Nous avons publié en septembre dernier l'excellent livre d'Arnon Grunberg, Le Messie juif.
Né à Amsterdam en 1971, Arnon vit aujourd’hui à New York. Il a publié
son premier roman, Lundis bleus – immense succès en Hollande et traduit
dans le monde entier – à l’âge de 22 ans. Enfant terrible des lettres
néerlandaises, touche à tout surdoué, Grunberg s’est même payé le luxe
d’une supercherie littéraire à la Gary, en publiant deux (excellents)
romans sous le pseudonyme de Marek van der Jagt. Régulièrement, l'écrivain se mue en journaliste et publie de très bons articles dans des supports de qualité, comme ici sur le très sérieux site d'information américain salon.com. En août 2007, Courrier International publiait un autres de ses papiers, intitulé Mon voyage à Guantanamo Bay. Décapant.
Lauréat du Prix Ako en 2000 pour Phantom Pain, (équivalent du Goncourt
Hollandais), certains de ces ouvrages plus récents sont parus en
France: L’oiseau est malade, traduit par Anita Concas, ou encore Douleur fantôme, traduit par Olivier van Wersch-Cot.
Looking for payoff in Iraq
Winning "hearts and minds" is in some sense like a seduction. But what happens if American largesse here runs out?
By Arnon Grunberg
Jun. 03, 2008 |
At Camp Taji, about 12 miles north of Baghdad, Capt. Geronimo of the
25th Infantry's 1st Brigade Combat Team tells me: "Tomorrow morning
you'll be going to a meeting of Taji's qada. A qada is a kind of
county. That means you'll be able to see how we cooperate with the
locals. That's what you wanted to see, wasn't it?"
That, above all, I believe, is what the U.S. military wants me to
see -- cooperation, progress with reconstruction. But it doesn't
matter: Reality comes trickling through everywhere in Iraq. (And it is something I really do want to see.) In fall 2007 I'd visited Dutch troops stationed in Afghanistan's
Oruzgan Province, to see how the process of reconstruction was going
there. Despite the threat of a suicide attack, we passed out fliers in
the town of Tarin Kowt, calling on the local population to pass along
information to the NATO troops concerning the location of IEDs
(improvised explosive devices). Back at the base, the major who had
accompanied me there the whole time asked: "So, what did you people
see?" One soldier answered: "The children took the fliers and tore them
up, and some of the grown-ups did too." To which the major replied:
"The good news, though, is that they took the fliers." In my view, that pretty much summarized the tragedy of the
reconstruction and counterinsurgency there. From all sides came the
assurance that the war in Afghanistan could not be won primarily by
military means. Effective counterinsurgency involved the "winning of
hearts and minds" -- a tricky business. If I understood correctly, the
winning of hearts and minds was rather like a seduction. I was curious
to see whether the Americans in Iraq, where the winning of hearts and
minds also is a top priority, might do things differently. A heartening farewell. The qada meeting is being held in an unobtrusive but relatively
well-kept-up building in Taji. The Americans are the first to arrive.
The troops outside stand guard over the building. In the meeting hall itself is a long table still wrapped in
plastic, in an attempt, I believe, to win the battle against dust and
sand. The Americans don't sit down at the table, but in chairs ringing
the table farther out in the room, making it look as though they're the
audience that will soon be watching a play put on by the Iraqis. "That," explains Capt. Bryant, "is because we don't want to intrude." I'm introduced to a female Iraqi interpreter known as Michelle (not
her real name). She's excited; her visa application seems to be coming
along well. Soon she will be invited to the American embassy in Jordan
for an interview. An American officer she's worked with in Iraq is
sponsoring her request for a visa. From what she tells me, I understand
that all she needs now is a Western man to marry. In her case, at
least, the seduction seems to be going perfectly. The prospect of a
U.S. green card or passport works wonders: Of all the 10 or so
interpreters I spoke to in Iraq, only one said he wanted to stay in the
country, because he felt Iraq was headed for a glorious future. All the
others had their sights set hopefully on settling down in America. Finally, everyone has arrived. About 18 Iraqi men are gathered
around the conference table. Extremely sweet tea is served, to the
Americans as well. I'm sitting beside Lt. Col. Wilson, who is from Brooklyn, N.Y. He's
carrying photos of most of the Iraqis present. But occasionally he
turns to Capt. Bryant and asks doubtfully: "Who was that guy again?"
