This Is This

Hey.

It’s not just me, is it?

No. I’m just going to come out and say it.

What’s so cool about Iraq?

I know it’s four years since the war in Iraq (no, not that one, that one) started in Iraq, but now everything everywhere is about the place. There was a programme on TV last night about doctors in Iraq. I watched it and it was very good. What those guys have to go through every day is better than anything I could do.

You’ve got surgeons sleeping in the hospitals away from their families because it’s safer than walking to work since they are targets for treating both Shiite and Sunni Muslims. It’s amazing what they do every day, so fair enough. Whack it up on the telly and I’ll marvel in humble admiration at the triumph of their spirit.

But yesterday Huw Edwards was anchoring, not reporting but anchoring the BBC headlines at ten in a flak jacket from the outskirts of Basra. As he stood there telling me about world events in front of armoured personnel carriers, I wondered if we could get this guy a seat and put him in a studio where he might not get shot.

Do I really want to listen to the headlines thinking there’s a chance my newsreader could be shot? Do I really want my broadcasters to wear body armour? No, it’s stupid - bring him in. Unless he really needs to stay out there in genuine danger, in which case what the fuck are the BBC are playing at?

“We do not care what you believe. You are in great danger. We want you to read this statement we have written. And you might be shot.”

Sounds eerily familiar, doesn’t it?

But here’s the thing. Producers love it. They think we think it’s cool.

The Guardian this week interviewed the guy who stood at the bottom on the Saddam statue that was torn down at the end of the war (outside the Palestine hotel where all western journalists were staying, I remind you). This guy was captured by the world’s cameras, sledgehammer flailing, taking chunks out of the podium of the effigy before it was toppled.

If this guy were British, the media would call him a thug, chav, hoodie and a menace. But because he’s Iraqi, he gets the front page of The Guardian.

Baghdad bloggers, too. I love those guys, but if they are writing about hard times, there are lots of people with hard times who don’t have access to the internet, but who are less cool, because they’re in San Salvador. Sorry guys, it’s all about the ratings. Maybe next year, hey?

Maybe it’s because we love adversity. Like abusee turned bestselling author Dave Pelzer. Forget A Child Called It, we have A Country Called There.

And it doesn’t sit comfortably with me. It’s over-dramatised, it’s a public display of affliction, it’s mournsterbation and I’m not sure it’s right.

Also, a friend of mine went to school with Iraq, and he said it was never that cool. He said it talked in a funny accent, supported Everton, listened to old jazz records and wrote stories. No hang on, that was me.

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There should be a word for “the day after tomorrow”. It a term that comes up enough, there should be a name for it. Like “snoober”. It even has a “day after tomorrow” sound to it.
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