My Country, My Country: Production Journal 1

POV

18 years ago

Meeting Dr. Riyadh

A U.S. military guard stationed inside of Abu Ghraib.

I met Dr. Riyadh at Abu Ghraib prison. I had been in Iraq for four weeks and I was worried about the film. I had traveled to Iraq thinking the film would be about the U.S. and its occupation, but after a month of filming I realized that this would only replicate the sequestered siege mentality I was witnessing among many Americans in Iraq. Then a lieutenant colonel said to me: "Baghdad city council is doing an inspection of Abu Ghraib Prison. You might want to try and get on that trip. It won't be easy, but if you write a request, I will forward it."

This was three months after the Abu Ghraib photographs had been made public.

Dr. Riyadh arrived at Abu Ghraib with the other members of the city council. He was leading the inspection. I introduced myself as an American filmmaker and asked if I could follow him during the inspection. He said, "Yes, we want transparency. We want the world to know the situation of Iraqis."

The inspection lasted two hours. There were 4,000 detainees being held at Abu Ghraib at the time. The prison was organized into different camps divided by chain-link fences and razor wire. Dr. Riyadh kept pushing the U.S. military to go deeper and deeper inside the prison. Eventually he discovered the group of juveniles being held, including a nine-year-old boy, and a man on a hunger strike inside a cage. As I filmed Dr. Riyadh explaining to the U.S. officials and military that this kind of treatment will only create more anti-American sentiment, I knew I'd found my film.

Dr. Riyadh at Abu Ghraib prison

At the end of the inspection, Dr. Riyadh invited me to come and film at his medical clinic in a Sunni district in Baghdad known for being against the U.S. occupation.

I asked the same lieutenant colonel what he knew about Dr. Riyadh. He said, "Dr. Riyadh is very outspoken. He will be good for you to film." Then, after a pause: "Of course, the CIA think he is a bad guy." "A bad guy?" I wondered. What I witnessed was the opposite -- a compassionate man standing up for the rights of others.

That night I showed the footage to a friend. He was born in Baghdad and had fled Saddam's Iraq at 18. Now a U.S. citizen in his early 40s, he had returned to Iraq to help rebuild his country's computer network. I trusted him and needed advice about going to Dr. Riyadh's clinic. The first thing he said when looking at the footage confirmed my instincts: "This is a good man." I told him the CIA had him on a "bad guy" list. My friend said: "Let me make a call. I know someone."

The next day I was with my friend when his cellphone rang. I could hear the caller's voice: "He is a bad guy. Tell her he is a bad guy." My friend asked his CIA contact what he was accused of. "He is anti-American." My friend pushed for details. The CIA agent said, "He is against the U.S. occupation." My friend asked what was in the file. The agent said the CIA had an arrest order for Dr. Riyadh for being "anti-American," but that it had not been carried out because someone from the U.S. Embassy in Baghdad had attached a letter to his file stating that disagreement was not a crime and not grounds for arrest.

I had been in Baghdad long enough to witness how many Americans running the occupation distrusted Iraqis who expressed disagreement or criticism. I had also been in Baghdad long enough to recognize that Dr. Riyadh was a legitimate leader who Iraqis considered "one of them." Convinced that Dr. Riyadh was a "good guy," I made plans to go to his medical clinic.

Next: Getting There »

Getting There

Eight months earlier, I was at home in New York City reading an article in The New Yorker by George Packer. It was November 2003 and I was filled with despair about the war and the direction it was going. Packer's article chronicled the first months of the occupation: the failure to plan beyond the military invasion, the tragic contradictions of the U.S. mission, the efforts of people on the ground (both Iraqi and American) to make it work despite these fatal mistakes, the bombing of the U.N. offices and the death of Sergio de Millo. Among the many people Packer profiled is the story of a young U.S. military captain who during the day is the de facto mayor of a town, and at night breaks down doors and terrifies children. Packer asked the captain: Isn't there a contradiction between your daytime and nighttime job? The magazine fell from my hands with the realization that I would make a documentary about this war and its tragic contradictions.

