Donovan Wylie

Woke up this morning convinced I heard rockets in the night. I asked the others, they said probably. I went to make some coffee, (a drawn out, complicated process, which requires all my concentration, find water, find kettle, find electricity, find sugar. . .), and meanwhile two of the security team came in and said, did you just hear that, it was a rocket close by. No, I said, I didn’t hear it. One person died, and five were wounded. Nothing today, nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing.....

November 2, 2008

Donovan Wylie is behind walls within walls.

I have a system now, a way of working that is clockwork. I don’t shoot before 4 pm, as the light is so blinding, and so drive around for most of the day just looking and marking positions. Later, I revisit those places I have noted, and make some photographs, or “records,” as I tell the (American) police when I ask permission; the word “record” is less threatening than the word “photograph.” This is becoming a recurrent theme, my use of words, my body language, my attempt to present myself as a bumbling historian without an agenda....

If there is one thing that sits heavily in the air of this “Green Zone,” it is paranoia, or maybe it is just me, but I doubt it. It is the walls, I blame the walls, the endless walls. Before I came here I thought the Green Zone, this American-controlled enclave within this vast city, only had a perimeter wall around it, and everything simply existed within. But no, almost every single building within has a cluster of T-Walls around it, and usually another cluster within those, and sometimes more again...

It is the ultimate Russian doll.

So inevitably an atmosphere of fear arises – no one walks here, few move outside their compound, yet there always seems to be a lone figure somewhere in the landscape, as if walled in, nowhere to go, both mentally and physically.

In the evening I go through my afternoon’s work. Sometimes some of the security team look through it with me. One said tonight: “You have made me see a T-Wall in a completely different way.”

November 1, 2008

Donovan Wylie finds a hint of romance.

I saw things today photography couldn't capture, and I am not sure I can describe – brief encounters, sexual tension, love? Within concrete compounds, those tight, walled-off, enclosed spaces, in the middle of what seems at times like an architectural fantasy – the embassies, the palaces, security companies, departments of one kind or another – you occasionally notice a couple brushing past each other, a flinching look, a touch of the finger, a smile that is more than a smile. It always seems teenage, and thus very sweet, but under the circumstances I guess completely natural, like an unavoidable situation. The Green Zone is predominately male-orientated. One man said to me, the most unattractive women scores a ten. Woke up three times in the night because of helicopters.

October 31, 2008

Donovan Wylie has comfort food with American troops.

I had dinner last night in an American Military Base here in the Green Zone.

The first thing you notice is the light; it is extremely bright, super fluorescent. At night the Green Zone is black, no street lights, except for the new American Embassy, which has been just completed and is now America’s largest embassy in the world. The embassy is vast, officially larger than the Vatican, and lies right on the banks of the Tigris River – the Tigris river! All that history....

But generally, the Green Zone at night becomes the dark zone. You just don’t move out of your compound as there is still the potential for kidnapping.

The dining hall served plenty of food, and plenty of comfort food, and I was very grateful to be eating there, having not eaten properly for a while. Actually, I was surprised the U.S. military, or in fact, any military, can be fed so well. It wasn’t the hard living which I so associate with war, it was like very good university campus catering – I mean very good – and for sure the British Army wouldn’t get this.

Anyway, while I decided between chili con carne, or a burger, or chicken, or rice, or a taco, or, or . . . (or crab – or was it lobster? – seriously!), the many plasma television screens, systemically placed around this huge hall, were showing the final debate between Obama and McCain. It was a great image, but not one I could photograph – not even mobile phones can be used in the hall. Having decided on chili con carne, I asked a solider next to me who he thought would win. “Obama,” he said abruptly, with a voice and face of resignation that showed, like him or not, he knew he was going to win.

I pondered on that for a while, and, thinking of the bright lights of the new embassy, thought to myself, “What would it mean, would it make any difference?” I concluded (conceded? either way) the Americans are here to stay, the troops one day may leave their super bases dotted around Iraq, but America has settled itself here in the Emerald City. The embassy sparkles, and this young country, America, continues to expand, on the banks of the Tigris River.

Dust storm all day, no helicopters tonight, but terrible indigestion kept me awake.

	Sandwiches, Military Postal Exchange, International Zone

I have arrived safely in Baghdad, or rather the Green Zone.

I was met at passport control by “my” South African bodyguard, and after paper work was done, taken to a heavily fortified Jeep, given a flak jacket and off we went. We had two other vehicles, one in front and one behind, guiding us towards the Green Zone (IZ). It was all very military in execution, communication between the vehicles was constant, every detail of what the drivers saw was constantly being relayed over the radio.

The journey time was about half an hour, and would have been much shorter if not for the relentless series of check points – which is really what makes the road safe. Several months ago this road – “Road Irish,” in military terms – was considered the most dangerous road in the world, with roadside bombs hitting, on average, every 18 minutes. Now the road is so heavily fortified that it is considerably safer.

The road is sort of like a concrete tunnel, this road is essential for Iraq's economic progress, hence the huge military build-up. I felt that my security “team” provided more access than actual protection, given how protected the area is, and we were waved through at every stop. Still, at various stages, I was told where the panic button was, and what I should do if something happened – basically stay in the car. Interestingly, the panic button immediately calls for air support!

At no point did I feel in danger, I was too busy just looking out of the window and absorbing the sheer level of defense. The security team obviously knew the road had its pressure points; you could tell because they would suddenly finger their weapons. The check points themselves, are stunning examples of modern fortification: layer after layer of blast wall, ring-fenced by towers and gunners, and very interesting “duck and cover” structures. I was completely dumb struck by the sheer level of the American military apparatus. Never have I seen so many walls, check points, watchtowers.

My accommodation is basically a lorry container. I have electricity, bed, air conditioning, and a desk with an Internet connection. Electricity, I am told is temporary, but we have generators. Water is the main problem. The security companies compound (which I asked to stay in) use Hesco defenses. I have not gotten any sense at all of Baghdad; one feels completely cut off from it, the idea of being in a bubble is completely true.

The sheer scale of the American military machine is something extraordinary to witness, and especially now, because it is easing and will soon dissolve, or at least one hopes.

The helicopters remind me of my youth in Belfast, constantly there, humming, always in two's, and flying low. Apparently it increases at night.