sad that he couldn’t tell us the story. He wanted to tell us the story, because “it’s a great story”. No it’s not. It’s not like you’ve been part of some rags to riches triumph over adversity or overcome some incredible odds to save someone. You’ve just taken over a programme of which two former heads have resigned in protest at its immorality. You’ve taken it over as part of an occupying military force after more than a decade in which the government that sent that force has restricted the flow of food and medicine to the people who now live under your occupation. You’ve taken over a programme which was implemented in order to translate simple vindictive deprivation of an already oppressed civilian population into power and money and control of that country’s oil sales. What a great story.
Within the US consulate, in the same building, there is an advisor for US-Iraqi couples wishing to marry and obtain a visa for the States. Apparently there is a significant number of Iraqi women marrying American soldiers in order to get visas. I can’t enlighten you as to how many because the secretary – who was very apologetic about the pedantry of it all - wasn’t allowed to even hint at a figure unless the person asking had written authorisation to ask the question.
No doubt a couple of hours in the Convention Centre provided me a valuable, if superficial, induction into the workings of administration here, especially coupled with my recent forays into the Ministry of Health, but I think that’s education enough for me. Unless I lose my passport or develop an insatiable urge to hear more rubbish I think I’ll stay away from the Convention Centre from now on.
There are five checkpoints to get through between the last passable bit of road and the front door. At each one you’re frisked and metal detected and your bag is fumbled in, lest you happen to have found a rocket propelled grenade launcher or other such item in the tens of metres since someone last checked. The place swarms with soldiers, security guards, bodyguards and I don’t know what else, all traipsing about with phones, curly wires coming out of their ears, big guns in their hands and small ones strapped to their legs.
I went primarily to ask about mobile phones, since there used to be free MCI network cell phones available to NGOs working here. In fact the MCI network is soon to be replaced by a new network so they’re not distributing them any more. The new network is expected into service the beginning or middle of next month or towards the end of the month when hell freezes over, depending whose estimate you trust. There’s talk of problems, investigations, etcetera, etcetera.
There are posters everywhere for things like the internet bazaar – “don’t walk the streets, order online…” Some of the international staff even sleep here, in the corridors, a short distance from their desks, because they’re afraid to leave the compound. Other signs indicate the whereabouts of various offices. The British consulate is more or less opposite Bechtel’s Baghdad bureau, which is next to the Ministry of Planning, so it’s good to know there’s no danger of undue influence there.
In the same area there’s a welcome desk for “Human Rights and Transitional Justice”. It was unattended but for a sign stating “This office handles only the following cases: 1. past human rights abuse under the former regime: killing, disappearance, torture and rape; 2. NGO education.”
There’s actually a Ministry of Human Rights, which is based in the Ministry of Oil. Where else could you file human rights in this country? The minister apparently wants to investigate some more recent abuses by coalition forces in Falluja and to look into conditions in the detention centre at Baghdad airport. To do the latter, I’m told, he has to ask Emperor Bremer and the governing council for authority. The Human Rights Minister has to ask permission to investigate human rights abuses. Somebody sack the script writer. He’s lost the plot.
A friend taught me a new expression – “wala democracia, wala batierq” which literally means ‘neither democracy nor a water melon’ but more accurately translates as ‘democracy my arse’.
I bumped into a Brazilian journalist I know at the Conference Centre. He was waiting to interview a bloke called Derek (name changed for no real reason other than it seemed like a good idea) who was giving a lecture on the transfer of the control of the Oil for Food programme from the UN to the CPA. I stayed and waited for the interview primarily so I could get a lift back with the journalist and his translator, a very funny man who speaks perfect English and teaches me bits of Arabic.
‘Derek’ eventually came and said sorry, he couldn’t do the interview, not for at least 2 weeks and when I tell you what’s been happening you’ll understand why. Then he turned and did a Blair-esque Earnest Look and said, as if divulging a great secret, “They’re shooting at us.”
No. Are they really?
They’re shooting at us and if the Bad People found out that this is where the programme is moving to and I’ve got $8 billion here, well, for the Bad People that would be a really great bit of propaganda if they could hit us. I swear, he used the words “the Bad People’. I find people often underestimate my age: I believe it’s my fresh-faced, youthful appearance rather than my immature behaviour that does it, but I know I look more than five years old. “The Bad People”?
It’s common knowledge that the Oil for Food programme is to be operated from the Convention Centre. It’s common knowledge that some of the least desirable activities undertaken by the Civilian-Military administration are based there – see reference to Bechtel, above. It’s not as if a resistance fighter / insurgent / terrorist / Very Naughty Boy was going to refrain from hitting the Convention Centre if he was able to because he hadn’t realised the Oil for Food Scam (ah, scheme, sorry) was about to be controlled from there.
‘Derek’ was really sad that he couldn’t tell us the story. He wanted to tell us the story, because “it’s a great story”. No it’s not. It’s not like you’ve been part of some rags to riches triumph over adversity or overcome some incredible odds to save someone. You’ve just taken over a programme of which two former heads have resigned in protest at its immorality. You’ve taken it over as part of an occupying military force after more than a decade in which the government that sent that force has restricted the flow of food and medicine to the people who now live under your occupation. You’ve taken over a programme which was implemented in order to translate simple vindictive deprivation of an already oppressed civilian population into power and money and control of that country’s oil sales. What a great story.
Within the US consulate, in the same building, there is an advisor for US-Iraqi couples wishing to marry and obtain a visa for the States. Apparently there is a significant number of Iraqi women marrying American soldiers in order to get visas. I can’t enlighten you as to how many because the secretary – who was very apologetic about the pedantry of it all - wasn’t allowed to even hint at a figure unless the person asking had written authorisation to ask the question.
No doubt a couple of hours in the Convention Centre provided me a valuable, if superficial, induction into the workings of administration here, especially coupled with my recent forays into the Ministry of Health, but I think that’s education enough for me. Unless I lose my passport or develop an insatiable urge to hear more rubbish I think I’ll stay away from the Convention Centre from now on.