Liberation day in Iraq?

On April 9, 2003, the day Saddam’s statue came down in Baghdad, National Review Online asked me for a quick response. In the midst of the exuberance, and the facile comparisons with the fall of the Berlin Wall, I struck this cautionary note:

The Iraqis, in the end, did not rise up. They waited to see the whites of American eyes before they headed into the streets. They did not earn their freedom; they had it delivered to them, U.S. federal express. It is doubtful they are ready to assume its responsibilities.

This is the time to put illusions aside, and take a hard look at the people whose fates we now control. Just as they could not remove the dictator without American lifting, they cannot make a civil order without American prodding. There’s nothing exceptional about an excitable crowd in Baghdad. “Liberation Day” will come only when the Iraqis go to the polls, and convene a parliament.

Why did I strike that note? Ali Salem, the Egyptian playright, had shared a podium with me six months earlier, and had said something that stayed with me. Salem:

I hear so much talk of liberation. Liberation can occur only from within. People do not merely fail to welcome their liberators, they hate them. In general, we hate those who see us in a bad condition, and hate even more passionately those who save us from our plight.

Ali Salem spoke a very profound truth, and when Iraqis failed to rise up against Saddam six months later, and came out in large numbers only to pillage their own country, Salem’s words came back to me. This was not a liberation. The next opportunity could only be an election day when Iraqis, by a civic act only they could perform, would finally liberate themselves.

That day is here. The Iraqis did not turn out to join in the overthrow Saddam, because they were afraid. Now they must turn out to forge an alternative, and if they fail to do that because they are still afraid, then they are lost. They will slip slowly beneath the waves of some new despotism, condemned to reenact yet another cycle in the tormented history of a country that should never have been.

America owes Iraq this day, but beyond it there is no enduring obligation to sacrifice more for Iraqi freedom than the Iraqis are prepared to sacrifice. No people has achieved and sustained democracy that did not have men and women prepared to fight and die for the right to place a ballot in a box. Iraq is no exception.

My readers know that I’ve always been a skeptic about the democratizing project in the Arab world. The odds are against it. But I’ve always understood that skepticism cuts against the American grain, and that most Americans feel duty-bound to try. I hope against hope that this majority is right and that I’m wrong. What’s important is that when this day ends, and the outcome becomes clear, we put aside lingering illusions and see it for what it is: either a beginning, or an end.

Indiana Jones or Inside Job at Iraq Museum?

On Tuesday, directors of some of the world’s leading museums met at the British Museum in London. Their mission: salvaging what can be salvaged at the plundered Iraq Museum. Their point man in Baghdad will be Dr. Donny George, research director of the Iraq Museum, who visited London for the meeting. There was much ado about the much-quoted Dr. George, who gave a colorful account of the museum under siege. He (again) pointed an accusing finger at the United States, for failing to prevent the “crime of the century.” (“Was it done intentionally? I don’t know. But moving a tank 50 of 60 meters would have saved mankind’s heritage.”)

And he got glowing press in London. The Guardian reported that his “bravery in tackling looters after the first Gulf war has earned him something of a reputation as an Indiana Jones figure.” He also made a great impression on officialdom. “A typically wet performance on Tuesday from culture secretary Tessa Jowell,” noted the Financial Times. “She found it ‘truly humbling’ to meet Donny George, veteran research director of Baghdad’s National Museum.” Clearly, Dr. George has landed on his feet.

But no one who knows how Saddam’s Iraq worked should think for a moment that Dr. George was anything less than a faithful servant of his master. In fact, he seems to have been less the Indiana Jones of Iraqi archaeology, and more its Tariq Aziz. He was the urbane handler of the foreign archaeologists, with one overarching purpose: turning them into an anti-embargo lobby among the well-heeled. To judge from the sanctions-busting by many foreign archaeologists, he did a pretty good job. He certainly enjoyed the confidence of Saddam Hussein. Two years ago, Dr. George boasted to a foreign journalist that Saddam not only read his reports, but returned them with careful notes in the margins. Reports on what? Isn’t that something we should know, before we feel “truly humbled” in Dr. George’s presence?

