The new website for Oh, I Heard About That. is up.
www.ohiheardaboutthat.com
Later.
Wednesday, April 04, 2007
Monday, March 05, 2007
Tuesday, January 09, 2007
The book...
It's been a little over six months since the book has been available for purchase, and I'm happy with how many copies have been sold. Like I said from the outset, it wasn't about making lots of money. One thing I have been surprised about is how little feed back I've gotten from people--most of it consists of, "The book is tight!" and statements along those lines.
Perhaps strangest to me is I view this book as particularly helpful to those who study the culture from a scholarly perspective. Indeed, the book covers "a variety of important issues affecting Hip-Hop culture today." Yet, there doesn't seem to be much interest from these types in the book. I'm sure a lot of this has to do with my apathy towards marketing it in any sense of the word, I think soon I'm going to post it on Amazon. LOL. I just hope that those who do read it find it useful and come away from the book having learned something.
2007, new year for Hip-Hop. Let's see where it goes.
Hope all is well with everyone...
Perhaps strangest to me is I view this book as particularly helpful to those who study the culture from a scholarly perspective. Indeed, the book covers "a variety of important issues affecting Hip-Hop culture today." Yet, there doesn't seem to be much interest from these types in the book. I'm sure a lot of this has to do with my apathy towards marketing it in any sense of the word, I think soon I'm going to post it on Amazon. LOL. I just hope that those who do read it find it useful and come away from the book having learned something.
2007, new year for Hip-Hop. Let's see where it goes.
Hope all is well with everyone...
Wednesday, October 25, 2006
My bad.
I've been slacking hella bad on this blog lately. Sorry, lot's of things going on in my life right now. I'll pick it up, fresh start...Books sales doing okay. Comments good!
Wednesday, August 16, 2006
A Letter From Bambaataa...
Aside from the fact that there are typos in this letter, albeit some on purpose, this letter makes an important point about the power of the media. Indeed, I too am worried about the 'global human aura' right now.
****
PEACE AND BLESSING TO All of Our Family of Warriors, Thinkers and Leaders:
Hope your are in the best of Health and your families. I was sent your e-mail by the Zulu-staff . I have been living in Europe for the past couple of months and been waking as many up to what we're, doing in the states cause in some places they have the same problems with radio,especially the ones that copy The United States formats or programming of music. Then there are those specials stations that do have a balance of Ma'at on the airwaves and you hear it all.
One thing that did bother me is that these so called Rap /Hip Hop
radio stations here in some parts of Germany, France, Estonia, Croatia, Spain and even good old Great Britain underground play alot of the rap records with cursing. Their excuse is the people do not know the language anyway and my answer to them is, that is bull and you DJ's know there are many that do know some type of English and many of your are playing the curse version cause your think that makes your hardcore and down with the tuff side of what your think the United States Hip Hop/Rap is all about. That your all are helping with the conspiracy to mess up minds all over the world. After I got finish with some of these so called Hip Hop/ Music show host ,you know they could not wait to get me out of their radio stations. Especially some of the jive ones who think they know it all about Hip Hop/Funk/Soul/Rock/Latin/Soca/Jazz/House/Techno in England and other places to many to name.
You can feel the phony in all of them and their are a very few I can say who really do not know what their doing but there are the rest of them that exactly know what they are doing to the airwaves. Guess what! their are many and I mean many over here in Europe who are also tired of their radio stations that play the same music over and over again,as well as their media of television. Also Family The NWO is getting in full swing here and Mr. Tony Blair of the United Kingdom (England) is talking strong now about their Smart cards that are coming and if he is speaking strong now about it, you know their children of the UK= USA will be following to.
Family there is so much work to be done that it is disgrace-full to see with all this chaos all over the world going on,all the problems in MaMa Afrika, In India, The States and South America with crazy things happening in Europe to and those of us that do have the serious knowledge, we know what is really going on and have to prepare now if we are to survive the onslaught that is coming. All the things I have been talking for years is on the move right before us and if you hear what brother Phil Valentine, Bobby Hemit,and many of the Meta physical community of higher learning have been dropping, it is about to get super serious. The people's mind set all over this Great Planet is jacked up and the programming of these radio and T.V shows is playing a super big role to destroy Human mentality to think and to reason. If we can not get a movement of Humans to try and change the programming of these radio and T.V. stations which is just one step of many ,then we have some serious reactions of hell that will be all over this Earth.
I would like for your if you can and whomever else to put a list of solutions that we can put together with others on a cross the board scale that all states even other countries can follow in letting people know what can they do to help change the situations of programming of Radio and Television. We want to put as many things out with flyers to give out to all that will come out in November for The Meeting of The Mind ,The Balance Of Ma'at. We are going for two days to address this situation and with these papers of solutions we are calling on everyone to be accountable to what is going on in their respected Cities, Towns, States, Countries to move into action cause if they do nothing ,Then They Deserve What They Get. Also we need to reach out to many Leaders, Thinkers, Activist, Religious Heads, Movers, Actionist to represent and come out with solutions to this event for Hip Hop History Month and to all that are doing something to make change, we must push, salute and help back to the fullest our support. Stop the Killing of the Mind.