I contacted all the journalists I knew to seek advice about how to make it happen. Following the suggestion of one, I emailed the U.S. military requesting access to film the military's nationbuilding efforts in Iraq. To my surprise, and to their credit, they agreed. The only restriction the military placed on me when I filmed them was not to reveal classified information.

I traveled to Baghdad in June 2004 one year into the U.S. occupation. It was two months after the Abu Ghraib photos were published, six weeks after Nicholas Berg had been beheaded and one month after major uprisings in Najaf and Fallujah. Things were not going well. I went there alone, doing my own camera and sound work.

« Meeting Dr. Riyadh | Visiting the Medical Clinic»

Visiting the Medical Clinic

The gates to the Green Zone are notoriously dangerous. Six days a week, thousands of Iraqis working inside the Green Zone wait for hours to get through the security checkpoints. Suicide car bombers regularly target the gates of the Green Zone.

I arranged to meet Dr. Riyadh at the gate outside the convention center. This was the first of what became a familiar ritual of moving between the different realities of the Green Zone and Iraq. Before reaching the checkpoint, I covered my head with a scarf, walked through the maze of blast walls and sandbags, and stepped onto the street. The scene was tense -- miles of razor wire, Iraqi police with AK-47s, cars anxiously waiting to pick people up and get as far away as fast as possible. I saw Dr. Riyadh a few couple blocks away. He motioned to me from his beat-up blue Volkswagen. I walked to his car, and, after seeing the country from the perspective of the U.S. occupation for 4 weeks, finally arrived in Baghdad and saw it from the perspective of Iraqis.

I went alone, without a bodyguard or gun. For protection I had two things I believed would defend me better -- the invitation of a respected leader and two hours of videotape from Abu Ghraib prison.

If I had any doubts about Dr. Riyadh being the central character in the film, they vanished the moment I started filming him at his medical clinic. As he received patient after patient, it became clear that he was much more than a doctor, and that the clinic was much more than a place to treat medical problems. Residents came to the clinic from across Baghdad to report to Dr. Riyadh about arrests, gun fights, raids and other crises.

When the stream of patients finally stopped, it was too late to travel. Dr. Riyadh took me to his home, where I met his wife, four daughters and two sons and spent the night.

I lived with Dr. Riyadh and his family on and off for the next seven months. They welcomed me, protected me and tested me. During that first visit to their house, Dr. Riyadh's oldest daughter sat me down in front of her computer and showed me images from Abu Ghraib. She had pictures I had never seen before, images that were only released years later in the U.S.

« Getting There | The Australians »

The Australians

Peter Towndrow

Meeting the Australians was an accident. One day I was leaving a U.N. election meeting and was introduced to Peter Towndrow. Peter owned the private security company being paid $40 million to transport election materials throughout Iraq. Peter's company was hired by the Independent Election Commission of Iraq using U.N. funds.

Peter asked me if I wanted to fly to Kurdistan the next day. He was going there to meet with a Kurdish leader to give him cash to hire Kurdish militia (Peshmerga) to help the Australians protect and transport registration forms and ballots. I told Peter I'd love to go.

The next day I was on a helicopter. The security briefing was to the point: "If we are hit and the helo goes down, we will set up a defensive perimeter about the remains of the helicopter and pray for help." Two hours later we landed in Kurdistan and I was met with mountain air, endless blue skies and Andre, the Australians' team leader in Northern Iraq.

The Australians had taken over the top floor of a hotel in Erbil. They had moved there after coming to the conclusion that the kim-chee breakfasts and no-alcohol policy on the South Korean base was not their style.

Australian security subcontractors guard voter registration center.

On my first night at the hotel, Andre pulled me aside and asked: "Mate, Pete needs to meet with an arms dealer. Our rooms are packed. Can he use your room?" It was one of those questions a documentary filmmaker can only dream of: "Can a Kurdish arms dealer meet with an Australian security contractor to purchase weapons to secure Iraq's elections that are being conducted as part of the United States' effort to bring democracy to the Middle East in your hotel room?!" I smiled and said sure. The scene, in which Peter and the arms dealer debate the pros and cons of Chinese vs. Russian AK-47s while drinking cans of coke, is one of my favorites in the film.