In September 1990, within weeks of Iraq’s invasion and occupation of Kuwait, the staff of the Iraq Museum turned up in Kuwait, loaded the contents of Kuwait’s National Museum into open lorries (their methods were “anything but professional,” notes the collection’s patron), and hauled them across the desert to the basement of their own museum. Kuwait had been abolished by Saddam, and these treasures were now part of Iraq’s patrimony. Most of the plunder was returned to the Kuwaitis—after Iraq’s defeat and a U.N. resolution. But some of the collection was damaged, and 59 prime objects “disappeared,” including a few spectacular emeralds—just the sort of thing a Baath higher-up would want in his pocket. Wouldn’t you like to hear more about that earlier Baath heist from Dr. George, before feeling “truly humbled” in his presence?

If you visited the Iraq Museum over the last couple of years (in defiance of your government’s travel ban), Dr. George would have shown you the head of a winged bull statue, the kind found at the entrance to Assyrian palaces. This one had been stolen and cut up by a gang of smugglers. Their bad luck: they got caught. Dr. George then would have told you the fate that befell the smugglers: ten of them were executed. Dr. George called that theft the “crime of the century,” explaining that antiquities smuggling endangered Iraq’s “national security.” He also told a journalist in 2001 that new and harsher penalties for looting of artefacts were due to be put in effect that year, including the death penalty. Wouldn’t you want to know how Iraq came to impose such despotic penalties, and whether they were urged upon Saddam by Iraq’s archaeological bureaucrats, before allowing yourself to be “truly humbled” by Dr. George?

Now that you no longer feel all that humbled, read this paragraph from the New York Times report of the London meeting:

Although some evidence suggests that people with inside knowledge of the museum were responsible for stealing the more valuable items, Mr. George said he had no information indicating that the culprits were officials connected with his antiquities department or with the government of Saddam Hussein.

“I know how Saddam Hussein cared for antiquities,” he said in dismissing the possibility of an inside job. How fortunate for Dr. George, his staff, and all his old superiors! How could anyone believe any of them would be involved?

Dr. George is riding high on the sympathy and guilt of the world, and there are no other Iraqis who can be relied upon to do the salvage work. But a time for hard questions will come. Already, Iraqis aren’t returning artefacts to the museum staff, preferring to hand them over to U.S. troops. “It has been a challenge to us that the Iraq museum is closely identified with both the prior regime and its Baathist Party,” says Col. Matthew F. Bogdanos, a Manhattan assistant district attorney with the Marines in Baghdad, who is handling the investigation.

I suggest he include a thorough inquiry into the connections between the Iraq Museum and the regime, and seriously probe the possibility that the “crime of the century” was an inside job. Kanan Makiya, while in Iraq, heard that the plundering of the museum “was the work of newly deposed Baathist officials, who had been selling off our patrimony as they saw their days were numbered.” Dr. George and other antiquities officials were the loyal servants of these thugs for thirty years. I’m sure they have interesting stories to tell. Certainly no American official should feel humbled in the presence of any of them, and eventually the interrogation lights should be turned on all of them—including Dr. George.

Why? Just listen to the American archaeologists. The American Schools of Oriental Research have described the plundering of Iraq’s museum as “comparable to the sack of Constantinople, the burning of the library at Alexandria, the Vandal and Mogul invasions and the ravages of the conquistadors.” One American archaeologist, much interviewed these days, has described what happened as “the greatest catastrophe ever to befall a cultural institution in the history of the world,” which would make it the crime of all centuries.

If the report in the New York Times this morning is anything to go on, it may yet turn out that these archaeologists fell for a fabulous exaggeration, propagated largely by the Baath’s apparatchiks at the Iraq Museum. But since we don’t know yet, let’s have the mother of all criminal investigations, to find out exactly what happened. No one should be above suspicion—especially the people who knew where to find the best lots, who had the keys, and who had long-standing ties with the criminals who ran the regime. Quite a few people fit that description. None of them is a U.S. Marine.

America’s Archaeologists: Armchair Savants?