I will be back soon. If Allah willing, but you can start speaking to Brother Yoda, Dr. Shaka (zulustaff@earthlink.net) and to whomever else for we can make a movement more successful. We all have been speaking, fighting, teaching,s truggling, winning some for a moment, losing some but keep on pushing to keep what we know is right to do.
As I said many times before The Lucerferians are on the move and the Armies of Almighty RA/Allah/Jah/Yaweh/Elohim/Anu/Theos/Shango/Zeus/Oden and whatever else people want to call the Supreme Force must Rise or The Empire will Strike Back to bring Hell all over This planet so called Earth.
May The Supreme Force Bless Us All and keep Us All Always Protected against All our Enemies.
Peace ,Unity, Love, Freedom or Death, Justice
The Spirit Of Professor X Lives On
Afrika Bambaataa
The Amen Ra of Universal Hip Hop Culture
Each One Teach One,Feed One,Help One,Live as One,Leave all Egos in the Garbage
Save Planet Earth
****
Straight up-screw the pompous who profit with no respect for the predecessors or posterity. It's hard not to get sucked in by mass-media though, that's for sure. Doesn't make it okay, and certainly does not make turning blind eyes to injustice or being apathetic about your own individual ability to make a difference acceptable. Have your fun! BUT sincerely move to positively affect your surroundings as well.
****
PEACE AND BLESSING TO All of Our Family of Warriors, Thinkers and Leaders:
Hope your are in the best of Health and your families. I was sent your e-mail by the Zulu-staff . I have been living in Europe for the past couple of months and been waking as many up to what we're, doing in the states cause in some places they have the same problems with radio,especially the ones that copy The United States formats or programming of music. Then there are those specials stations that do have a balance of Ma'at on the airwaves and you hear it all.
One thing that did bother me is that these so called Rap /Hip Hop
radio stations here in some parts of Germany, France, Estonia, Croatia, Spain and even good old Great Britain underground play alot of the rap records with cursing. Their excuse is the people do not know the language anyway and my answer to them is, that is bull and you DJ's know there are many that do know some type of English and many of your are playing the curse version cause your think that makes your hardcore and down with the tuff side of what your think the United States Hip Hop/Rap is all about. That your all are helping with the conspiracy to mess up minds all over the world. After I got finish with some of these so called Hip Hop/ Music show host ,you know they could not wait to get me out of their radio stations. Especially some of the jive ones who think they know it all about Hip Hop/Funk/Soul/Rock/Latin/Soca/Jazz/House/Techno in England and other places to many to name.
You can feel the phony in all of them and their are a very few I can say who really do not know what their doing but there are the rest of them that exactly know what they are doing to the airwaves. Guess what! their are many and I mean many over here in Europe who are also tired of their radio stations that play the same music over and over again,as well as their media of television. Also Family The NWO is getting in full swing here and Mr. Tony Blair of the United Kingdom (England) is talking strong now about their Smart cards that are coming and if he is speaking strong now about it, you know their children of the UK= USA will be following to.
Family there is so much work to be done that it is disgrace-full to see with all this chaos all over the world going on,all the problems in MaMa Afrika, In India, The States and South America with crazy things happening in Europe to and those of us that do have the serious knowledge, we know what is really going on and have to prepare now if we are to survive the onslaught that is coming. All the things I have been talking for years is on the move right before us and if you hear what brother Phil Valentine, Bobby Hemit,and many of the Meta physical community of higher learning have been dropping, it is about to get super serious. The people's mind set all over this Great Planet is jacked up and the programming of these radio and T.V shows is playing a super big role to destroy Human mentality to think and to reason. If we can not get a movement of Humans to try and change the programming of these radio and T.V. stations which is just one step of many ,then we have some serious reactions of hell that will be all over this Earth.
I would like for your if you can and whomever else to put a list of solutions that we can put together with others on a cross the board scale that all states even other countries can follow in letting people know what can they do to help change the situations of programming of Radio and Television. We want to put as many things out with flyers to give out to all that will come out in November for The Meeting of The Mind ,The Balance Of Ma'at. We are going for two days to address this situation and with these papers of solutions we are calling on everyone to be accountable to what is going on in their respected Cities, Towns, States, Countries to move into action cause if they do nothing ,Then They Deserve What They Get. Also we need to reach out to many Leaders, Thinkers, Activist, Religious Heads, Movers, Actionist to represent and come out with solutions to this event for Hip Hop History Month and to all that are doing something to make change, we must push, salute and help back to the fullest our support. Stop the Killing of the Mind.
I will be back soon. If Allah willing, but you can start speaking to Brother Yoda, Dr. Shaka (zulustaff@earthlink.net) and to whomever else for we can make a movement more successful. We all have been speaking, fighting, teaching,s truggling, winning some for a moment, losing some but keep on pushing to keep what we know is right to do.
As I said many times before The Lucerferians are on the move and the Armies of Almighty RA/Allah/Jah/Yaweh/Elohim/Anu/Theos/Shango/Zeus/Oden and whatever else people want to call the Supreme Force must Rise or The Empire will Strike Back to bring Hell all over This planet so called Earth.
May The Supreme Force Bless Us All and keep Us All Always Protected against All our Enemies.
