Green Zone

The first thing they built was the walls. It took them no time at all; they were fast when they wanted to be. Like everyone else in Baghdad they put broken glass on the tops of their walls. It sparkled a bit in the sunlight and we liked to watch the light divide when we shifted our gazes. But unlike Iraqis, they added barbed wire; for us glass is cheaper and easily cracked.

I watched the construction from far away. Even kids like me couldn't get close. If we tried we might be shot at. It happened to my friend Ali who I challenged to try and ask one of the guards for candies; he always did what I said, he was younger than me. The guards wouldn't even let him close to the gate. Watching from around a building, I saw him approach the guards and them lifting their guns to fire into the air. He ran away. Children can't be martyrs. Didn't these guards know that?

From the roof of my uncle's house, you could see all the tall cranes protected by the walls and their broken glass and sharp wire. It was very dusty. They were moving lots of earth, burrowing deeply. My older brother said that that meant they were building tunnels to connect the new building to Israel. When it was finished, Jews could then come in through the tunnel to reinforce the Americans. Only they would dress like American soldiers so we couldn't tell. I'd never ask them for candy if I knew they were Jews.

My father thought that story was crazy. For him the construction was like the dictator was still in power. His palaces would spring up almost overnight. I wondered what the building would look like when the Americans were finished. Would it be like a palace? Or maybe would it be all underground. This was a foreign place, we all felt it. Tall white people with black sunglasses would walk around inside one day, protected. Under the dictator these men and women had been free to move around Baghdad. Now they needed thick walls like we need thick skins.

There wasn't much to do, that's why I watched the construction. Some men had come to my school a few months ago and beaten up the principal for teaching girls with boys. I liked having girls in my class. They didn't. The principal didn't come back. I heard he went to Syria. Now the school is closed because the other teachers, especially the ladies, are worried that they might come back and do something worse. So I have no more classes and just watch the cranes move around the sky slowly like giant birds digging in the dust for worms.

I had asked my uncle, Ali's father and therefore not my real uncle but uncle nonetheless what they were building. He would know, he had been an engineer who had built bridges before.

"Ah, the Americans are building something called an embassy. Do you know what that is?" I shook my head. "Embassies are where governments meet and talk. Countries become friends there, trade things."

"If they want to talk to us and get to know us why are they putting broken glass on the walls and shooting at kids when they go too close." We had been there that day. I neglected to mention that I had pushed Ali to approach the guards. Despite his kind explanation, my uncle would have been furious and might have beaten us.

Just then Ali's brother's wife rushed in with some of her family. I quickly got out of the way and stood against the wall with Ali. This was not a moment for children like us. She was crying and my uncle held her hand. I overheard her explain that her husband hadn't come home as usual this evening. He was looking for work and was never late. He was the oldest, responsible, reliable. Ali was the youngest and was crying at the news. His mother held him tightly. I knew that there was little hope. None of my family had been taken before. But Ali's was like family.

I quietly snuck out being superfluous. The sun was setting and there was a brilliant, bloody, red sunset. The long necked birds still swung their heads about and stirred up dust. They would work all night and day. I needed sleep, they didn't.

The wall looked forbidding, I guess it was designed that way. I wished that Ali's brother had had so strong a wall to save him. I wished my family had one. I wished the wall had been there to protect my school. I broke into a run, suddenly feeling very much alone and scared. My house felt miles away and the route uncertain.

Evil Elections?

Yesterday Iran held elections for their local councils and a branch of government called the Assembly of Experts. (What Iran has elections? But they are part of the Axis of Evil. Evil people don't hold elections, right?) Even worse the Assembly of Experts actually can dismiss the Supreme Leader of the Iranian state. (Whoa! I'm confused. I thought the cleric in charge of Iran was like the Pope, in the job for life. Maybe someone is lying to me. Should I read something and learn more about this?) Slow down, we might be at war with them soon and then you'll just have to forget all that learning so why ever start? (Phew, you're right. Guess I better get back to my two hour morning commute.)

Of further interest is that conservatives did very poorly in these elections. Hmm sounds familiar doesn't it?

Disclaimer: I know that Iran is far from perfect but it's useful to remember these facts and that they have a fairly sophisticated government with the potential to work great. That it doesn't demonstrates that they have problems much like ourselves. Wouldn't you agree?

A Short Comment

I know I was promising (though I never actually did formally) to write only original fiction on this blog but I really have to comment on something. I guess I'll hope for more original fiction and throw in the occasional commentary which I no longer find useful in a creative or productive way. Or do you think they are useful?

So two stories of interest came to my attention today. One for a new movie called The US vs John Lennon and another about CSIS's spying on the Greatest Canadian. These two stories should make us all rethink our unconditional support for our beloved states, be they Canada, the United States, whatever. Sometimes, more often than we would admit, our governments and elites behave in criminal and immoral ways.

