CPTnet July 2, 2004 IRAQ REFLECTION: Guns, guns, everywhere

by Sheila Provencher

"If you want, we will send security guards to protect you. Or, if you need
weapons, we are happy to give you some weapons." Haider*,
our friend who directs an Iraqi humanitarian NGO, speaks with
complete earnestness. He, like many of our Iraqi friends, warns us that we
are prime targets for kidnappers and terrorists. For our safety and theirs,
they ask us not to visit their communities, to avoid certain areas of
Baghdad, and not to travel anywhere alone. Often they suggest the
"protection" of guns.

"Would you like to use my Kalishnokov?" offers our landlord.

Walking me home after a neighbor's birthday party, my young friends
Hamoudi (age 7) and Mustafa (age 9) brandish their toy guns and
promise to shoot anyone who tries to hurt me.

My Iraqi host father has a small pistol as well as a Kalishnokov. "I hate
this," he says. "But how else should I protect my family?"

Streets, homes, and businesses bristle with guns. But does their presence
bring comfort or security? A 26-year old Iraqi woman tells me that she is
afraid to cross the city to her university. Hamoudi and Mustafa, my two
miniature bodyguards, are so afraid of explosions they will not walk to the
end of the street. Even at the neighborhood church, if dignitaries happen
to be worshipping, they bring body-armored guards to stand at the doors.

Young soldiers share the same combination of weaponry and fear.
They sit atop tanks in the blistering sun, behind automatic weapons
with incredible firepower--useless against IEDs (improvised explosive
devices) that could claim their lives at any moment. Security contractors
drive around in armored SUV's that Iraqis jokingly call "shoot-me-cars"
because they actually increase one's chance of getting attacked.

People also carry guns with a strange nonchalance. An Army major
whose primary job is to work at a nonprofit Iraqi assistance agency
still has a gun strapped to her leg. Young militants from Sadr City tote
automatic weapons. Young soldiers, male and female, walk through the
hallways of Coalition Provisional Authority buildings with M-16s slung over
their shoulders. Do they all realize what they carry is someone else's
death?

I try to tell our friend Haider that CPTers feel safer without guns. If we
carry guns out of suspicion that someone will hurt us, we invite the worst.
But if we are unarmed and open, there exists the possibility for human
encounter, conversation, and transformation.

Right now, possibilities for conversation seem slim. The guns and RPGs
(rocket propelled grenades) of teenage militants draw retaliatory slaughter
from Coalition troops. The armed vehicles of Coalition convoys draw ambush
from armed resisters.

The other night, our friend Mohammed showed CPTer Greg Rollins how to
dismantle his handgun. We all felt much better with the gun in pieces.

* All names have been changed