Peace ,Unity, Love, Freedom or Death, Justice
The Spirit Of Professor X Lives On
Afrika Bambaataa
The Amen Ra of Universal Hip Hop Culture
Each One Teach One,Feed One,Help One,Live as One,Leave all Egos in the Garbage
Save Planet Earth
****
Straight up-screw the pompous who profit with no respect for the predecessors or posterity. It's hard not to get sucked in by mass-media though, that's for sure. Doesn't make it okay, and certainly does not make turning blind eyes to injustice or being apathetic about your own individual ability to make a difference acceptable. Have your fun! BUT sincerely move to positively affect your surroundings as well.
Monday, August 14, 2006
Abducted In Iraq, Pt. 1 of Jill Carroll's Story
This is a first-person account by a journailist who was kidnapped and survived her ordeal.
******
KIDNAP
Jill Carroll, Christian Science Monitor
Monday, August 14, 2006
My chief captor had an idea about how to prod the U.S. government into action: another video. He said this one would be different, and left.
I turned to the two guards sitting on cushions a few feet away and started to panic. Really, really panic.
"Oh my God, oh my God, they're going to kill me, this is going to be it. I don't know when but they're going to do it," I thought.
I crawled over to Abu Hassan, the one who seemed more grown-up and sympathetic. His 9mm pistol was by his side, as usual.
"You're my brother, you're truly my brother," I said in Arabic. "Promise me you will use this gun to kill me by your own hand. I don't want that knife, I don't want the knife, use the gun."
I started to cry hysterically. By now I'd been held captive by Iraqi insurgents for six weeks. They'd given me a new hijab, a new name (Aisha), and tried to convert me to Islam. They'd let me play with their children -- and repeatedly accused me of working for the CIA.
At night I'd fall asleep and be free in my dreams. Then I'd wake up and my situation would land on me like a weight. Every morning, it was as if I was kidnapped anew.
That particular morning I'd received a visit from Abu Nour, the most senior of my captors. As usual, the distinctive scent of his spicy cologne had announced his presence. As usual, I'd snapped my eyes to the ground to avoid seeing his face.
"We need to make a new video of you," he'd said in his high-pitched, yet gravelly voice. "The last video showed you in good condition, and that made the government move slowly."
The British government had moved quickly, he'd said, after a video had shown hostage Margaret Hassan in bad condition. They wanted to push the United States in the same way.
Margaret Hassan! An Irish aid worker married to an Iraqi, she'd been seized in Baghdad in October 2004, while on her way to work. Less than a month later, she was killed.
After the leader left, I sat and stared into the glowing metal of the propane heater, my knees drawn up under my red velveteen dishdasha. I was completely terrified.
If it was going to happen, I wanted it to be quick. So I crawled over to Hassan and begged.
"I don't want the knife!" I sobbed.
Neither Hassan nor his fellow guard -- the blubbery, adolescent Abu Qarrar -- really knew what to do about my outburst.
"We're not going to kill you. Why? What is this?" said Hassan.
His voice was flat and sounded insincere.
"Abu Qarrar, you speak English. You have to tell my family that I love them and that I'm sorry," I implored.
I sat against the wall of a house whose location I didn't know, under a window to an outside I couldn't walk through, and cried and cried.
In Baghdad, Jan. 7, 2006 was a sunny Saturday. For me it promised to be an easy day.
First up were some routine interviews of Iraqi politicians trying to form a new government. Three weeks before, the country had chosen its first democratically elected permanent government. But Sunni politicians were dismayed at how few seats they'd won.
Later, I planned to leave my virus-ridden laptop (stashed in the trunk) with a techie friend of my interpreter, Alan Enwiya.
Alan was vital to my newsgathering process. We had been a team for almost two years. We were also friends -- it felt as if we were almost siblings -- who'd worked through Iraq's difficult and increasingly dangerous conditions.
We had been threatened by militia members, mobbed after Friday prayers, and seen bullets rain down from passing police vehicles. We'd walked hours through Baghdad soliciting interviews from ordinary Iraqi voters.
During long days in traffic jams, Alan would tell me funny stories about his daughter and infant son, marveling at how fast they were growing. I would tease him that I was a spy for his wife, Fairuz, and would report to her if I caught him looking in the direction of a pretty girl.
The first interview on our list that morning was Adnan al-Dulaimi, a Sunni politician. While there was a handful of what Western journalists considered no-go neighborhoods in Baghdad, his office wasn't in that category yet. But we had taken our normal security precautions. I was dressed, for example, in a black hijab that hid my hair and Western clothes. We'd been to Dulaimi's office several times before without a problem. Our last trip had been two days earlier to set up this interview.
In retrospect, that was a fatal mistake; we had given someone 48 hours to prepare for our return.
Adnan Abbas, the Monitor's longtime driver -- who'd shared many of our harrowing experiences -- guided his maroon Toyota sedan along the familiar route to Dulaimi's office, dropping us off 20 minutes earlier than the scheduled time of 10 a.m.
Inside, Dulaimi's aides steered us away from the usual waiting room full of men drinking sweet tea in tiny glasses, and into an adjoining room where we were alone. Alan and I noticed the strangeness of this move at the same moment.
