Having your pants spread across the tarmac is never the way you see yourself entering or leaving a new country. But then this is Baghdad International Airport. And nothing here could be described as normal.
And security, even having been through four or five security checks already, demands that I empty my pants out on the runway – and I’m not arguing.
I was in Baghdad for a historic visit – the first international conference to take place in the city since the United States-led invasion. Depending on which faction you represent, it is either a sign that everything is returning to normal or that unions are waking up to the need to build solidarity with our sisters and brothers in Iraq. For us, delegates from the International Federation of Journalists, it is also about making the case for free media as an essential part of the reconstruction of the war-torn country.
Just like in Britain, those in power see the green shoots of recovery everywhere. Our every move is covered live on some state or satellite television channel – even us eating our meals. Our meeting with the interior minister is captured on film – our challenging questions about the lack of free media are talked over by the presenter. We are filmed in a park sitting on orange velour armchairs and meeting an Iraqi cosmonaut (yes, really) while people on stage sign important documents about transparency and co-operation. It is meant to represent a return to normality, showing even foreign visitors can while away a few hours in a park in downtown Baghdad. The fact that the park had been cleared of ordinary Iraqis, was surrounded by armed vehicles, and was crawling with soldiers and private security was conveniently left out of the TV narrative.
No matter how hard you wish it, there is no return to normality. Security concerns pervade every moment. The road from the airport is the most dangerous road in the world. We are accompanied by armoured cars with anti-aircraft guns and SUVs packed with soldiers and security agents. Getting in to the hotel can take up to two hours as we negotiate with the Peruvian forces, the Iraqi forces and the private security forces before the hotel’s own security. The hotel is empty. The swimming pool is empty. The bar is empty. The casino is shut.
You can get a beer – if you pay the private security $400 for 24 bottles. After all, they have to head out into town to get it and the night we arrive an American construction contractor is dragged from his car, stabbed and has his throat slit. We subsequently find out five Americans have been arrested in connection with the killing. Oh great, that’s all we need.
At the conference itself, we are reminded of the ongoing perils of practising independent journalism or free trade unionism in such an environment. Among the speakers are the widow of the murdered former head of the Iraqi Journalists’ Syndicate, relatives of the 250-plus Iraqi journalists killed since 2003 and we discuss the impunity in the killing of 19 journalists by US troops. Everywhere corruption, poverty, insecurity and pressure stalk Iraqi journalism.
And yet amid all this there is a clear indication that Iraqis are organising to build their own future. Upwards of 200 IJS members patiently make their way through the security each day to the conference (and if I’ve made it sound bad for us, you can be sure it’s worse for Iraqi nationals) to take part in debates on ethical journalism, public service media, codes of conduct, professional solidarity and media regulation.
There are calls to sweep away the media laws introduced by the Paul Bremer-led Coalition Provisional Authority as part of the US occupation, for action by the security forces to act against those threatening journalism, for greater transparency on media funding. There is much to fault (women speakers could be counted on the fingers of one hand), but there is much to admire, too.
Above all, there is an understanding that no government, no cleric, no religious leader, no media owner will guarantee free and independent journalism in the public interest – journalists themselves have to struggle to create that space and be constantly vigilant about attacks on that independence.
If we were able to offer just a tiny bit of solidarity, help build a little more hope for real change, learn from each other about the pressures on journalism and trade unions, then exposing my pants to the military is a small price to pay.
Jeremy Dear is general secretary of the National Union of Journalists
