Behind the Blast Walls
We are living vicariously through our local fixers and crews. The conventional wisdom in Iraq now (at least for highly conspicuous tv news) is, "go out heavy (embed with the military) or don't go out at all."
By Kevin Sites, Tue Sep 28, 11:17 AM ET
We are living vicariously through our local fixers and crews. The conventional wisdom in Iraq now (at least for highly conspicuous tv news) is, "go out heavy (embed with the military) or don't go out at all."
Obviously that can create a bit of a warped perspective. To cover the daily lives of Iraqis when not accompanied by armed-to-the-teeth American forces -- we have to send Iraqi or Arabic speaking staff to do the jobs we used to be able to do. But even they are in danger from the threats of violence and rampant kidnapping that surround us. They can't say they work for Western media or they become as vulnerable as we are. We are like infants -- must be spoon fed information to stay alive.
But behind these blast walls meant to protect us, our spirits wither. All of us who cover conflict on a regular basis got into this kind of journalism because we wanted to be immersed up to the eyeballs in our stories.
To live them -- not just cover them. Most of us have given up the communities, comforts and relationships that are the staples of more "natural" lives. To live and work like this is an anathema to our normal rhythms. So when our interpreter/producer Ashraf brought the video of his wedding to the bureau -- we all crowded around a tiny three-inch mini dv player -- like it was a crystal ball.
We watched as our colleague made the commitment of his lifetime to a stunning, young Iraqi woman -- dressed in a splendid royal blue gown, sprigs of white baby's breath in her hair. The camera moved around the room, allowing us to meet his family and friends -- some of them other Iraqi colleagues we knew -- but had never seen outside of work in this kind of setting, being themselves, full of smiles, the seriousness of newsgathering melted away for a few hours.
And then they danced. Mostly the women, moving like Bedouin princesses under the desert sky. A tiny glimpse of beauty in a place where it seems to become a bit more rare with each passing day.
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