Nir Rosen's piece on daily life in Iraq is grim, grim, and grim, with an extra helping of misery. Oh yeh, this place is going to turn into a Jeffersonian democracy real soon.
Hundreds of people were emerging from the smoke, running away, hundreds more were running to it and hundreds more were standing in shock, crying, screaming. A woman walked by carrying the inert body of her child. American humvees pulled up, as did Iraqi police cars. "There are many dead people," shouted one man running from out of the hotel's wreckage, asking people to help. Terrified and confused US soldiers tried to turn back the crowd of Iraqis who rushed to help; they swung in ever direction with their rifles, looking for the enemy, as Iraqi police with guns drawn tried to push people back. Ambulances arrived, by now well practiced in quick responses to bombs, and carried away the lucky ones who survived, screaming and with their shredded clothes and bodies drenched with blood. Inside one I saw a hellish scene—an entire family, all red, six of them looking up and screaming, holding a lifeless bloody piece of meat that lay between them. Everywhere on the street angry men, stunned, hurt, feeling vulnerable. Survivors attacked cameramen, seeking someone to vent their fury on, neighbors stood crying, friends rushed to the scene looking for loved ones, terror on their faces. Two fat women in their nightgowns began screaming at an American soldier angrily. Bewildered, he told them "Everything's gonna be alright," not knowing what they were saying. From atop their Humvees other American soldiers swiveled their machine guns, screaming and cursing orders at the Iraqis and journalists below them. An Iraqi policeman with his gun drawn pushed me away. The entire scene was lit glowing orange as the fire spread to a nearby building.
By way of Juan Cole's Informed Comment