In a tux, I hear the bombing
EDITOR'S NOTE: Chris Elliott is a part-time trumpeter (and full time technical writer in Cambridge) whose band is playing a week's worth of nightclub shows in Baghdad.
BAGHDAD, January 17, 2007 -- Yesterday was our first gig. After the travails of flying here, it was a joy to finally do what we came here to do.
It wasn’t until this morning that we found out what a terrible day in Baghdad yesterday had been. We knew something was going on because of the massive increase in helicopter traffic overhead, but loud explosions followed by small arms fire were so constant a part of the auditory landscape, that as new to Baghdad as we were, we were already almost jaded.
Dozens of Blackhawk helicopters roared low altitude over our heads, and for the first time we saw a pair of Apache helicopters. Apaches are a breed apart from Blackhawks. They are sleek and fast, and their approach is heralded by a lower, throatier report than a Blackhawk. Men leaned out the doors and the guns waved menacingly across the city as we set up the PA system.
The method of death’s dispatch that killed the 65 people at Baghdad University was typical according to a soldier I spoke with today. The insurgents detonate a car bomb, and then wait for a crowd to gather in its aftermath. Then they send in another car bomb or a suicide bomber.
There were audible explosions all across the city yesterday, but one was followed by a sustained cacophonous symphony of multiple sirens. It was the sound of maimed and murdered people being brought to morgues and hospitals across Baghdad, systems so stressed by the incessant fighting and killing that they are sometimes barely able to deliver services.
I had previously heard the dull thud of car bombs followed by the bright, clattering report of small arms fire, but never before with so many ensuing sirens. You hear the explosions in the morning typically. First, the call to prayer emanates from the mosque minarets, and then the attacks begin. They ebb and flow throughout the day, and then accelerate in the early evening as the cover of night emboldens the murderers.
We played up-tempo rhythm and blues, dressed in tuxedos and playing outside in chilly weather as the helicopters flew. The show was a benefit for the Starfish Network, an organization that funds and facilitates surgeries and other therapies for sick and injured Iraqi children in Iraq. Ticket sales totaled $20,000, and in addition there were corporate contributions of more than $50,000.
Life-saving monies were gathered and life-ending horrors were perpetrated. I wonder if sum zero is as good as it gets here. 