Consider This from NPR - 20 Years Since The Start Of The Iraq War, Young Iraqis Still Dream Of A Better Future

Episode Date: March 20, 2023

On March 20, 2003, the United States launched its invasion of Iraq. We recall how the war started, and the trauma it left behind.NPR's Eric Westervelt was embedded with the U.S. Army's Third Infantry Division as it pushed north from Kuwait. He describes what he saw in the first days of the war.We also hear reporting from NPR's Ruth Sherlock, who spoke to young Iraqis who grew up in the years since the invasion and are still trying to realize a better future for their country.In participating regions, you'll also hear a local news segment to help you make sense of what's going on in your community.Email us at [e-mail] more about sponsor message choices: podcastchoices.com/adchoicesNPR Privacy Policy

There's a moment that Mohamed Dulemi will never forget. It was the first time in my life I made a lie. And I lied to a child. It was 20 years ago. Dulemi was a college student at the University of Baghdad in Iraq. He was living in Fallujah. The U.S. had just launched its invasion. And a warning here, this story and the rest of this episode include descriptions of the realities of war. There is a shooting on the highway in Fallujah that resulted in many deaths of civilians. And I saw what I've never thought I would see in my life. So many cars

shot, so many people lying on the side of the street. One of the cars was a pickup truck. Father was on driver's seat. He was killed. The mother was in passenger seat, she was killed. Their child, he looked about 10 years old, had survived. Rescuers had pulled him out, laid him on his side, so that he couldn't see the truck, couldn't see what had happened to his parents. He was badly injured, but he refused to go to the hospital. He said, I don't want to live if my father and mother are dead. He was holding my hand in such a force. It was amazing for me how a 10-year-old can do that.

And he said, please, I don't want to be an orphan. If they are dead, let me die. And that was my first lie in my life. I was like, no, you're going to be okay. I'm going to take you to hospital. And he said, swear by God they are alive. And I did. After the war, Mohamed Dulemi moved to the U.S.

and now works as an engineer in Virginia. But the invasion that began in 2003 and the occupation that followed altered the course of Dulemi's life, as it did for so many Iraqis and U.S. service members. Some of the changes are obvious. Some are less visible. Dulemi says he lost track of that boy he saved, but he's still living with the memory of that day. It changed my life in so many ways. And whenever someone is talking about life, I remember that kid who held my hand and said, swear by God that my life will be okay

and I will not live an orphan. Consider this. The war that started on this day in 2003 toppled a brutal dictator, but ushered in years of chaos and violence. We'll hear from the young Iraqis who lived through it all and are trying to build a more promising future for themselves and their country. From NPR, I'm Adrian Florido. It's Monday, March 20th. This message comes from WISE, the app for doing things in other currencies. It's Monday, March 20th.

It's Consider This from NPR. When the U.S. launched Operation Iraqi Freedom 20 years ago, NPR's Eric Westervelt was there. He was embedded with the lead attack elements of the U.S. Army's 3rd Infantry Division. I remember this, you know, sustained barrage, the thuds echoing. Artillery? Yeah, give me up. The U.S. officer I was with told his soldiers, you know, this is the start of liberation of Iraq. They were about to go into battle.

Remember the context. The invasion started when the nation was still sort of traumatized by 9-11. And the nation was told, you know, look, this dictator, Saddam, he's hatching all these plots with chemical, biological, maybe even nuclear weapons. Of course, we now know that was, you know, a manufactured threat. Cheney, Rumsfeld, and others manipulated, cherry-picked, or completely manufactured intelligence to wildly exaggerate the threat. My fellow citizens, at this hour, American and coalition forces are in the early stages of military operations to disarm Iraq, to free its people, and to defend the world from grave danger. In April, as the push to take Baghdad intensified, Eric was with U.S. troops as they closed in on Saddam Hussein International Airport.

This first push into Baghdad, to the airport, was really an intense, fast, violent, armored raid they called a thunder run up Highway 8. And you had Iraqis firing from rooftops and garages with RPGs and with AK-47s. The other really difficult part in this attack, Iraqi civilians were coming down the southbound lane, and some civilians were caught in the crossfire. You know, one of the most haunting memories I have is peering out the back of the Bradley, recording every moment I could, and seeing a car on fire that was filled with civilians. And a small child was standing outside the car, you know, just screaming in horror as he watched his parents die.

And you had both sides firing a lot. And any civilians that were there were in just incredible and grave risk. The U.S. eventually seized the airport, and a now-famous scene unfolded in Baghdad. Iraqi civilians, with the help of U.S. Marines, toppled the statue of Iraq's fallen dictator. NPR's Anne Garrels was in the Iraqi capital. Haseb Nouri, a taxi driver, tossed his shoes at a statue of Saddam, a deeply insulting gesture in the Arab world. Thank you, America, he said, for removing this dictator.

