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Iraq Reports by Kelly
Hayes-Raitt
The Road to Baghdad
(06/22/03, Amman, Jordan)
I'm
convinced there is no way to fully prepare for this trip over the
road to Baghdad. I haven't slept more than 5 hours in the last
three weeks, and the last few days have been no exception.
Nerves, heat, jet lag, anticipation pop me awake at 3:00, 4:00, 5:00
am.
We leave for Baghdad in eight hours -- at midnight. The
strategy is to make it to the Jordanian-Iraqi border by dawn and be
among the first to queue up to cross. The delay isn't with
getting into Iraq, but with getting out of Jordan. Once
across, we will join other cars to form a caravan over what has been
dubbed the world's most dangerous highway. We've been told to
reach Fallouja by 3:00 PM, before the "Ali Babas" come
out.
We've sprung for an extra van and driver to provide a little
insurance in case one of our other two vans breaks down. We've
hired Iraqi drivers, considered the safest. (In a change from
our February trip, Iraqi drivers are now allowed into parts of
Amman. In February, we loaded our luggage into Jordanian cars,
drove twenty minutes out of Amman, and switched cars and drivers for
the remainder of the trip.)
Three of us have secured press passes to ease our border crossings.
Our group includes two Iraqi-Americans, a Japanese-American and a
veteran. We have introduction letters from Veterans for Peace
and EPIC -- the Education for Peace Center in Iraq, to whose
national board I was recently elected.
We've done all our last-minute shopping, made copies of our
passports and spread around our hidden cash. My bags are
filled with cases of power bars and my heart is filled with memories
of strangers' unbelievable generosity, genuine compassion and deep
desire to find a new way toward peace:
 Three weeks ago, I
received an out-of-the-blue call from a retired minister in
Oklahoma. He had heard I was going to Baghdad and asked me if
I would visit his brothers and sisters. He knew his family was
alive, but had not had more than an excruciating 60-second call from
a nephew who had traveled an hour from Baghdad to place the call.
The minister said the last two months of not being able to really
speak with his family have been "Hades on Earth." He
sent me -- a total stranger -- a $500 check to cash to bring to his
family. I was so moved by his trust, and agony, and faith in
me.
The night before I left,
I was interviewed by Earl Olifari Hutchinson on his KPFK Tuesday
evening show. His listeners donated money for me to buy power
bars to take to Iraqi children. The Pakistani manager of my
neighborhood corner store gave me a rock-bottom price on cases --
and threw in a few extra boxes for free. As we were clearing
out every case in the store, strangers from my Ocean Park
neighborhood handed me $10 bills to help purchase the food.
Students Against War and
Violence, high school students from Santa Monica High School,
donated $150 from their T-shirt sale proceeds. They're facing
potential losses in their music, athletic and arts programs from the
most severe budget cuts in their lifetimes; yet, they raised
money to reach out to Iraqi students.
A quarter of the money
raised for the trip was donated during the last three days.
Total strangers and old friends came by my office to wish me well,
give a hug and drop off donations.
While addressing the
Westminster Episcopal Church last Sunday -- Father's Day -- I got
embarrassed when I choked up talking about my father's apprehension
about my trip. A beautiful elderly woman approached me after
the service and said, "Honey, I'm going to quote the shortest
sentence in the Bible: 'Jesus wept.' And if He can, so
can you." Then, she handed me an envelope with a $100
bill.
Graced with such love and faith, I've come to realize it's not the
road itself that's dangerous, but the fear that keeps us from taking
it.
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