"Well, it's better," Alan said. "You're a woman and there are a lot of men in there."
The minutes passed and aides walked through the room chatting on cell phones. I understood through my rudimentary Arabic that they were telling various people that a reporter was waiting to see Dulaimi. But a little after 10 a.m. the same aide who had made the appointment for us approached us.
"Sorry, Dr. Dulaimi has a press conference right now," the aide said. "He can't talk to you. Can you come back at 12?"
I wondered why I hadn't heard about the press conference before now.
We agreed to come back later and stepped out into the bright sunny morning where Adnan was waiting for us.
As we walked to the car, Alan reminded me that we needed to call ahead to make sure our next interview was still on. He climbed into the front, and I handed him my phone from the back seat, my usual place. He began shouting into the phone, trying to make himself heard over Baghdad's overloaded, spotty cell phone network.
Adnan had begun to pull away, but suddenly a large blue truck with red and yellow trim backed out of a driveway in front of us, completely blocking the road. Several men were standing around it, motioning to help it back out.
But in an instant they turned, trained pistols on us and briskly approached the car.
Adnan hit the brakes, and he and Alan put their hands up. It was a routine we had become familiar with in Baghdad, where private security details often brandish weapons to clear a path for their clients.
But unlike the previous times, the men didn't lower their weapons -- and they kept advancing. The man closest to the car, a rotund person with salt-and-pepper stubble, had his gun aimed right through the windshield at Adnan.
My eyes were glued to him. I was confused about why he didn't lower his pistol. At the same time Adnan and Alan opened their doors and began to get out of the car.
The gunmen ran at us. A whisper exploded from me into a scream, "No, no, NO!" as I tried to get out. The door closed on my right ankle as someone shoved me back in, pushing so hard that the right lens of my glasses popped out. Through the crack in the door -- before the intruder slammed it -- I saw the last moment of Alan's life.
Adnan was gone. The rotund man was in the driver's seat now. Other men jumped in sandwiching me between them. We sped away, out onto the main road, then turned right.
"Jihad! Jihad! Jihad!" my abductors shouted, excited and joyful. "Jihad! Jihad!"
In the first minutes after my abduction, my captors peppered me with questions in Arabic. I played dumb, fearful they would think I understood too much and kill me.
They quickly drove Adnan's Toyota onto the highways of western Baghdad and surrounding farmlands, going in circles, apparently to kill time. Their "success" was granted by God, they believed, and they issued thanks repeatedly. "Allahu Akbar" they said, "God is greatest."
"They're going to take me out into a field and kill me," I thought as we bumped down rural back roads.
They seemed to read my thoughts, perplexed that I was afraid amidst their jubilation.
"Why you worried?" they asked in stilted English. "No, no, no, (this is) jihad! (We are) Iraqi, Iraqi mujahedeen! Why you worried?"
Sunni Muslim insurgents were -- still are -- the most active hostage-takers in Iraq. Many were allied to Abu Musab al-Zarqawi, the Jordanian who led al Qaeda in Iraq until he was killed by a U.S. air strike June 7.
But the outside world didn't know much about these groups. These weren't people who held press conferences or articulated their grievances through the political process.
They were a powerful force in Iraq, but they were like shadows behind a curtain. We could see broad outlines, but were left to guess at who they really were, how they think, and what motivates them.
Alan and I had been focusing for several months on piecing together a clear picture of Iraq's Sunni community. Their tacit support for the insurgency allowed it to operate; understanding them was key to understanding the forces violently splitting the country.
Now I was to gain the insight we had so long sought. At such a price to Alan, I have never been so desperate for ignorance.
The room was small, with furniture that was fancy by Iraqi standards -- two couches and an overstuffed chair covered in dark velvet with gold trim. The TV and its satellite box were in the corner.
Abu Rasha -- a big man whom I would come to see as an organizer of my guards -- lay down on one of the sofas. His wife and one of his children sat next to him on a chair.
Then Rasha handed me the remote. "Whatever you want," he said.
How do you channel surf with the mujahedeen? I asked myself that question as I flipped from one show to another, trying to act casual. Politics was out. News was out. Anything that might show even a flash of skin was out.
Finally, I found Channel 1 from Dubai, and Oprah was on. A-OK, good, Oprah, I thought. No naked women, no whatever, she's not in hijab, but it's OK.
The show was about people who had had really bad things happen to them, and had survived, and had hope. One woman came on who had been a model in the '70s and had breast cancer, and now she's a famous photographer. Oprah talked about how people get through these things, and I thought, well, this is sort of prophetic, maybe.
I had only been in captivity a few hours. This house, big, with two stories, was the second place I'd been taken.
The first had been a tiny, three-room house among tall crops on Baghdad's western outskirts. It was a poor place, built of cinder blocks. My captors gave me a new set of clothes, and I changed in the bathroom while the stern-faced woman of the house looked on.
They took pains to explain they wouldn't take the $100 in cash they'd found in my pockets.
"When you return to America, this with you," said one, waving the $100 bill.
Who were these people? Kidnapping was justified but taking money was not? And less than an hour after killing Alan to kidnap me, they seemed to be saying they would eventually let me go.