We now have a fairly full account of the efforts made by American archaeologists, professors, and curators to safeguard the “heritage” sites and museums of Iraq. They wrote a lot of letters and e-mails. They placed some op-eds. A group visited Washington, and met with low-level officials at the Pentagon. Their best-known member, McGuire (“Mac”) Gibson of the Oriental Institute at the University of Chicago, presented the Pentagon with a bewildering list of 5,000 “no-strike” sites to be avoided by the U.S. military—one for every year since the first cuneiform tablet. There was a follow-up meeting at the State Department. All of this was eventually distilled into a March memo by the Office of Reconstruction and Humanitarian Assistance (ORHA). It gave high priority to protecting the Iraq Museum, but U.S. commanders in Baghdad never read it.

Archaeologists have sustained a tangible loss. For as long as living archaeologists have been digging, there has been no legal export of finds from Iraq. All the artifacts discovered by American achaeologists—before the embargo suspended their digs in 1990—rested in Iraq’s museums.

Now listening to the scholars, you might be persuaded that the looting of the Iraq Museum is the greatest loss to human knowledge since the Library of Alexandria burned down. Gibson has compared the stolen artifacts to the most famous archaeological treasures in the world: “The Baghdad museum is the equivalent of the Cairo museum. It would be like having American soldiers 200 feet outside the Cairo museum watching people carry away treasures from King Tut’s tomb or carting away mummies.” All of these comparisons are pure hyperbole, much of it self-serving, all of it lapped up by anti-war activists, and some of it believed by editorial writers. Still, for archaeologists and students of later periods of Iraq’s history, this has been an unmitigated catastrophe.

But since Egypt has been cited as a metaphor for Iraq, let’s take it one step further. Napoleon set out to conquer and occupy Egypt in 1798. There were no journalists, but his ships did carry 167 savants: physicists, chemists, engineers, botanists, zoologists, geologists, physicians and pharmacologists, architects, painters, poets, musicians, and antiquarians. Jacques Barzun’s From Dawn to Decadence tells their story in a few evocative pages. Their prime mission was the careful study of Egypt as they encountered it. Conditions were difficult: not only did the savants have to march like soldiers, but they had to endure the mockery of soldiers, who couldn’t fathom their obsession with Egypt’s ancient sites and modern customs. Napoleon’s campaign was a military failure, writes Barzun, but it was a cultural success, “the Enlightenment in action.” Its ultimate legacy was the monumental Description de l’Égypte: twenty volumes that put Europe’s fascination with ancient Egypt on a sound scholarly footing.

It’s a pity that some of America’s savants weren’t along for the ride to Baghdad. Their presence, like that of embedded journalists, would have reminded field commanders of the need to respect and pursue goals deemed important by influential constituencies at home. But our savants didn’t propose it. Indeed, they would have found the idea preposterous.

Why? Imagine you operate in an academic environment of alienation from American power and its masters. Imagine that your discipline is increasingly subject to post-colonial commissars, who warn that even the idea of Mesopotamia is an imperialist construct, and that scholars will be banished on the mere suspicion of association with the imperium’s legions. Add the fact that your personal access to archaeology, art, and architecture requires that you kowtow to third-world despots. You are more likely to know Tariq Aziz than Paul Wolfowitz. Are you going to don a flak jacket and jump into a Humvee, even to prevent a predictable cultural disaster? We know the answer.

And so the role of alerting American forces on the ground fell to… Robert Fisk of The Independent, who saw the Quran library go up in flames.

I raced to the offices of the occupying power, the US Marines’ Civil Affairs Bureau. An officer shouted to a colleague that “this guy says some biblical [sic] library is on fire.” I gave the map location, the precise name—in Arabic and English. I said the smoke could be seen from three miles away and it would take only five minutes to drive there. Half an hour later, there wasn’t an American at the scene—and the flames were shooting 200 feet into the air.

Before you judge the Marines, I ask you: when was the last time you believed Robert Fisk?

The Egyptian Expedition Under the Command of Bonaparte by Léon Cogniet (1835).