Iraqis enjoy freedom from fear

Editor's note: Marc Knutson recently returned from a two-week trip to Iraq. He wrote a three-part series of columns reporting on what he found there. This is Part 1 of the series.

By Marc Knutson

Imagine the responses I have fielded in the past few months as I've told people that I recently returned from a two-week trip to Iraq! Instantly the images that are conjured up are of violence, explosions, insecurity and chants of "Death to America," followed by gasping and shallow breathing. They usually ask me, "You went where?"

Indeed, that's what I did. I packed a suitcase and set out to seek the good-news stories that were rumored to be in Iraq, but aren't being told in mainstream media. The good news from Iraq is going to improve your disposition about the American efforts there, and it's going to help you actually feel proud of our soldiers and our country.

The fruit of freedom

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In America, we don't really "know" what freedom is. We are born into it, we've always had it, and, unless we have ever been "grounded" by our parents, we've never been denied it. Not many of us can say that we live a life in fear of being chemically gassed by our president, or the fear of being beheaded, electrocuted or dismembered for your opinions.

Post-war Iraq (photo: Marc Knutson)

In Iraq, I saw that freedom is far more precious than I ever thought. Things that we take for granted, like freedom and its twin sister, liberty, were being treated as precious gems. It was easy to be caught up in their excitement. Watching the Iraqis enjoy freedom and liberty was like watching children on Christmas morning. Seeing them realize that they could actually express an opinion made me smile. It was a joy to experience their wide-eyed innocence when they realized that a comment that they had just made was a fruit of freedom.

From the president of the Kurdish Region, Masoud Barzani, to the prime minister, Nechirvan Barzani, and to the peoples of the region, one truth was certain – these are indeed gratefully "liberated" people. In every conversation I had, there always seemed to be a common theme, reflected in the popular mantra that seasoned their sentences with liberal doses of the word "liberation" or "since the liberation," along with "following the 2003 liberation." These phrases are found throughout the special report issued by the nation's Foreign Relations Department and on the grateful lips of the people.

A conversation that hit home for me was one with Fawsi, a former Saddam-era police officer who had retired early in his career out of protest of Saddam edicts. I asked him, "What do you think of American and coalition efforts in Iraq?" Fawsi's eyes lit up as he answered.

"Tell you what I think!" Fawsi exclaimed in a half question, half statement intonation. I felt the intensity of the Iraqi stare. Neither his English nor his body language required any translation. "Tell you how I feel, what I think about since the American liberation?" His sincerity spoke louder than his voice. There was a hint of incredulity, as if he couldn't believe that I had asked such an absurd question.

"Allow me to put it this way," said Fawsi, wagging his index finger. His excitement was generated because he now, after so many years, knew he had the freedom and the liberty to speak his mind and wouldn't have to be as cautious choosing words. There were no government officials waiting to haul him off for speaking his mind. He was exercising his inalienable rights, and the adrenaline that shot through him was manifested by his body movements.

"Now I can go where I want to, see who I want to, speak openly about who or what I want to. I can even speak in a public place about the distaste I have for the government, and …" he paused, looked directly into my eyes and slowly raised his finger to my eye level. He wanted to emphasize his concluding statement in a way that I would not misconstrue or lose to the chill of the room: "… I no longer have to worry about whether I or any members of my family will be murdered by my president!"

Fighting the emotion of the moment, I asked, "So, you feel the burden has been lifted …" I wasn't allowed to finish my question, as Fawsi interjected: "Freed from the weight of Saddam Hussein and his ghoulish henchmen, yes! I am free; free from Saddam telling me how to live and …" pausing again in mid sentence, "… and free from him telling me how I am to die." His eyes drifted away from me and towards the floor. "I no longer have to cry or grieve for my fellow countrymen who are being murdered by him. Americans can't relate. You want to berate your president for his actions; I wanted to kill mine for his!"

The silence was accentuated by the intensity of his words. No one in the room spoke, as it was evident that the bulwark of a former Iraqi police officer was recollecting his emotions and straining to resist from dabbing at the puddles that had collected on his lower eyelids. The memories that he was going to have to live with were softened by the fact that freedom, liberty and the pursuit of happiness, "like the Americans have," means that "life" will no longer have to be defined as "survival" ever again. His final words, as he begged our leave to head home, were softly muted: "Thank you, America. Thank you, Mr. Bush, for getting us our lives back."

Freedom truly has a face. In this case, over 3 million faces – countenances beaming with smiles and a new hope for the future. A secure future. Faces that are no longer distorted by the stresses of fear of life or limb, or the fear of torture. The long faces have been replaced by the smiles of life, with freedom and liberty at the helm.

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Marc Knutson is a freelance producer and writer who lives in Eugene, Ore. He has traveled the world extensively, including post-war Kosovo. Knutson hopes to return to Iraq in the spring to videotape a documentary of the positive results he witnessed during his recent visit.