But tearing down statues, as the Soviets once saw, is easy. Filling the vacuum will be much more difficult. Here's Eric Westervelt again. While the initial invasion and overthrow of Saddam was briefly considered a success, I mean, the occupation was horrifically mismanaged. It unleashed years of bloody sectarian civil war and trauma. And later it helped give rise to more terrorists with the rise of ISIS, who for a brief period controlled large parts of Iraq and Syria.

But we at that point didn't fully realize that this was just the start of Iraq's long nightmare. A generation of Iraqis grew up in the years after that invasion. Recently in Baghdad, NPR's Ruth Sherlock spoke with young people about the future they want for Iraq and about how the beginning of that invasion launched 20 years ago shaped the rest of their lives. In Baghdad Today, Hajar Hadi tells me how the dust storms had darkened the skies in what almost seemed like an omen. I still remember that day. The sky was all orange. We would hear the bombs and the rockets being thrown. I'm with Hadi in a cafe with a hipster vibe.

There's colourful art on the walls and young men and women smoking shisha pipes. Hadi was just nine years old when the invasion began. Now she's a PhD student studying molecular bacteriology and an assistant lecturer at the University of Baghdad. It's impressive by any measure, but even more so given that she lived in a war. We started taking shelter more and more and no going out. We even had days, specific days,

to go grab food and come back. Most of the time in those early days of the invasion, the family had no electricity. She says her dad would sometimes use the car battery to power a radio just so that they could hear the news. Later, things got even worse. Most of our teenage years were more scary-like because you would see a lot of dead bodies lying on the street or you would fear for your family being taken by a bombing or being kidnapped. The crowd in this cafe represents the first generation that's grown up almost entirely

since Saddam Hussein was ousted. They've lived through the years of insurgency, sectarian war, ISIS and now a government that's elected but rife with corruption and struggling to provide public services like electricity, still. Hadi says there aren't many opportunities for scientists. It's been 20 years and we're still kind of in the same loop. Other people her age are still working to realise a democracy that's something like what was promised when Saddam was ousted. One of those is Mohamed Altamimi. He was six years old when American soldiers entered his grandmother's house

where the family had gathered to shelter from the war. His uncle tried to stop them from roughly searching the women as well as the men. At that point, he says, several U.S. troops let him have it, kicking and punching his uncle until he was on the ground. Tamimi says his dad then threw a blanket over his head to try to protect him from seeing more. Through our interpreter, Tamimi then talks about the years that Iraq descended into violence and the failings of the new state. All this miserable situation is because of the invasion of the Americans. Older Iraqis sometimes say the current generation just doesn't remember how bad life was under

Saddam too. Tamimi recognises that, but says that fact doesn't make life any better now. He pulls a string of worry beads through his hands as he tells me how he's trying to make a better Iraq. He's a university student and activist. I first met him a couple of years ago, during the elections that he and fellow protesters had helped to bring about. But what happened is it's not what we dreamed about. The American replaced the tyrant regime by worse people. In a local political office, Tamimi shows me videos he filmed of the massive

crowds of protesters in 2019 that gathered to call for an end to corruption. The government response was brutal. Over 600 people died in the demonstrations that followed. Still, the movement did manage to unseat the government and force early elections under a new law that was meant to make the vote a little more representative. If the situation is improving since the time of Saddam, many Iraqis say it's in spite of the US invasion and not because of it. And it's largely the effort of these young Iraqis who yearn for the normal trappings of life found in other countries.

We arrived at the subscale cafe and restaurant in Baghdad and there's a live band playing and men and women and families. A sign by the door quotes the Eagle song. You can check out any time you want, but you can never leave. I sit down with Yusuf Abbas. He's 24 and a civil engineering student and he works as a cake chef to fund his studies. He has this thick curly hair, a trendy moustache and beard and smiles a huge smile as he tells me why he loves coming here. I love the music.

You love music? Yes. What kind of music do you like? Hip hop. Hip hop. Hip hop. Hip hop. I love Billie Eilish, 50 Cent, 2 Pac.

2 Pac, oh, 2 Pac's a classic. Yeah, yeah. Very long. He wanted to take part in the massive protests against the government, he says, but his father begged him not to go because they were so dangerous. You guys are like the first generation that's really grown up after the invasion happened. What do you want to see Iraq become? He says he wants to see the state not so torn apart by different political parties from different religious sects.

He wants a more developed health care and education system. And he wants Iraq to be the kind of place that people from all over would want to visit. I ask him if his is the generation that can make this happen. Yes, he says, because he believes his generation is less ideological, less sectarian than his parents' generations. There are a lot of engineers, doctors, different educated people. They can develop Iraq. It's an optimistic vision, but one that clashes pretty quickly with reality.

Just moments later, he tells me that he, like so many other Iraqis, It's an optimistic vision, but one that clashes pretty quickly with reality. Just moments later, he tells me that he, like so many other Iraqis, is trying through the United Nations to seek asylum abroad. There's work to be done in Iraq, he agrees, but the corruption and destruction of this country is so great, and he needs a better chance at life now. NPR's Ruth Sherlock in Baghdad. It's Consider This from NPR.

I'm Adrian Flaurido.