Then we drove to the second house, which appeared to be the home of one of the kidnappers, who'd given his name as Rasha.
They took me upstairs to the master bedroom. Within a few minutes an interpreter arrived, and an interrogation began.
They wanted to know my name, the name of my newspaper, my religion, how much my computer was worth, did it have a device to signal the government or military, if I or anyone in my family drank alcohol, how many American reporters were in Baghdad, did I know reporters from other countries, and myriad other questions.
Then, the interpreter explained the situation.
"You are our sister. We have no problem with you. Our problem is with your government. We just need to keep you for some time. We want women freed from Abu Ghraib prison. Maybe four or five women. We want to ask your government for this," the interpreter said. (At the time, it was reported that 10 Iraqi women were among 14,000 Iraqis being held by coalition forces on suspicion of insurgent activity.)
"You are to stay in this room. And this window, don't put one hand on this window," he continued. "I have a place underground. It is very dark and small, and cold, and if you put one hand on this window, we will put you there. Some of my friends said we should put you there, but I said, 'No she is a woman.' Women are very important in Islam."
After that they fed me from a platter of chicken and rice that would have been fit for an honored guest. And I was invited downstairs to watch television with Rasha's family.
That's when we'd watched Oprah. Afterward, Rasha asked me what I liked to eat for breakfast, and what time I had it. It was part of this pattern -- they all seemed concerned that I think they were good, or at least that they were treating me well.
But in my mind every second was a test -- the choice of food, TV program, everything -- and they would kill me if I gave the wrong answer.
Eventually I told them I wanted to sleep, and they led me upstairs. I lay in bed, on the far side away from the window. The clock was ticking loudly, and then it started to rain. I love rain, and I thought, oh, maybe this is a good sign.
But I'd been performing all day, holding in my emotions, and with darkness they came flooding back.
"Oh my God. They killed Alan." A tide of emotion was racing toward me. It was going to drown me or send me flinging myself against the walls in anger and screams. I had to stop it.
"I cannot grieve now. I cannot do this now. I have to put it away," I thought.
I looked up into the darkness of the ceiling toward Alan. "I'm sorry," I told him. "I'll take care of you later." I felt disloyal. I thought to survive, I had to push aside the memory of his brutal murder. But I knew that at some point I'd have to come to terms with the guilt I felt for his death.
As night fell, I wondered if my friends had heard. I knew that by this point Alan's family, his wife, Fairuz, was realizing the worst.
"Well, now they must know," I thought. "It's dark. He hasn't come home. They must be screaming. Fairuz must be screaming."
How to help
Alan Enwiya is one of nearly 100 journalists and media assistants killed in Iraq since March 2003. Alan is survived by his wife, Fairuz, his two children, Martin and Mary Ann, and his parents.
The Christian Science Monitor has set up a fund to help support Alan's family and to enable them to start a new life in the United States, where they have relatives.
Donations may be sent to:
The Alan Enwiya Fund
c/o Christian Science Monitor
1 Norway Street
Boston, MA 02115
Alan Enwiya, in shirtsleeves, was the Iraqi interpreter for the Christian Science Monitor who was killed during the abduction of Jill Carroll. He is shown with his family in an undated photograph. Christian Science Monitor photo by Howard LaFranchi
******
KIDNAP
Jill Carroll, Christian Science Monitor
Monday, August 14, 2006
My chief captor had an idea about how to prod the U.S. government into action: another video. He said this one would be different, and left.
I turned to the two guards sitting on cushions a few feet away and started to panic. Really, really panic.
"Oh my God, oh my God, they're going to kill me, this is going to be it. I don't know when but they're going to do it," I thought.
I crawled over to Abu Hassan, the one who seemed more grown-up and sympathetic. His 9mm pistol was by his side, as usual.
"You're my brother, you're truly my brother," I said in Arabic. "Promise me you will use this gun to kill me by your own hand. I don't want that knife, I don't want the knife, use the gun."
I started to cry hysterically. By now I'd been held captive by Iraqi insurgents for six weeks. They'd given me a new hijab, a new name (Aisha), and tried to convert me to Islam. They'd let me play with their children -- and repeatedly accused me of working for the CIA.
At night I'd fall asleep and be free in my dreams. Then I'd wake up and my situation would land on me like a weight. Every morning, it was as if I was kidnapped anew.
That particular morning I'd received a visit from Abu Nour, the most senior of my captors. As usual, the distinctive scent of his spicy cologne had announced his presence. As usual, I'd snapped my eyes to the ground to avoid seeing his face.
"We need to make a new video of you," he'd said in his high-pitched, yet gravelly voice. "The last video showed you in good condition, and that made the government move slowly."
The British government had moved quickly, he'd said, after a video had shown hostage Margaret Hassan in bad condition. They wanted to push the United States in the same way.
Margaret Hassan! An Irish aid worker married to an Iraqi, she'd been seized in Baghdad in October 2004, while on her way to work. Less than a month later, she was killed.
After the leader left, I sat and stared into the glowing metal of the propane heater, my knees drawn up under my red velveteen dishdasha. I was completely terrified.
If it was going to happen, I wanted it to be quick. So I crawled over to Hassan and begged.
