Everyone else has been recognizing the date with facts and figures, with policy evaluations, and with predictions for the immediate (and long term) future of U.S. involvement in Iraq.
They've all done a fine job, and I'm not in the mood to either do it or link to it. Throw a rock. You'll hit something.
Three years ago, when the Iraq War started, I was in an authoritarian country for ten days. Why? In part, to teach a bunch of undergraduates about history, culture, and how the alternatives to liberal democracy can really, really suck.
As citizens of the United States, on a prior trip and before the war started, we couldn't have been more golden. Sure, the state apparatus didn't really want us spreading around anything but our money, and any significant swerve in a conversation to something real was quickly diverted (las paredes tienen oídos, sabes?). But with good will, some competent language skills, and the international language (no, not that one) of smiles and gestures, everything was OK.
And then. And then. Happy fucking birthday Binky.
For the first time ever did I encounter a personal confrontation of anti-Americanism en las Americas. In twenty years. And no, I'm not that naive to think I've never been the target of the view, or even the words, from a distance. The beginning of the Iraq war was the first time that someone came up to me, asked me if I was from the US or Canada, and then went off.
It was frustrating, and kind of scary, given the relative isolation and the fact that I was keeping an eye on a bunch of kids. It was also sad. The promise of freedom that generated the common friendly welcome of people from the US, even if not of their government's foreign policy, well, it wasn't working.
And that was just the beginning.
I haven't been back since the war started. Personal, professional and diplomatic events have conspired to keep me in Smalltown, USA, so I don't know what the medium term impact is. I hope that in the long run, we can regain that affection - albeit tinged with frustration for the nation of aborrescentes - even as part of me mourns the innocence that I had managed to hold onto until my thirty fifth birthday.
The night I drank way too much rum, and stayed awake all night to watch a new day dawn in the haze from the Malecón.
Posted by binky at March 21, 2006 01:29 AM | TrackBack | Posted to Iraq