Letter to the Columbus Dispatch, published in the Editorial page on Monday, September 12, 2005

Bad planning hurt U.S. in Iraq, Gulf Coast


As an Iraqi living in the United States, watching the chaotic scenes in Louisiana and Mississippi really explains the mess in Iraq for me. The parallels are overwhelming. Policy-makers knew years ago that something like this would hit the southern coast of the United States. What did they do about it? Nothing. Countries like the Netherlands and Norway have much more technologically advanced levees and dikes that endure winds of 200 mph vs. the 150 mph caused by Hurricane Katrina. Why couldn't the United States, the most technologically advanced country in the world, enjoy the same? Likewise in Iraq, the planning that was supposed to take place before the invasion never happened. The army and police, the only resources for maintaining security in the country, were disbanded in the blink of an eye, without any consideration for the consequences. The result is a price the Iraqis and Americans are paying for with their blood. I cannot understand this lack of organization in what is supposed to be the most advanced Western country. It makes me question the existence of any accountability.
No one can tell a superpower that it mishandled a crisis at home any more than one can tell it that it has mishandled an invasion overseas. The reconstruction in Iraq will not happen anytime soon due to lack of planning. At home, relief came days late, after the hurricane struck, at the cost of thousands of lives.

Popular posts from this blog

"I know what that means!" he remarked, with a hint of excitment. "It says 'Allah'. " I explained. "Yeah! Aalaa !". I wasn't going to argue with a security guard at BWI over the correct pronounciation of the Arabic word. We were in the in the 'High Security' line. "I know why they placed me here," said the lady before me. "It happens every time I don't check in any luggage"... "Well," I replied, "It happens every time they read my name." She gave me a quizzical look. The New Zealanders behind me looked at me. "Do we really have to take off our shoes now?"... "You're better off taking them off now than later." I felt I owed them more explanation. "This is for our security, you know. It's better to be safe than sorry"...I wanted to add, especially with the elections approaching...but I bit my tongue... "So why do you wear it?" I turned to the almost...
Read more
"Today, he was hung on a piece of wood," laments Fayrooz, "he who had hung the skies over the waters..." The music is brilliant, her voice lavish, yet soft. It was a Sad Friday , and Pollina had taken us to the Catholic church up the street, from our house in Al-Mansoor, to light candles. In the darkly painted manger outside, I lit a candle -I still light a candle every now and then. Inside the church, the Virgin Mary is covered in a black cloth. I cannot see her face. Pollina kneals. We watch on, my younger sister clutching my sweaty fingers. The moans emerge from Nuha's living room. They mourn another martyr. His head was severed from his body, a starved and thirsty head, an adamant head, that vowed to die for the word...Allah's word. The main mourner's voice stems from the tape recorder. He sobs as he describes Al-Hussien's last moments. We have to keep our moans low. The police patrols of the regime outside can confiscate our recorder. They can...
Read more
I t was 1964 and I had not been born yet. Ahmed was a year old as he sat in the passenger seat of my father’s dark diplomatic sedan in downtown Peking at the peak of the Cultural Revolution. A cigar dangled from my father’s intellectual lips. It caught the eye of a 'figure of authority' infused with xenophobia, ready to revolt! He halted the passage of the car, down the crowded street, totally ignoring the 'Corps Diplomatique' number plate it carried. Faces pushed their tiny noses against the tinted glass of the black vehicle. As usual, my then little brother assumed it was the attention his big brown eyes had always managed to attract of so many baby lovers. The policeman spoke only in Mandarin; he waved at my father’s face, gesturing that he remove the cigar from his mouth. It was against the law in China, to drive and smoke. My father had not known. He removed the cigar from his mouth gently, then quietly pointed to the car fender where the number plate reared its ...
Read more