A Question

I'm discovering there is a rhythm to my days here in Baghdad. (A rhythym to everything except the weather. That's just hot. And a couple of variations of hot. Hot with hot wind. Hot with no wind. That's pretty much it.)

There are highs and lows. The pace is either breakneck fast and agonizingly slow. And when I sit back and think about it, I have a sense of both certainty and wonder.

There are days when I am fascinated by my surroundings, and those when it feels like just another day on the job...almost like I traded 23rd St in Washington for Haifa St in Baghdad. Except, or course, for the dual weapons I carry, the body armour, and blast walls.

Even on those days, I feel completely engaged in the mission. But, there are moments when I sit and close my eyes and ask myself, "my God, what have we done here?"

It's not that I think our mission is wrong or unjust. I have all faith that our mission is both right and just. I have no illusion that a pullout would bring peace to anyone (other than the American antiwar movement), but I understand that Iraqis in their hearts want their country back.

But, sometimes, circumstances just compel the question.

This weekend as I came to work, I found a picture on our building's front door of a young man who worked in a maintenance job in our compound. In the photo, his face is solemn, and his eyes are too serious for his age. I couldn't read the Arabic below the picture, but that didn't matter. I knew that he had been killed.

On Friday he was riding his scooter home, when he was dragged into the middle of a street in his neighborhood and shot in the head by the militia.

Shot in the head. In the middle of the street.

Killed by men who screamed for everyone to watch and learn what happens to Iraqis who work with the Americans. But this young man wasn't working "with" the Americans. He was, simply, a janitor. And more than that, he was a son and brother trying to support his family. The people I know who knew him said he was very sweet and kind. And they said he lived in fear. Last year, an American in the office gave him $1000 to move his family to safety. But he still lived in fear.

And so how could I not ask myself...my God, what have we done here?

Is today's Iraq our fault? No, it's not, or at least not entirely. It's also the fault of Saddam and a regime that corrupted every level of Iraqi society. And it's at least partially the fault of the world's great nations, who sit back and watch the slaughter, but do very little to make a difference in the lives of Iraqis.

So let's put the blame squarely where it rests. The violence that scars Iraq is Evil at work. Proper noun, capital "E" Evil.

It wasn't very long ago that I wasn't such a big believer in evil. Maybe that's my mainline Protestant upbringing at work, but I simply didn't grow up motivated or in fear of Evil as a force in my world.

But there is Evil in the world, and that is what is at work in Baghdad. I sit safely behind blast walls while Evil seeps all around this city, poisoning the lives of the Iraqis who want to realize the promise of the liberation paid for with American and Iraqi blood. But Evil stands in their way.

Did we create it? Of course not. Did we unleash it? Maybe.

What all people of faith and good intentions struggle with now--on all sides of the political debate--is, how do we stop it?