"I don't want the knife!" I sobbed.
Neither Hassan nor his fellow guard -- the blubbery, adolescent Abu Qarrar -- really knew what to do about my outburst.
"We're not going to kill you. Why? What is this?" said Hassan.
His voice was flat and sounded insincere.
"Abu Qarrar, you speak English. You have to tell my family that I love them and that I'm sorry," I implored.
I sat against the wall of a house whose location I didn't know, under a window to an outside I couldn't walk through, and cried and cried.
In Baghdad, Jan. 7, 2006 was a sunny Saturday. For me it promised to be an easy day.
First up were some routine interviews of Iraqi politicians trying to form a new government. Three weeks before, the country had chosen its first democratically elected permanent government. But Sunni politicians were dismayed at how few seats they'd won.
Later, I planned to leave my virus-ridden laptop (stashed in the trunk) with a techie friend of my interpreter, Alan Enwiya.
Alan was vital to my newsgathering process. We had been a team for almost two years. We were also friends -- it felt as if we were almost siblings -- who'd worked through Iraq's difficult and increasingly dangerous conditions.
We had been threatened by militia members, mobbed after Friday prayers, and seen bullets rain down from passing police vehicles. We'd walked hours through Baghdad soliciting interviews from ordinary Iraqi voters.
During long days in traffic jams, Alan would tell me funny stories about his daughter and infant son, marveling at how fast they were growing. I would tease him that I was a spy for his wife, Fairuz, and would report to her if I caught him looking in the direction of a pretty girl.
The first interview on our list that morning was Adnan al-Dulaimi, a Sunni politician. While there was a handful of what Western journalists considered no-go neighborhoods in Baghdad, his office wasn't in that category yet. But we had taken our normal security precautions. I was dressed, for example, in a black hijab that hid my hair and Western clothes. We'd been to Dulaimi's office several times before without a problem. Our last trip had been two days earlier to set up this interview.
In retrospect, that was a fatal mistake; we had given someone 48 hours to prepare for our return.
Adnan Abbas, the Monitor's longtime driver -- who'd shared many of our harrowing experiences -- guided his maroon Toyota sedan along the familiar route to Dulaimi's office, dropping us off 20 minutes earlier than the scheduled time of 10 a.m.
Inside, Dulaimi's aides steered us away from the usual waiting room full of men drinking sweet tea in tiny glasses, and into an adjoining room where we were alone. Alan and I noticed the strangeness of this move at the same moment.
"Well, it's better," Alan said. "You're a woman and there are a lot of men in there."
The minutes passed and aides walked through the room chatting on cell phones. I understood through my rudimentary Arabic that they were telling various people that a reporter was waiting to see Dulaimi. But a little after 10 a.m. the same aide who had made the appointment for us approached us.
"Sorry, Dr. Dulaimi has a press conference right now," the aide said. "He can't talk to you. Can you come back at 12?"
I wondered why I hadn't heard about the press conference before now.
We agreed to come back later and stepped out into the bright sunny morning where Adnan was waiting for us.
As we walked to the car, Alan reminded me that we needed to call ahead to make sure our next interview was still on. He climbed into the front, and I handed him my phone from the back seat, my usual place. He began shouting into the phone, trying to make himself heard over Baghdad's overloaded, spotty cell phone network.
Adnan had begun to pull away, but suddenly a large blue truck with red and yellow trim backed out of a driveway in front of us, completely blocking the road. Several men were standing around it, motioning to help it back out.
But in an instant they turned, trained pistols on us and briskly approached the car.
Adnan hit the brakes, and he and Alan put their hands up. It was a routine we had become familiar with in Baghdad, where private security details often brandish weapons to clear a path for their clients.
But unlike the previous times, the men didn't lower their weapons -- and they kept advancing. The man closest to the car, a rotund person with salt-and-pepper stubble, had his gun aimed right through the windshield at Adnan.
My eyes were glued to him. I was confused about why he didn't lower his pistol. At the same time Adnan and Alan opened their doors and began to get out of the car.
The gunmen ran at us. A whisper exploded from me into a scream, "No, no, NO!" as I tried to get out. The door closed on my right ankle as someone shoved me back in, pushing so hard that the right lens of my glasses popped out. Through the crack in the door -- before the intruder slammed it -- I saw the last moment of Alan's life.
Adnan was gone. The rotund man was in the driver's seat now. Other men jumped in sandwiching me between them. We sped away, out onto the main road, then turned right.
"Jihad! Jihad! Jihad!" my abductors shouted, excited and joyful. "Jihad! Jihad!"
In the first minutes after my abduction, my captors peppered me with questions in Arabic. I played dumb, fearful they would think I understood too much and kill me.
They quickly drove Adnan's Toyota onto the highways of western Baghdad and surrounding farmlands, going in circles, apparently to kill time. Their "success" was granted by God, they believed, and they issued thanks repeatedly. "Allahu Akbar" they said, "God is greatest."
"They're going to take me out into a field and kill me," I thought as we bumped down rural back roads.
They seemed to read my thoughts, perplexed that I was afraid amidst their jubilation.
"Why you worried?" they asked in stilted English. "No, no, no, (this is) jihad! (We are) Iraqi, Iraqi mujahedeen! Why you worried?"
