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Thursday, February 27, 2003
Copyright © Las Vegas Mercury

The Basement Files: The human shield

Since early February, more than 300 Western volunteers have arrived in Baghdad to serve as human shields. By putting their bodies directly into harm's way, they hope to slow, and ultimately halt, America's rush toward an "unjust and immoral" war. We asked one volunteer, Sasha Linbury, a 21-year-old junior at UNLV, to keep a journal of her courageous mission as an emissary of global peace.

Jan. 22, 2003

McCarran International Airport

Oh my God, such a sad, teary scene at the airport. My dad was totally aggro all the way there, but he's like so out of touch with his emotions that I know being mean is just his way of dealing with sadness. As we waited by the ticket counter, he said, "Look, we'd like to come down to the terminal to see you off, but your buddy Saddam's friends bombed the ever-loving shit out of us awhile back, so I guess the curb will have to do." And then he stormed off to have a smoke before I could point out that no plausible link had been established between Al Qaeda and the Iraqi government.

And then my mom started crying and saying she couldn't believe her "little angel" was going off to war. And I said, "I'm not, Mom, I'm going off to peace." And it was like the coolest thing I'd ever said in my life. It like totally popped into my head right that instant. I'd never thought of it like that before. But if I ever write a book about this experience, that is totally gonna be the title. By the way, if you're cringing about the demeaning phrase "little angel," try to remember that my mom went to college in the late '60s when students weren't very political and she's totally a victim of her own internalized misogyny.

By then, my dad came back and asked if "my little goddamn traitor is about ready to ship out?" I wouldn't even rise to the bait (thank you, breathing exercises). Instead, I just kissed him. And then he said, "Hey, maybe you'll get lucky and they'll have Kate Spade body bags over there." That's my dad's way of marginalizing intelligent and powerful Women Warriors. Like all we care about is shopping. Having said that, I do hope Iraq has some cool peasant artisans 'cause I'd like to find a nice area rug while I'm over there.

Jan. 23, 2003

Virgin Airlines, somewhere over the Atlantic

Okay, I have something to confess to my sisters in the Women's Studies group. I've been like totally binging and purging for the last three weeks. Now before you get all harsh about me buying into the Beauty Myth, try to remember that I'm about to meet a bunch of Europeans who already think all Americans are big fat pigs. So I totally want to look skinny when I get off the plane. And I think that makes it different. I mean, it's not like I'm starving myself for a man's approval. That would be gross. I'm starving myself for an entire continent's approval. Like Gandhi or something.

Jan. 24, 2003

London offices of Truth Justice Peace Human Shield Action

I was expecting everybody over here to totally hate Americans. But they don't. As soon as they find out you despise America as much as they do, they're totally cool. And it's such a like Zen thing to learn. I mean, we spend all this time wondering if people will like us. But if we could just learn to hate ourselves, then the people who hate us would learn to love us. Do you see?

Jan. 26, 2003

Aboard chartered bus, outside Brussels

There is like the cutest Australian guy on the tour bus. His name is Sean and he's totally hot. But last night he said he would never dream of sleeping with an American woman because he doesn't want to become infected with "the venereal poisons of our puerile McCulture and warmongering oil-lust." Which I thought was kind of harsh 'cause I totally douche. And even though it hurt my feelings, I really admire Sean's passion. Or his anti-passion. Or whatever. At least he stands for something, like hating people like me. Now I find him even way hotter.

Jan. 29, 2003

Aboard bus, en route to Milan

Last night, some of the volunteers started playing poker on the bus. The very first hand, I won with three-of-a-kind. As I reached for the pot, Sean said how typical it was that Americans thought having the best cards entitled them to steal everyone else's natural resources. Oh my God, I felt so bad and Republican right then. So Sean made me give the pot to Aaron, this guy from Canada. It's so very shameful and American to live right next door to them and still have no concept of Canada's grinding squalor.

So then Sean made us start playing "Third World Poker." I'd never played it before but the rules are pretty simple. Whenever I got a bad hand, I deserved it because of America's corrupt foreign policy. And whenever I got a good hand, it was further proof of America's core venality. No matter what, I had to give the pot to somebody else. So I ran out of money in about half an hour. And then Sean said, "Maybe now you know how it feels to be poor, to be without hope and to be turned away from America's groaning banquet table." Man, what a learning moment for me. Talk about having the blinders taken off. Sean has taught me so much in so little time. God, I am so ready to fuck him.

Next week: Arriving in Baghdad