Springtime for Saddam

The end of 2006 saw the dramatic conclusion of the Saddam Hussein story, brought to you by someone with a cellphone who made a YouTube clip to beat all YouTube clips. In the end, this one grainy video nullified all efforts by the “Axis of Good” to paint their ugly version of Saddam Hussein all over the history books.

If it were ever made into a movie, the farcical theater of Saddam Hussein’s last days could only be called “Trial and Error”. Of course, G.I. George Bush and the American government would have loved to see their original script brought to curtain calls of secular throngs of Iraqis dancing in the streets of Baghdad over the death of an evil man, but, sadly, they lost creative control of the project.

The opening act of Saddam’s capture would have made any Hollywood producer proud. Hell, maybe the Weinstein brothers had a hand in military policy at the time, because there could have been no better made-for-tv moment than Saddam being pulled out of a so-called “Spider Hole” covered in garbage with a suitcase of American dollars at his side. Now, anyone who has been to the Middle East, who knows anything about Muslim culture, knows that no self-respecting Arab Muslim, especially not one with an inflated ego such as Mr. Hussein’s, would be caught dead under a pile of garbage, hiding from U.S. Marines with a suitcase of dollars at his side. I mean, give me a break. Has it been so long that we do not see blatant propaganda for what it is any more? The public ate up this story, only too happy to see that this “evil man” was also a coward.

In the war of ideas, the United States tried to take his pride, to take his honor, and in the end allowed history to repeat itself by calling an end to major combat operations in discrediting Saddam Hussein. Unfortunate (depending on how you look at it) though inevitable for the swirling mess of Iraq, it did not turn out as planned.

Fast forward to the last chapter in the saga, where you have a cell phone video broadcast all over the world within hours of his death that shows a dignity to the man enduring the taunts of a violently divided Iraq. As if he knew the world would be watching, he played it masterfully. With a sound bite of “Is this the bravery of Arabs?”, Saddam will be remembered as a victim who died with honor, a martyr to young Sunnis, not an evil psychopath coward.

Just like the producers tried to make a fortune off of a sure flop, the Bush administration naively expected to gain valuable political capital through the death of someone they had gone to great lengths to paint as a worthless, evil man. As it turned out, the show itself was a success. Saddam will live forever in Iraq, the victim of aggression and bias from both his own people and the invading army.

I can’t wait to see what the Bin Laden Show will entail, if only we can get a camera crew to his cave on the Pakistani border...

Never Enough Fireworks

OK, the fireworks started going off even before Christmas. Nevertheless, nothing could have prepared me for the spectacle of explosion that marked the new year 2007, a celebration which, by the way, only just seems to have ended. For now, the war is over. Major combat operations in the skies of Reykjavik have come to an end. Of course, I would not be surprised if the next few weeks bring the last of the unexploded bombs out of hiding.

There is something about the darkness that compels you to light up the sky with whatever is available. On some nights, especially the coldest ones, the Aurora Borealis does the trick naturally. But in late December, it is fireworks. From small children to responsible adults, every house and every neighborhood consider it their duty to out-do the people down the street. It is not at all uncommon for people to spend several months’ salary, or the equivalent of a small car, to make the sky above your house explode for a few hours. Even the dogs, at least the ones not huddling in the closet for fear of impending nuclear holocaust can be seen in their front yards with sparklers hanging out of their mouths.

The only lull in the insanity comes late in the evening when Icelanders gather around their televisions to appreciate a tradition that goes back thirty years. For an hour the state-run TV station shows a comedy program poking fun at everything Icelandic, from major news stories to notorious celebrities. The only topic that seems off-limits is, thankfully, Björk. But even I, an outsider with only a limited knowledge of Icelandic, was able to laugh at much of what all around me found so funny. Some of it was in English, and all of it was funny. Icelanders are adept at self-criticism. They know that you can’t take everything so seriously, and that the best way to forge a strong national identity is to recognize the humor in everything that you are proud of. Others (mm hmm) could benefit from their example.

As soon as the show ends, around 11:30, the real show begins outside. It is almost impossible to hear yourself scream, when bombs are going off above, around, and below you. Yes, accidents do happen, some fingers may get blown off, but it is all worth it. It is impossible not to get euphoric at this display of explosive power, an undying remnant of this country’s viking past. Icelandic fireworks, with pictures of blond, helmeted men with beards, are called “cakes” for a reason: it is the ONLY way to celebrate. And when the cakes run out, as they did at a friend’s house, some emergency flares were found in a closet, lighting up the world in a slow red drama that must have looked even more amazing from far away.

But it doesn’t matter where in Reykjavik you are. Every neighborhood is as indulgent as the next. The first time I experienced Iceland, for the big millennium new year in 2000, I was amazed, knowing that the millennium merited such a grand celebration. What I saw this year proved only that it gets bigger and bigger every year. I knew it when I left my house at five in the evening and was knocked in the face by the pungent smell of exploded gunpowder. I knew it when driving down the street in the following week I needed to wait while one last cake was set off in the intersection down the street. I knew it when even though I did not have a vantage point over the whole city, it was the most impressive display I have ever seen.

Heaven in the Hot Water

After returning from a recent trip to the United States, I realized what a luxury it is to have a constant supply of instantly hot and practically free water at your disposal from any tap or faucet, any time of day or night. Iceland, an active volcanic island with natural hot springs all over the country, uses this precious resource to an almost exploitative scale, but amazingly, it never runs out.