I'm reminded of restaurants in Tokyo where the Westerner, in lieu of a
menu, is handed a book of photos and orders by pointing at a picture. Michelle makes a brave attempt to translate everything that is said
but, even taking into account that a great deal gets lost in
translation, the meeting seems completely chaotic. After a discussion
about irrigation, the subject suddenly jumps to a bridge that must be
built, and then another engineer launches into an account of the
illegal tapping-off of electricity. The longer the meeting lasts, the
more frequently one hears the expression "inshallah," or, roughly, "God
willing." Suddenly, one Iraqi calls out: "But we don't have enough
medicine for the animals." No one bats an eye. Could I be the only one who doesn't know which animals or what
medicines he's talking about? Something about this reminds me of
Ionesco's "The Bald Soprano,"
which incorporated dialogue taken from an English textbook for
beginners. One interpreter explains to the Americans that he can't
listen and interpret at the same time, because then he misses important
things that are being said. Lt. Col. Wilson asks for no further
explanation, but he doesn't look pleased. Soon the meeting is called to an end. The sweet tea was very good.
I feel like I've been watching rehearsals by an amateur theater group,
with the Americans doing their best to direct, gently and discreetly. The next day I go with the 1st Platoon from the JSS (Joint Security
Station) Saba al-Bor to the nearby village of Ali Hamed. Boredom and
fatigue bubble up among the soldiers. Lt. Mike Kaness, a thickset young
man from upstate New York, is being teased by his men. "You could hold
a pencil under your tits," one of them shouts. "You got cleavage." "Don't be stupid," the lieutenant shouts back. "Cleavage isn't under your tits, it's on top of them." Along with the platoon, we pay a visit to the house of Sheik
Hussein Ali Hamid al-Lehebi. First we pass out toys and chocolate to
the children. The concept of toys is subject to broader interpretation
here; from the box, the soldiers also produce paper-hole punches. Once all the toys have been passed out, Lt. Kaness asks the sheik
what his village needs. "Would you like us to pave the road, for a
kilometer or so?" the lieutenant suggests. The sheik nods. "Which side of the road, right or left?" The sheik thinks about it for a moment. "The right side." Then the platoon visits all the shops in the village. First a
little greengrocer's. "What do you need?" the lieutenant asks. "What
kind of things don't you have?" No reply. "What about new freezers?" "Yes," the owner says. If the lieutenant had instead offered him 200 carrier pigeons, I
believe the shopkeeper would have found that an excellent idea as well.
Compared with the way the Dutch go about it in Afghanistan, this is
a very different kettle of fish. The Dutch are prone to haggle over
giving a flashlight to a police station. Meanwhile, I can't help
wondering if there are shopkeepers in America who wouldn't mind being
presented with a new freezer as well. After we've been to all the shops in Ali Hamed, the sheik presents
us with a lunch of lamb kebab, chicken, tomato salad and Iraqi pickles.
The fare in the U.S. chow hall pales by comparison. From the looks of
things, America, at least in this part of the notorious "Sunni
Triangle," is pretty good at acquiring love from the Iraqis. "Do you trust these sheiks -- sheiks in general?" I ask Lt. Kaness. "Most sheiks are two-faced," he replies. "Aren't you afraid then that sooner or later your money will end up with the insurgents?" "So far things are going well," he says. After lunch we get ready to go back to JSS Saba al-Bor. The
Americans thank the sheik, but not very convincingly. It's as though we
had a right to a delicious meal after all we'd done for his village. A few days later Lt. Col. Thomas Mackey and I attend a meeting of all the local sheiks at the "Sheik Support Center." "What was the turning point here?" I ask Mackey. "The Sons of Iraq Movement," he says. "Formerly known as Concerned
Local Citizens. The boys and men who used to be paid by the insurgents
and who fought for them are now Sons of Iraq. They help the Iraqi
police, the Iraqi army, or they guard checkpoints. They get paid for
it. We've given them an alternative. And they were also tired of
fighting." Just before the meeting starts, an Iraqi comes up to Lt. Col.
Mackey. "I want to give you something," the Iraqi says. "Because we're
brothers." The man holds up a ring. "I'm afraid I can't accept that," the American says. "Don't accept it," whispers an interpreter known as Adam. (Because
of the dangers of aiding the U.S., all the local interpreters in Iraq
use fake Western names -- sometimes even ones like "Snoop Dogg" or "DJ
Quickie.") "This man wants to influence you. Don't take it." Later, Adam heaves a sigh. He tells me that he thinks Lt. Col.
Mackey took the ring anyway -- perhaps because to turn it down would
have been an insult to the Iraqi man. In Iraq, the Americans are not the only ones who pay to win hearts
and minds. And until now, the exchange of money and goods for
tranquility and peace seems to be working, at least in some areas. But
the question remains: What will happen when the payment stops? A few days later, an Iraqi diplomat working for the Iraqi Foreign
Ministry in Baghdad tells me: "First al-Qaida came in and said, 'We
will give you $200 to place an IED.' Then the Americans came in and
said, 'We will give you $200 not to place an IED.' You get some amount of money and you don't have to do anything for it. "Of course that works," the diplomat continues. "Behind the
insurgency there isn't so much ideology. What's behind it is a whole
lot of economy." Translated from the Dutch by Sam Garrett.
-- By Arnon Grunberg
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