Sunni Muslim insurgents were -- still are -- the most active hostage-takers in Iraq. Many were allied to Abu Musab al-Zarqawi, the Jordanian who led al Qaeda in Iraq until he was killed by a U.S. air strike June 7.
But the outside world didn't know much about these groups. These weren't people who held press conferences or articulated their grievances through the political process.
They were a powerful force in Iraq, but they were like shadows behind a curtain. We could see broad outlines, but were left to guess at who they really were, how they think, and what motivates them.
Alan and I had been focusing for several months on piecing together a clear picture of Iraq's Sunni community. Their tacit support for the insurgency allowed it to operate; understanding them was key to understanding the forces violently splitting the country.
Now I was to gain the insight we had so long sought. At such a price to Alan, I have never been so desperate for ignorance.
The room was small, with furniture that was fancy by Iraqi standards -- two couches and an overstuffed chair covered in dark velvet with gold trim. The TV and its satellite box were in the corner.
Abu Rasha -- a big man whom I would come to see as an organizer of my guards -- lay down on one of the sofas. His wife and one of his children sat next to him on a chair.
Then Rasha handed me the remote. "Whatever you want," he said.
How do you channel surf with the mujahedeen? I asked myself that question as I flipped from one show to another, trying to act casual. Politics was out. News was out. Anything that might show even a flash of skin was out.
Finally, I found Channel 1 from Dubai, and Oprah was on. A-OK, good, Oprah, I thought. No naked women, no whatever, she's not in hijab, but it's OK.
The show was about people who had had really bad things happen to them, and had survived, and had hope. One woman came on who had been a model in the '70s and had breast cancer, and now she's a famous photographer. Oprah talked about how people get through these things, and I thought, well, this is sort of prophetic, maybe.
I had only been in captivity a few hours. This house, big, with two stories, was the second place I'd been taken.
The first had been a tiny, three-room house among tall crops on Baghdad's western outskirts. It was a poor place, built of cinder blocks. My captors gave me a new set of clothes, and I changed in the bathroom while the stern-faced woman of the house looked on.
They took pains to explain they wouldn't take the $100 in cash they'd found in my pockets.
"When you return to America, this with you," said one, waving the $100 bill.
Who were these people? Kidnapping was justified but taking money was not? And less than an hour after killing Alan to kidnap me, they seemed to be saying they would eventually let me go.
Then we drove to the second house, which appeared to be the home of one of the kidnappers, who'd given his name as Rasha.
They took me upstairs to the master bedroom. Within a few minutes an interpreter arrived, and an interrogation began.
They wanted to know my name, the name of my newspaper, my religion, how much my computer was worth, did it have a device to signal the government or military, if I or anyone in my family drank alcohol, how many American reporters were in Baghdad, did I know reporters from other countries, and myriad other questions.
Then, the interpreter explained the situation.
"You are our sister. We have no problem with you. Our problem is with your government. We just need to keep you for some time. We want women freed from Abu Ghraib prison. Maybe four or five women. We want to ask your government for this," the interpreter said. (At the time, it was reported that 10 Iraqi women were among 14,000 Iraqis being held by coalition forces on suspicion of insurgent activity.)
"You are to stay in this room. And this window, don't put one hand on this window," he continued. "I have a place underground. It is very dark and small, and cold, and if you put one hand on this window, we will put you there. Some of my friends said we should put you there, but I said, 'No she is a woman.' Women are very important in Islam."
After that they fed me from a platter of chicken and rice that would have been fit for an honored guest. And I was invited downstairs to watch television with Rasha's family.
That's when we'd watched Oprah. Afterward, Rasha asked me what I liked to eat for breakfast, and what time I had it. It was part of this pattern -- they all seemed concerned that I think they were good, or at least that they were treating me well.
But in my mind every second was a test -- the choice of food, TV program, everything -- and they would kill me if I gave the wrong answer.
Eventually I told them I wanted to sleep, and they led me upstairs. I lay in bed, on the far side away from the window. The clock was ticking loudly, and then it started to rain. I love rain, and I thought, oh, maybe this is a good sign.
But I'd been performing all day, holding in my emotions, and with darkness they came flooding back.
"Oh my God. They killed Alan." A tide of emotion was racing toward me. It was going to drown me or send me flinging myself against the walls in anger and screams. I had to stop it.
"I cannot grieve now. I cannot do this now. I have to put it away," I thought.
I looked up into the darkness of the ceiling toward Alan. "I'm sorry," I told him. "I'll take care of you later." I felt disloyal. I thought to survive, I had to push aside the memory of his brutal murder. But I knew that at some point I'd have to come to terms with the guilt I felt for his death.
As night fell, I wondered if my friends had heard. I knew that by this point Alan's family, his wife, Fairuz, was realizing the worst.
"Well, now they must know," I thought. "It's dark. He hasn't come home. They must be screaming. Fairuz must be screaming."
How to help
Alan Enwiya is one of nearly 100 journalists and media assistants killed in Iraq since March 2003. Alan is survived by his wife, Fairuz, his two children, Martin and Mary Ann, and his parents.