My mother’s nice house in a wealthy suburb of Washington, DC has two showers among its four bathrooms, but they can’t be used at the same time. In fact, two people wanting to shower in the same hour take the risk of a cold rinse if they don’t space them out enough. And forget about running the washing machine or dishwasher while trying to wash your body; it’s just not going to happen.

So I come back to Iceland, where the shower has two knobs: one to indicate the desired temperature (say, 104 degrees Fahrenheit) and one to control the water pressure. Without fail, every shower is perfect. And if you are not careful, you will burn the skin right off your face. My girlfriend, just the other day, was washing her hands and did not just scald herself, but actually burned the tip of her finger!

The trick is that the water needs no heater. The water is just like that when it comes out of the ground. The water IS the heater. Yes, the fact that it is naturally hot water does mean that it contains a bit of sulphur and the associated odor of old eggs, but you would be amazed at the softening effect that has on your skin. It’s like putting a Brita filter on your showerhead and bathing in purified drinking water.

Think of the money it saves, too. No energy needed to power a water heater, and no energy to heat the house at all, since Iceland’s priceless geothermal resource is pumped through radiators in every room in every house. And there’s more. When it leaves the house, it courses through a network of pipes and tubing placed just below the surface of the sidewalks and roads (at least in the center of town), heating the ground so that snow and ice does not collect. In a country with such an intense winter, that is many falls and broken hips avoided at a cost of next to nothing.

Such efficient use of Iceland’s natural hot springs, which heat a number of swimming pools and hot tubs around town also, by the way, ensures a comfortable winter for those of us unaccustomed to living 66 degrees north of the equator. Don’t worry about me. As hard as my day will ever be, I always have a hot shower to go home to.

Now to get used to the permanent darkness…

Presidential Pardon?

The celebration of Thanksgiving means a great deal to Americans, and to me specifically, because it is about being thankful for food, and then eating it. No roses or teddy bears, no going to the mall and shopping for hours and hours. Just being together with family, and remembering that what is important has nothing to do with what Hallmark tells us is important.

My favorite part of my favorite holiday is, of course, watching George Bush look like an idiot with a creature that seems at least his intellectual equal, if also his moral superior. On the White House lawn, George gets to talk about being thankful for what makes AMERICA the best place on earth. For five minutes he gets to justify decisions that have killed thousands of innocent people on all sides. For five minutes he gets to grant the gift of life to one lucky turkey in a feeble attempt to divert attention from the thousands of soldiers he has condemned to death by fighting a poorly planned war for all the wrong reasons.

With the nauseating smirk characteristic of the face of our nation, Bush posed for a photo op with the bird. For a minute there it looked as if we might get lucky and the restless bird would use his beak to snatch out one of Bush’s eyeballs, much like Uma Thurman in Kill Bill, but unfortunately the secret service was able to contain the little guy.

Bush was not able to contain himself, apparently, as he said in his speech that BOTH turkeys would be pardoned. Normally, they have two birds: one to eat, one to save. This time, we are led to believe that the White House would go hungry, and both turkeys would go home. Well, in true Dubya form, the second animal was nowhere to be seen, probably because they would not allow cameras in the kitchen preparing the president’s lunch. Maybe that second pardon means sending the bird to Abu Ghraib to be barked at by German Shepherds until it dies of completely “natural causes.”

I, for one, eagerly await the pictures to leak from that scandal...

Al-Jazeera on the air, in English!

Well, it was only a matter of time before the network that commands the eyes of the entire Muslim world decided to branch out into the non-Muslim world. Yesterday, Al-Jazeera launched its English-language channel, bringing its graphic images of dead Iraqi children to the Anglophone world.

Yes, it is propaganda, and yes, it is sensationalist. But anyone who has chanced upon Fox News while surfing to better channels has surely noticed the alarmist footage of “Things that will kill your baby in your own home!” and the like.

The value in Al-Jazeera is that it is sensationalism from another point of view. They are doing the same things as we are, but with the frank criticism of our administration that the American media seem incapable of producing. The idea of news organizations as public watchdogs holding hypocritical government to account is sorely missed in the United States.

Moreover, if we are serious about understanding “how they think” and “why they hate us,” then Al-Jazeera is a way of getting right to the proverbial horse’s mouth. With millions of Arab eyes glued to this Qatar-based news channel every day of the Iraq war, it would be helpful for those of us who actually care to see with our own eyes what they see with theirs.

This is another strength of Al-Jazeera’s new English channel. From my rudimentary understanding of Arabic, my experience watching Al-Jazeera with Moroccan Muslims, and my continuing dialogue with friends in the Maghreb, it seems that the English version, like the original, pulls no punches in its condemnation of the United States’ foreign policy decisions. The coverage is, purposely, as similar as possible to the parent, considering its use of anglophone journalists poached from BBC and CNN, among others.

Most important to keep in mind is that you can only get the whole story by listening to all sides. For once, we have an authentic Muslim voice to listen to in this new era of history where the Middle East and Islam are making news right on our doorsteps.

The next step is for Al-Manar (Hizbullah’s News station) and Al-Arabiya (the relatively moderate one based in Dubai, UAE) to follow suit. So call your cable/satellite provider, or just download RealPlayer and watch it streaming off of the website. It is well worth it to see things from the other side...