«Visiting the Medical Clinic | Getting Around »

Getting Around

There were two civilian helicopter teams I came to know, one from Bulgaria the other from Moldavia. They were among the many former Cold War "enemies" contracted in this post-Cold War, post-9/11 war.

Lubo piloted the team from Bulgaria. On my birthday we got stranded at the Baghdad airport. It was two days after the elections. He and his Bulgarian team raided their precious care packages and prepared the closest thing you can get to a feast while stuck at the Baghdad airport on your birthday: Bulgarian cheese, sausage, wine and cookies. Lubo told me he was debating whether to continue working in Iraq. Since the fall of the Soviet Union, he and his team had gone from conflict zone to conflict zone, often in support of U.N. missions, but he said nothing was as dangerous as Iraq.

One month later I was back in New York and got an email news alert: "Civilian helicopter shot down in Iraq." I knew. Later that night I got a call from Andre. Lubo was the only person who survived the crash. He had broken his leg and was seeking cover when the gunmen found and executed him. It was videotaped. On the morning TV news the next day there was Lubo turning to the gunman and pleading for help before being executed.

« The Australians | Kazem »

Kazem

You can't spend time in Iraq without being introduced to the music of Kadhum Al Sahir (also known in much of the Arab world as Kazem). My first introduction to his music was in Dr. Riyadh's home. It was late and I was with Riyadh's daughters as they surfed the satellite channels and landed on a concert recorded in Egypt. They jumped up, dancing and singing to the music. My second introduction to Kadhum was six months later in a hotel room in New Jersey where I asked him to compose the music for the film.

Born in the northern city of Mosel, Kadhum was forced into exile by Saddam Hussein in the 1990s. Now the most famous singer in the Arab world, he has sold over 30 million records worldwide. Watching the concert on TV at Dr. Riyadh's, it was easy to see why.

When I returned to New York and began editing, I used his music as the temp track. One of the most dangerous things to do when editing is to fall in love with temp music, especially if he is famous. It was too late.

I heard that Kadhum would be performing a series of sold-out concerts in the U.S. I flew to Detroit where I went backstage and gave his manager a letter and some footage. The next day the manager called to say Kadhum wanted to meet me. They were on their way to New Jersey and I should come to their hotel.

The next night I was in their hotel room in New Jersey. I was discussing the film with Kadhum's manager as Kadhum was eating dinner before the concert. His manager explained to me, "Laura, Kadhum wants to do this, but the money you are proposing is really not enough." From the across the room Kadhum interrupted, "The money doesn't matter. It is for Iraq." The manager resumed, "Well, it seems Kadhum doesn't care about the money."

It was another unfathomable moment in a hotel room: Kadhum Al Sahir, perhaps the most respected musician and biggest star in contemporary Arab music, was agreeing to compose music for the film.

The next time I saw Kadhum Al Sahir was six months later in a recording studio in Toronto. I arrived with great anxiety -- worried I had pushed my luck on this one. It had proven difficult to contact Kadhum and his managers after the New Jersey meeting. Repeated letters and contracts went unanswered. My producer and editor were both getting nervous as we approached the end of editing without music. I finally got the confirmation that Kadhum would give me an afternoon in a recording studio in Toronto. I arrived at the studio with no idea what he was going to record. His manager pulled me aside, "Laura, you are very lucky. Kadhum is composing something very special for the film."

And there was Kadhum Al Sahir, Iraq's most beloved son, sitting at the table writing. A few minutes later he was alone at the microphone singing "Oh my country, when will sadness set you free?" Kadhum only performs with musicians from Baghdad, and in the control room their eyes were filled with tears.

« Getting Around | Coming Home »

Coming Home

People often ask me what was the hardest part of making the film. They expect me to answer something about working in Iraq -- the danger, the kidnappings, working alone, etc. But the hardest part has been coming home. Coming home to a country where Iraq is nothing more than an ideological ping-pong as the death toll continues to mount in the background. Coming home to a country where the lack of political courage among our leaders -- in both parties -- borders on the criminal while we continue to talk about spreading democracy to the rest of the world. Coming home and being asked over and over and over what could stop the violence in Iraq and fearing it is too late.

« Kazem