and holidays in America, and how he was teaching his children English. We ordered Cokes, and he explained that the Holocaust could never have happened because “the ovens were too small.” Did I know that Hitler had been subsidized by the Jews? Did I know how much interest they’d asked? “Thirty-eight percent. Because it all comes down to money in the end with the Jews.”
What was I supposed to do with a story like this? Was he mad, or did half of the population think like this?
In a juice bar in the center of Baghdad, I push fifteen hundred lira across the counter and say, “A Hitler cocktail, please.” The cashier calls out to a young man with mixers, nets of fruit, and bottles of milk: “Ahmed! One Hitler cocktail, please, for this gentleman.” The menu also features Haiti, Mandela, and Noriega cocktails. A Hitler contains pineapple, strawberries, orange juice, cream, and honey.
“That’s an unusual name,” I say. “In Europe, your shop would probably be shut down.” The cashier nods.
“The Jews, eh? We do it to attract attention. We also call dates Monica Lewinskys.”
“But Hitler murdered millions of people.”
The cashier nods helpfully. “He put the Jews in the oven, didn’t he?” In Arabic, the word Holocaust, mahraqa, means fire or burning.
“Six million of them. And he murdered millions of other people, too. Is there a Sharon cocktail, too?”
The cashier can’t help laughing. “We’d lose our clientele. Sharon bombed Beirut, Sabra, and Shatila ... We’ve got a lot of Palestinians living here.”
“Yes. And Hitler considered Arabs to be subhuman, just like the Jews. The only reason he didn’t put you in the oven was that there weren’t any Arabs in Europe.”
The cashier slides a full glass over the counter and says rather grimly: “Israel murdered millions of Arabs though.”
The account of this incident remained a draft on my computer. I definitely would have scored with it, because Dutch readers would have gotten the shock of their lives. But how representative was this fruit-juice guy? How should I contextualize a conversation like this? In Western countries, correspondents use conversations with ordinary people to illustrate trends. First come a couple of great quotes from John on the corner and then, “John is not the only New Yorker to feel this way. At least 60 percent think ...” But I couldn’t get hold of any reliable opinion polls, and all relevant statistics were kept secret. So there I was, left with the comments of literally one man or woman on the street.
Y ou might suggest that I should have looked for sources I could trust. I did try, but whenever I attempted to write a story without using news agencies, the main Anglo-Saxon media, or talking heads, it fell apart. One such attempt was a success story about a Dutch development project in Fayum, an oasis that was two hours’ drive to the south of Cairo. The weekend supplement was putting
together a themed issue on development aid, and as part of it they wanted an account of one failed project and one successful one. “I can do that,” I said, and via the embassy I got in touch with a Dutch hydro-engineer. I’ll call him Roland. He was a nice guy about my age, who immediately invited me to meet up with him.
Oases always made me think of three trees, a hut, and a goat, but Fayum was a stretch of green the size of Luxembourg, with 3 million inhabitants. Things were going wrong in Fayum; the population was exploding while the irrigation system was just getting worse. “They’ve got enough water, but they’re not using it correctly,” Roland told me in his office at the Ministry of Irrigation. Just like in the ministries in Cairo, the civil servants were either napping, staring into space, or pottering around and making relaxed phone calls. Roland’s room was the only one with air-conditioning and a computer that worked. We drove out into the countryside in his four-wheel drive. He pointed at
What was I supposed to do with a story like this? Was he mad, or did half of the population think like this?
In a juice bar in the center of Baghdad, I push fifteen hundred lira across the counter and say, “A Hitler cocktail, please.” The cashier calls out to a young man with mixers, nets of fruit, and bottles of milk: “Ahmed! One Hitler cocktail, please, for this gentleman.” The menu also features Haiti, Mandela, and Noriega cocktails. A Hitler contains pineapple, strawberries, orange juice, cream, and honey.
“That’s an unusual name,” I say. “In Europe, your shop would probably be shut down.” The cashier nods.
“The Jews, eh? We do it to attract attention. We also call dates Monica Lewinskys.”
“But Hitler murdered millions of people.”
The cashier nods helpfully. “He put the Jews in the oven, didn’t he?” In Arabic, the word Holocaust, mahraqa, means fire or burning.
“Six million of them. And he murdered millions of other people, too. Is there a Sharon cocktail, too?”
The cashier can’t help laughing. “We’d lose our clientele. Sharon bombed Beirut, Sabra, and Shatila ... We’ve got a lot of Palestinians living here.”
“Yes. And Hitler considered Arabs to be subhuman, just like the Jews. The only reason he didn’t put you in the oven was that there weren’t any Arabs in Europe.”
The cashier slides a full glass over the counter and says rather grimly: “Israel murdered millions of Arabs though.”
The account of this incident remained a draft on my computer. I definitely would have scored with it, because Dutch readers would have gotten the shock of their lives. But how representative was this fruit-juice guy? How should I contextualize a conversation like this? In Western countries, correspondents use conversations with ordinary people to illustrate trends. First come a couple of great quotes from John on the corner and then, “John is not the only New Yorker to feel this way. At least 60 percent think ...” But I couldn’t get hold of any reliable opinion polls, and all relevant statistics were kept secret. So there I was, left with the comments of literally one man or woman on the street.
Y ou might suggest that I should have looked for sources I could trust. I did try, but whenever I attempted to write a story without using news agencies, the main Anglo-Saxon media, or talking heads, it fell apart. One such attempt was a success story about a Dutch development project in Fayum, an oasis that was two hours’ drive to the south of Cairo. The weekend supplement was putting
together a themed issue on development aid, and as part of it they wanted an account of one failed project and one successful one. “I can do that,” I said, and via the embassy I got in touch with a Dutch hydro-engineer. I’ll call him Roland. He was a nice guy about my age, who immediately invited me to meet up with him.
Oases always made me think of three trees, a hut, and a goat, but Fayum was a stretch of green the size of Luxembourg, with 3 million inhabitants. Things were going wrong in Fayum; the population was exploding while the irrigation system was just getting worse. “They’ve got enough water, but they’re not using it correctly,” Roland told me in his office at the Ministry of Irrigation. Just like in the ministries in Cairo, the civil servants were either napping, staring into space, or pottering around and making relaxed phone calls. Roland’s room was the only one with air-conditioning and a computer that worked. We drove out into the countryside in his four-wheel drive. He pointed at
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