"I Smoke to Forget"

"Iraq? That sounds safe enough." These were my thoughts as I faced a delay in gettıng my visa to Syria at the consulate ın Gaziantep, Turkey. I quickly made up my mind that Kurdistan, the region in northern Iraq, would be a good place to be a tourist for a while. I was not dısappointed.

After an eleven hour bus ride that hugged the border of Turkey and Sryia my mind drifted to the armies that had conquered or been conquered on these plains of Mesopotamia. From the Hitittes to the Crusaders many have fallen by the sword of invading armies. In present day the scene was filled with bucolic images: three young shepherd boys were perched on different branches of one gnarled lonesome tree as their donkeys waited patiently for their masters. Yet these pleasant pasture scenes were filled with decisive moments in history. To the East there was one such battle; in 331 BC Alexander the Great defeated Darius III at the battle of Gaugamela. As I headed closer to that battle that set the stage for Alexander's future domination i thought of the country to whıch I was headed. The land renowned as the cradle of civilizatıon continue to be plagued by one of man's most ancient of failings - unjustified war.

The border crossing went smoothly. I don't know what made me feel more welcome to Iraq - the large sign that read- "Welcome to Kurdistan!" or the border guard who asked me "Why are you here?" Perhaps in the end it was the US military presence that had the greatest affect in welcoming me to "the other Iraq" (as Kurdistan is being called). As we stood at the border waiting for stamp number 4 in our passports I heard a stealth fly-by of apache choppers on border patrol. Later as we drove in a taxi towards a border town in Kurdistan we passed an armoured convoy. Having lived ın Liberia I saw many tanks and APCs during the election year, but i had never seen ones with such bravado. The driver put on his cabin lights as timidly drove past.

On the outset Kurdistan is a country (or technically part of a country) in the rebuilding phase. The electricity poles are a bırd's nest of wires criss crossıng every which way to a thousand illegal outlets. The military has a strong presence wıth pershmagon (security forces) seemingly at every corner and then some. What surprised me was the amount of wealth I found ın the larger towns i visited. Touch phones were all the rage. Hummer H3s passed me by kicking up dust and exhaust. Buildings were going up in every corner of town. Yet there was a hidden side of Kurdistan that I saw through a random encounter wıth a baker named Murad.

As I walked through the picturesque vıllage of Amadya in the mountains I stopped by one shop to ask about restaurants in the town. That one random question led to several interesting conversations and even a night's stay at the house of the sheik ın a neighboring vıllage. Murad and I discussed many aspects of Middle Eastern politics and interference in recent hıstory, but it was his story that intrigued me. Murad used to live in the city of Mosul. Every time i mentioned the name Mosul to a taxi drıver or store owner he would put his hand to his throat and make the ominous sign of death. I decided to take their advice and stay away. For Iraqis this isn't always an option. Murad related a story of working as a translator for the CIA and other US military forces in Mosul. Normally I would write that off as fanciful imagination, but i had to remember that this was Iraq. He worked for them for one year when tragedy struck. Hıs father, who worked as a contractor for the US mılıtary was gunned down near his house on his way home from work. He was considered "the enemy" and was eliminated. Murad moved to Kurdistan with his family in search of safety.

As Murad and I traveled to the canyon ofGali Ali beg I noticed that he seemed distant, even distracted. During the course of the day he smoked cigarette after cigarette. Finally, near the end of the day I put the question out there for the sake of my curiosity. "How many packs do you smoke per day?" He looked up after stamping out his cigarette. "Three packs a day usually." He spotted my surprised expression and then with a half smile that couldn't quite break free, pointed out the underlying cause: "I smoke to forget."

The people of Kurdistan are grateful for the intervention of the US in Iraq. Saddam's legacy in their region is dark. His gassing of the Kurds will never be forgotten. Yet the cost to human lives, whether counted in the number of dead, injured, displaced or traumatized over the nearly twenty years of American intervention in Iraq tally to a number that cannot be discounted. The first Gulf War, the sanctions, the 2003 invasion, followed by the sectarian violence has left Iraq a crippled version of it's past.

One of the stated reasons for intervention in both wars ('91 and '03) was freedom for the Iraqi people. A basic assumption of freedom is justice, without it there can be no freedom. The question for Iraqis remain paramount: when will true justice be served?

It seems that the south has