Baghdad University: A Day in the Life
Checkpoints. Road blocks. Bomb blasts. The greatest obstacle to professional life in Iraq is fear.
By M. H. Ali with Jenan Al-Mukhtar
It is 7 a.m. when I hear the helicopter flying just above our house, frightening everyone nearby. It is not a good way to start the day. My wife and I rush to get ready to leave the house and go to the university. It is March 2004.
As usual, we first drive our two sons to their colleges, to ensure that they arrive safely. After dropping them off, we follow a zigzag route to the university. To travel in a straight line is impossible because of the blockages everywhere: street after street is cut off by concrete barriers. A street that is usually open is blocked by American soldiers searching cars, their weapons facing us, waiting for an excuse to start shooting. So we have to find another way.
We drive for a while and suddenly there is a loud, hard noise, and people run in all directions. After a while, it is clear that a bomb has exploded not far from where we are. We are stuck for about twenty minutes before we can continue on our way. After another forty minutes, we arrive at the university's main entrance. A long queue of cars stretches out along the road, each waiting for its turn to be searched. Soldiers are standing around with their weapons pointed toward the cars.
The academic staff, students, and other civilians have to walk about one kilometer from the main gate to the college, because most cars are not allowed to enter the campus. At last, we arrive safely at our departments at about 9:30. Some of the students and teachers have arrived, but others are still waiting their turn to enter the college.
When I ask about one of my friends, colleagues tell me that she didn't come today because American soldiers searched her home last night, and she was forced to stand outdoors for three hours. One of her family members was arrested, and this morning she felt too sick and frightened to come to work.
When I ask about the woman who makes tea for us, I am told she didn't come either; she lives in Sadr City, and it was bombed last night. Only later do we learn that she is safe; she couldn't come to work because the occupation forces had surrounded the area where she lives.
While I wait for my class, there is a huge explosion somewhere far off. I can see smoke rising in the distance.
In class, I find only twelve students out of twenty. Two of these students live in Fallujah, which is under siege, and hadn't come to the college for the last ten days. Three others come from Bagoba and one from Najaf, the rest from different parts of Baghdad.
I am wondering whether to start the lecture or wait for the rest of my students when two more Baghdad students arrive, swearing that they had left home at 7 a.m. Because of the blocked roads, they couldn't get to campus by public transportation, so they took a taxi for 3,000 dinars—a day's pay for many—just to arrive for class on time.
All my students are young women, because I teach in a women's science college. In Baghdad today, the security situation is especially bad for them. So one of the young women who arrived late brought her brother with her. He will wait until she finishes for the day and then bring her back home safely. Another student is dropped off by her father, who then picks her up after class.
The student from Najaf is not going to finish this term: her father came to the department to apply to postpone her studies until next year. One of the students from Bagoba left the college for good because her parents can't afford the extra expense of bringing her every day and then taking her back just to be sure that she is safe.
Calmer Times
I feel sad about the mess we are living in these days, especially because Baghdad University is like my second home. We call it our mother university, because it's the oldest one in modern Iraq and in the region, officially established in 1952-53.
My wife and I both graduated from Baghdad University in early 1972 and received scholarships to do our PhDs in the United Kingdom. We returned as members of the faculty, and during the last twenty-five years have served as advisers for thirty-five master's and PhD theses. Until 1990, we were active in research, producing at least four to six papers each academic year. We were in continuous contact with many foreign universities and took part in conferences in and outside of Iraq, including the United States, the United Kingdom, and the rest of Europe.
Once, Baghdad University was one of the most prominent institutions of higher education among all the Arab countries, perhaps second only to Cairo University. In all Iraq, we built up about thirteen universities, fifty-five specialized colleges, and more than a hundred scientific centers. Each academic year, more than 250,000 students attended these universities and colleges, and we used to award more than a thousand master's and doctoral degrees annually.
For scientists during the regime of the Baath Party, academic life was active in many ways. Of course, those seen as disloyal to the party could lose their jobs as university staff members or be transferred to other jobs. Nor was it easy to get permission to attend a conference abroad, and much time was taken up with mandatory meetings. But we had active research agendas, dozens of scientific societies and journals, cooperation with universities around the world, and extensive programs of continuing education and consultation work.
During the time of sanctions, from 1990 to 2003, the standard of laboratory equipment and materials declined, and there was a great shortage of computer facilities. Programs of academic cooperation with U.S., European, Russian, and other universities were frozen. But we still worked as best we could, and academic life continued.
Today, Baghdad University is only a shell of its former self. There are a few bright lights in our academic life: a recent increase in our monthly salary, better computer facilities, and satellite and Internet communications (with which we are doing our best to catch up with the latest scientific developments). Still, we are missing the most basic part of life, which is security.
We are in fear from the moment we leave our homes to head to the university: fear of explosions, fear of what may happen while we are stuck in a traffic jam created by U.S. military police, fear of the military police checkpoint, and fear of the students who now belong to so many religious and nonreligious parties.
There is also the problem of electricity shutdowns, which make it impossible to do laboratory work. Keep in mind that almost all our scientific equipment is old, and we also lack the raw materials we need.
In these conditions, most staff members stay on campus no more than a few hours to do their teaching and then rush back home. They come only two or three days a week, doing most of their work at home.
Our academic activities no longer have their old rhythm. Most faculty members do nothing at all except teach basic subjects. Now, there is no personal initiative to do research or to properly supervise a student's thesis. We communicate by phone, from home. Scientific societies are inactive. There is no mail from outside countries, and no communication with Arab or foreign universities. In many ways,universities are worse off today than they were during sanctions. There are no conferences; there is no consultation work.
Uncertain Future
After my morning lecture is over, I go to see my postgraduate student. He is from Irbil, in the north of Iraq, and he tells me he is worried about his family because the road between Baghdad and northern Iraq is now closed. He can't do anything with his research, both because he is preoccupied with worry, and because it is not safe to travel between the capital and other cities in Iraq.
By the time we are done talking, it is 2 p.m. It is time to leave the college, so I must prepare myself for more agony to get back home.
It has been another wonderful day in college during the occupation. We hope the coming academic years will be more promising.
M. H. Ali, a water resources engineer, has taught at Baghdad University since 1980 and published numerous scientific papers. Jenan Al-Mukhtar, his wife, has also taught at the university since 1980 and published widely in her field, physics.
|