The Christian Science Monitor has set up a fund to help support Alan's family and to enable them to start a new life in the United States, where they have relatives.
Donations may be sent to:
The Alan Enwiya Fund
c/o Christian Science Monitor
1 Norway Street
Boston, MA 02115
Alan Enwiya, in shirtsleeves, was the Iraqi interpreter for the Christian Science Monitor who was killed during the abduction of Jill Carroll. He is shown with his family in an undated photograph. Christian Science Monitor photo by Howard LaFranchi
Iran's President Starts His Own Blog
That's right, that crazy mofo who is the president of Iran, Mahmoud Ahmadinejad, has launched his own blog. Unfortunately for all of us who do not speak Farsi (Persian) the site is a little hard to naivgate. You can get it so be in English, but I'm still trying to figure oiut where to go to see postings. I guess I'm a dumb mofo.
Earlier I alluded to him being crazy, but I don't think he's that crazy. He strikes me as similar to Mr. Bush, in the sense that he is driven by faith, popluar with the people (to a large extent), and usually smiling. Anyhow, enjoy if you want to...
www.ahmadinejad.ir
Earlier I alluded to him being crazy, but I don't think he's that crazy. He strikes me as similar to Mr. Bush, in the sense that he is driven by faith, popluar with the people (to a large extent), and usually smiling. Anyhow, enjoy if you want to...
www.ahmadinejad.ir
Thursday, August 03, 2006
The Bigga Figga releasing a new DVD.
Got this from Davey D.
****
JT The Bigga Figga & Snoop Dogg Unite for Mandatory Business DVD
New DVD Promoting Peace in the Streets Feats. 50 Cent, Spike Lee, Russell Simmons and David Banner
July 27st 2006- CEO of Get Low Films, JT The Bigga Figga is proud to announce the release of the DVD “Mandatory Business” in Oct 1st 2006. The DVD chronicles the travels of JT The Bigga Figga as he goes across the country interviewing today’s greatest rap icons. Snoop Dogg, 50 Cent, Spike Lee, Russell Simmons, Lloyd Banks, and David Banner are featured in “Mandatory Business” stressing the importance of peace on the streets. The DVD shows JT mentoring young people in the notorious Fillmore District of SF, as well as taking in JT’s thoughts after helping to negotiate a truce between warring Bay Area turfs.
“Mandatory Business” also works to empower ghetto youth to use their minds and their art to provide new avenues to financial security. “I did this to play my part in my community and to hopefully inspire those who have more power than me to get involved in saving the youth” said JT. A lot of people get big, then they hide out. Bring your knowledge back to the hood!“
In addition, JT will be dropping a new album entitled “Drop Ya Thangs, Just Box”.
JT describes it as “The Bigga Figga at his finest. Raw and uncut. It’s about he peace movement and the realities of the hood and solutions. We gonna start a new movement in rap. It’s called solution rap. We got gangta rap, pimp rap, and we gonna do solution rap to solve the issues in the hood. Public Enemy, KRS ONE and them were the first to open the door to show rap as a teaching tool. Askari X was one of the first to bring the hood with knowledge. I want this to be on that type of level. So this solution rap is a more evolved form of whats been happening on the block .”
There will be a book to accompany the DVD entitiled “Mandatory Handbook: 100 Pages of Street Knowledge” featuring exclusive photos and stories behind the making of the DVD.
****
JT The Bigga Figga & Snoop Dogg Unite for Mandatory Business DVD
New DVD Promoting Peace in the Streets Feats. 50 Cent, Spike Lee, Russell Simmons and David Banner
July 27st 2006- CEO of Get Low Films, JT The Bigga Figga is proud to announce the release of the DVD “Mandatory Business” in Oct 1st 2006. The DVD chronicles the travels of JT The Bigga Figga as he goes across the country interviewing today’s greatest rap icons. Snoop Dogg, 50 Cent, Spike Lee, Russell Simmons, Lloyd Banks, and David Banner are featured in “Mandatory Business” stressing the importance of peace on the streets. The DVD shows JT mentoring young people in the notorious Fillmore District of SF, as well as taking in JT’s thoughts after helping to negotiate a truce between warring Bay Area turfs.
“Mandatory Business” also works to empower ghetto youth to use their minds and their art to provide new avenues to financial security. “I did this to play my part in my community and to hopefully inspire those who have more power than me to get involved in saving the youth” said JT. A lot of people get big, then they hide out. Bring your knowledge back to the hood!“
In addition, JT will be dropping a new album entitled “Drop Ya Thangs, Just Box”.
JT describes it as “The Bigga Figga at his finest. Raw and uncut. It’s about he peace movement and the realities of the hood and solutions. We gonna start a new movement in rap. It’s called solution rap. We got gangta rap, pimp rap, and we gonna do solution rap to solve the issues in the hood. Public Enemy, KRS ONE and them were the first to open the door to show rap as a teaching tool. Askari X was one of the first to bring the hood with knowledge. I want this to be on that type of level. So this solution rap is a more evolved form of whats been happening on the block .”
There will be a book to accompany the DVD entitiled “Mandatory Handbook: 100 Pages of Street Knowledge” featuring exclusive photos and stories behind the making of the DVD.
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