U.S. Embassy, Baghdad
I‘ve been here two weeks now, feeling my way around, meeting people, getting up to speed, beginning to advise the Staff Judge Advocate (General Petraeus’s lawyer) on a host of rule of law issues, and liaising with related offices at the State and Justice Departments.
The aspect of this experience that most impressed me initially–and continues to do so however long I stay in the Green Zone–is the lavish luxury permeating through the Presidential Palace that emerged unscathed in the war and is now the U.S. Embassy. The expansive floors are marble, the high ceilings are adorned in gold leaf and elaborate murals, and the bathrooms are redolent in ornate fixtures and carvings. You expect veiled concubines to come out from behind the drapes to offer you grapes and a fanning.
All this gaudiness can lead to bouts of surrealism. For example, each night in the “North Ballroom” at precisely 2100 hours, a stereo begins playing that chicken dance song (you know the one) while everyone chucks Nerf balls and other non-harmful ballistics among and between the cubicles. It literally rains cats and dogs (and footballs and rubber chickens). Full-bird colonels–pardon the pun–are among the more enthusiastic of participants, encouraging their staffs to “let off some steam.” After the three-minute long song runs its course, everybody goes back to battle stations.
Sometimes, every once in a while, I forget that I’m in a war zone. I have a private trailer with TV and internet service, three email accounts, a cell phone, air conditioning, a gym, a pool, books, and good food that I don’t have to pay for. A few days ago I went to pick up my laundry–ready in two days rather than the promised three because customer service is a priority–and when I pulled out my wallet to pay for it, the staff looked at me quizzically and said, “But Sir, it’s no cost.” I think I’ve spent all of $10 here, all on mocha frappes at the Green Beans, the 24-hour lounge/cafe in the middle of the embassy complex.
Also, while the PX has plenty of flat-screen TVs, the latest DVDs, magazines, laptop peripherals, and all the rest one would find in at a decent (albeit small) Wal-Mart–as well as a nearby Subway and Burger King–it’s out of what I most need, an alarm clock. Though “that’s on order, sir, so any day the convoy should bring them.”
It’s funny really: Here I am engaging in routine errands (and occasionally getting annoyed about minor mishaps such as temperamental credit card readers) when there are helicopters and missiles flying overhead at all hours, and car bombs killing scores of people a couple of miles away.
Speaking of which, in the weeks leading to my departure, when friends would wish me “safe travels,” and advise that I “keep [my] head down,” I retorted by referring to the 1950s civil defense slogan “duck and cover.” Well, here in the Green Zone every 100 feet or so we have yellow concrete shelters labeled “Duck and Cover Bunker”–which I’ve had occasion to use when the air raid siren catches me outside.
Given the climate, most of my outdoors time is spent by the palace pool, which is really a sight to behold, even with the central fountain disabled. The contractors in charge of running it created a few lanes out of rope and empty water bottles, and the pool is plenty big for lap-swimming, water-basketball, and all sorts of other recreation. Interestingly, each “lap” is 33.5m (or 0.021 miles), though the sign that says that also somehow states that 24 laps equals one mile. Must be that new math they’re teaching in Iraqi schools.
I recently had a friend pass through and we spent a lovely couple of hours poolside, which he compared to a resort in his native Puerto Rico. Other than the paucity of women in g-string bikinis–non-sport suits are prohibited to military personnel (as are Speedos for men, perhaps in a nod to “don’t ask, don’t tell”)–it really could have been.
“All we’re missing is fruity umbrella drinks,” said my friend with a smile. Indeed, because alcohol is no longer served on embassy grounds, we had to make do with multiple water bottles–without umbrellas–while talking Iraqi and U.S. politics. That was probably for the best, as signs everywhere also warn against handling firearms while drinking (unclear whether this is to prevent poor aim or spilled drinks).
Such is life in Club Med Baghdad.
Ilya Shapiro, the incoming senior fellow in Constitutional Studies at the Cato Institute, is currently a special assistant/advisor to the Multi-National Force-Iraq’s (MNFI) Law and Order Task Force. He writes the “Dispatches from Purple America” column for TCS Daily.com and a blog of the same name at dispatchesfrompurpleamerica.blogspot.com.
