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By Root 391 0

Libya. Hezbollah still holds its guns, and people in Lebanon whisper that another civil war will come one day—that it’s a question not of whether, but of when. Iraq Body Count says that around 100,000 Iraqi civilians have been killed since the invasion. There is a graph with red spikes, like a picture of shattered windows and broken bones. Nobody knows how many Afghans have been killed; it is thousands and thousands of people; by some estimates, tens of thousands. In Iraq, 4,349 U.S. soldiers have died, and 873 in Afghanistan, and more all the time. That is not counting the deaths of local people who are tallied as combatants, or wading into the question of whether they were or weren’t. Either way, that’s six digits of people, dead for a cause I cannot articulate except in the most abstract terms.

But we lived through it, and we are living still. And in the end, survival is not a meager redemption; it is substantial and it will not last forever, either. Maybe there is greater redemption still to come, an understanding or clarity of vision. I am waiting for it.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

When you ask strangers to tell their stories, you ask for blind trust. The surprising thing is not that people sometimes say no; it’s that, usually, they say yes. I am deeply thankful for the many people who paused long enough to relate their stories; without them, there would be no book. They often spoke at considerable risk, perhaps with the implicit hope that violence can be eroded by talking, over cultural and political and religious divides, across oceans, in spite of everything. Many of them never made it into the newspaper or this book, but I remember them all, and they have permanently informed my work. I thank them.

These pages contain the invisible work of scores of translators, local reporters, and drivers who risked their lives and labored long hours to transmit the plights and graces of their home countries to a foreign audience. The ebullient Majeed Babar lightened my first days at war in Afghanistan and permanently impressed upon me the need to look for society’s most vulnerable victims, even or especially in the midst of conflict. Naseer Ahmed, without a day’s training in journalism, plunged fearlessly into Tora Bora to translate. Batsheva Sobelman and Efrat Shvily patiently demystified Israel, while Maher Abukhater showed me the ropes of Palestinian politics in the West Bank and Fayed abu Shammalah guided me through Gaza. In Baghdad, I am deeply grateful for the friendship and patience of the Sphinx-like Salar Jaff and, of course, Raheem Salman. Suheil Ahmed, Mohammed Arrawi, Caesar Ahmed, Said Rifai, Saif Shakir Humood, and Zeinab Hussein were also instrumental and inspirational colleagues. In Cairo, Hossam Hamalawy was a gifted colleague and dear friend. Sayed Bedoui and Jailan Zayan also played key roles in my understanding of Egypt and, by extension, the collective Arab experience. In Beirut, the wise and patient Raed Rafei helped deepen my understanding of Lebanon. In Amman, Ranya Kadri was a steady source of insight and gossip, as was Leena Saidi in Beirut.

From those first days in Afghanistan, Tim Weiner imparted the lasting sense that the best journalism is informed by deep appreciation of places and people. It was Tim, too, who years later convinced me that there was a book, and that I could write it. Lisa Junghahn talked me through the formation of the narrative, and pointed me to other books that would help the ideas take shape. My agent, Kathy Robbins, was an early believer in this book and lent badly needed moral support during a cold, dark Russian winter of writing. At Doubleday, Bill Thomas shepherded the book from proposal to print. Kris Puopolo was a dedicated, enthusiastic editor who exercised great patience throughout the process. An old friend from Texas, Brad Tyer, gave me an incisive, illuminating read of an early version of the manuscript. Ted Anthony offered valuable suggestions early on.

At the Los Angeles Times, I was privileged to work for John Carroll, Dean Baquet, Simon Li, and Doug Frantz