Today RCMP files reveal that Canada spied on Tommy Douglas during the 1960s and earlier. What was his crime, this greatest of canucks? He spoke out against war. He demanded universal health care. He demanded legislation in support of the unemployed. That clearly means you're dangerous.

Then there's John Lennon who stayed in bed to protest the Vietnam War. What a terrorist! He's clearly deserving of round-the-clock surveillance.

I've been at demonstrations against war or poverty where police film you and take your picture and watch your every move. It's pretty obvious that they're attempting to scare off people from speaking out. Good luck. But was I committing a crime? Was I a terrorist? Is the status quo really that holy?

I'm reminded of a great quote from Gandhi:

First they ignore you.
Then they laugh at you.
Then they fight you.
Then you win.

Well done John and Tommy. I'm proud that our pathetic governments spied on you. It means you were doing something right and true. And we wouldn't be where we are without you; even if we still have a lot further to go. I only hope I can be as strong as you in fighting nonviolently for that lofty goal.

Culture of Entitlement

"What a prick! He basically robbed all of us. Who racks up $45,000 worth of credit card bills?"

She wasn't paying attention to me so I raised my voice a little.

"Don't you care, Jess? These CEOs all think that they can do what they want. That they're not responsible to anyone. This culture of entitlement has to stop."

She picked up her styrofoam coffee cup and took a sip. She always tried to slow things down when I was hot under the collar. Women do that.

"Frank, why do you care? We're fine. The new Hummer arrives tomorrow. It'll be great to have a matching set. His and hers". She smiled happily. "The politicians will deal with this bastard. No use losing sleep over small change."

Really they're only pretending to calm things down. Women really like to push our buttons. I'm easily riled.

"It's taxpayers money! My money! This isn't the first time either. This is everywhere. The Liberals and their bullshit sponsorship programs in Quebec. Remember those children's aid execs driving around in SUVs and charging their gas bills to the government. I pay those bills." I was pacing up and down in the den. Thankfully we had a lot of room.

She yawned and tossed the empty coffee cup into the garbage bin beside the leather couch. More instigation. Didn't she care? She does but she can't agree with me. That would be too easy.

She stood up. "I need you to drive me to the corner store. I feel like a Coke," she announced.

"What? We have a million cans in the downstairs fridge. I still don't know why you're so casual with this institutional criminality."

She was already making for the front door and her hanging jacket. I wouldn't have much of a choice. And I couldn't give her my keys. That was my Hummer. You can't trust a woman with your vehicle, not even your beloved wife. She's always slamming my passenger door too hard. Imagine if she was driving.

"I want a bottle. Coke tastes different in plastic."

With the day's news still fresh in my head, but remaining trapped there without a suitable foil to vent to, we walked out in silence to the truck. It was cool and cloudy. We had to drive even if it was just a couple of hundred feet to the store. You never knew when it might rain. The weather was so erratic these days.

"Oh look," she said pointing across the wide, treeless street. "Beckie put up more Christmas decorations. Her house will be covered this Christmas. I'm jealous. We'll have to get some more. Later let's drive to Wal Mart."

I muttered something derogatory about Beckie and her Christmas decorations under my breath and opened the doors remotely. We got in and I started up the engine. We put our seatbelts on and I spent a few minutes searching the radio for news about that fucking CEO at Hydro One. It made me happy that they were raking him over the coals. He deserved nothing less.

Despite the seat warmers and leather interior, I was angry again. I slammed my foot down on the gas and we rolled out of the driveway like a tank. I'd be much happier when she got her new H3; I wouldn't have to drive her around any more. We had to leave so early now that I had to drop her at her work across town. The new Hummer was taking longer than we expected when we ordered it weeks ago. The dealership promised us that it would arrive tomorrow. They were lucky that they were the only Hummer dealership in Oakville. I was this close to taking my business to Guelph or Toronto. I deserve good service not delays; I'm paying enough. It's ruining my quality of life driving the wife everywhere.

We arrived in seconds and she got out and went in to the store. She slammed the door too hard. I grit my teeth. I'd told her a million times. This car is special. You can't just treat it like a Civic! Slam the door all you want in your Hummer Jess.

I waited with the engine on, still hunting for news of the latest developments. The news reports were all talking about climate change and wars in random countries that I'd heard of but knew precious little of. I kept scanning.

Why wasn't Roy Green on on the weekend? And there was no sign of Rex Murphy. He's a prick too put he'd lay in to that CEO in Cross Country Checkup. I'd have to tune in tomorrow.

The door opened and Jess got in with a plastic bag. She reached in and pulled out a bottle of water.

"I thought you said you were getting a Coke."

"I changed my mind."