(Click here to read previous Letters From Damascus.)

Monday 24 July
Last night while waiting for a friend in the shadow of the Ummayad
Mosque, we ended up getting pulled into a conversation with a young
man selling rugs and Damascene souvenirs to tourists. “You’re not
rednecks, are you?” he asks. “There are a lot of rednecks around
here.” As it turns out, he knows a couple of the girls from Ohio State
that came here last summer. It’s a small world.

Unfortunately the rumors of anti-Americanism that we’ve been hearing
bear some truth. We’re seeing more Hezbollah flags and pictures of
Nasrallah everyday, and I’d swear that we’re getting more glares as
the crisis in Lebanon continues. A couple of my fellow students got
into it with a vendor in the souq yesterday. “Fuck you Americans,” he
told them. At the same time, we’re seeing more westerners in Damascus
than ever due to the situation in Lebanon. Many of those who left
Beirut have ended up here, ironically, making it increasingly
difficult to keep a low profile. On that note, my host family rented
my room out today. My replacement — a student from Seattle who was
studying in Beirut — moves in on Friday.

I spent the day waiting around for DHL to deliver our paper tickets
for the flight from Damascus to Cairo. Later, we found out that
they’re still in Ohio and we should expect them to arrive no later
than Wednesday, the day before we fly out. We’ve also heard that
EgyptAir is trying to cancel our tickets out of Damascus. They’ve
oversold the flights and are looking for seats to cancel. Getting out
early has been a giant hassle, I can’t imagine what it would be like
if something actually went wrong.

(Click here to read previous Letters From Damascus.)

The Boston Globe- July 23, 2006

In a perfect world

Yevgeny Zamyatin’s far-out science fiction dystopia, `We,’ showed the way for George Orwell and countless others.

By Joshua Glenn

IT IS WITH REGRET that I see, instead of an orderly and strict mathematical epic poem in honor of the One State-I see some kind of fantastic adventure novel emerging from me.” So laments D-503, mathematician and rocket designer, halfway through Russian writer Yevgeny Zamyatin’s dystopian novel “We.” Completed in 1921, but not published in Russia until 1988, half a century after Zamyatin’s death, it appears this month from the Modern Library in a new English translation by Natasha Randall.

Zamyatin’s vision of a totally controlled society, one in which unresisting citizens eat, sleep, work, and make love like clockwork-and in which thinkers and writers sing the glories of “the morning buzz of electric toothbrushes and . . . the intimate peal of the crystal-sparkling latrine”-was considered too dangerously satirical by the early Soviet state, and it was smuggled abroad in samizdat form. Written a decade before Aldous Huxley’s “Brave New World,” its influence can be seen in George Orwell’s “1984,” and it has been hailed as a warning of the totalitarian dangers inherent in every utopian scheme. (Orwell, who believed Huxley had read “We,” wrote in 1946, three years before “1984″ was published, that Zamyatin’s “intuitive grasp of the irrational side of totalitarianism-human sacrifice, cruelty as an end in itself” made the novel “superior to Huxley’s.”)

A Bolshevik student activist in the years before the 1917 revolution, Zamyatin went on to become an engineer and ship designer, and only started writing to pass the time when the Tsarist police exiled him from St. Petersburg. Yet despite his youthful Bolshevism, Zamyatin-like Boris Pasternak, Alexsandr Solzhenitsyn, Anna Akhmatova, and other independent Russian writers of the Soviet era-despised authoritarian communism. In an essay written at the same time as “We,” he castigated critics who demanded that writers be subservient to the Party. “There shall be no more polyphony or dissonances,” he warned. “There shall only be majestic, monumental, all-encompassing unanimity.”

Without a doubt, Zamyatin’s far-out narrative, set in a city-state cut off from a depopulated Earth by an impenetrable glass dome, is anti-totalitarian. Extrapolating from the over-heated rhetoric of Communist planners who believed that mankind would profit if American scientific-management techniques (like those of Frederick W. Taylor and Henry Ford) were extended into every sphere of daily life, Zamyatin has D-503 rhapsodize about “the mathematically perfect life of the One State,” where nothing spontaneous is permitted.

But is “We” really an anti-utopian novel? From today’s perspective, it looks as though “We,” like Huxley’s “Brave New World,” is less a rejection of utopianism than a jeremiad against the creeping of industrial standardization into politics, culture, and every other aspect of modern life.

. . .

In his 2005 book “Picture Imperfect,” social critic Russell Jacoby describes a group of writers he calls “blueprint utopians”-idealists such as Thomas More, Condorcet, Enfantin, Edward Bellamy, and others who devised solutions to the social problems of their own eras by mapping out the future in inches and minutes, giving precise instructions for how men and women should work and live, and not hesitating to prescribe force against dissenters.

The One State described by Zamyatin does bear a close resemblance to these imagined social orders. “We” describes a rigid world of efficiency and perfection, one in which individuals (called “ciphers”) are issued numbers instead of names and are nurtured by Taylorist systems from childhood. The One State is ruled by a Benefactor, who is automatically voted in every year, and watched over by spying Guardians, who ensure that nothing unexpected ever happens; those ciphers who do fall out of step (literally) are whisked away to the Gas Bell Jar.

This state of “mathematically infallible happiness” (as the One State’s official newspaper describes it) is considered by its citizens to be a revolutionary improvement on the chaotic condition of freedom humankind once knew. War has been banished along with quarreling nation-states; hunger and poverty have been eradicated through collectivism; and even sexual jealousy has been vanquished via an equitable system of distribution in which “each cipher has the right to any other cipher as sexual product.”

D-503, who has started a journal intended for use as propaganda on newly colonized planets, is full of enthusiasm. He soliloquizes about the mandatory afternoon walk, when uniformed workers march along in rows of four, “rapturously keeping step.” He even boasts of a pioneering new medical procedure, the excision of the imagination via brain surgery (in his case, this is unnecessary).

But then D-503 falls in love-seduced by a beautiful revolutionary, I-330, who wants to hijack his rocket ship and overthrow the government. I-330’s effect on D-503 is explosive. A personality so tightly wound that he remembers being frightened of irrational numbers as a child, D-503 suddenly finds himself in “a world of square roots of minus one.” Alas, the plot fails, I-330 ends up in the Gas Bell Jar, and D-503 is subjected to the imagination-cauterizing operation.

But not before I-330 succeeds in converting him, if only momentarily, into a champion of spontaneity and freedom of individual choice. She does so by arguing against the received wisdom that the utopian revolution that resulted in the founding of the One State was necessarily the final revolution. Speaking in D-503’s own language of mathematical philosophy, she asks him, “What is the final number?” When he responds that the number of numbers is infinite, she argues that revolutions should be infinite, too-not exactly an anti-utopian sentiment. She leaves open the possibility of ever-improving worlds to come.

I-330 agrees with D-503 that their ancestors were right to invent a more equitable social order. “They made only one mistake,” she says. “Afterward they believed that they were the final number-which doesn’t exist in the natural world, it just doesn’t.”

Joshua Glenn is the Globe’s Living Arts web editor. E-mail jglenn@globe.com.

from Harvard Film Archive:

A pioneering work that blurred the boundaries between fictional and documentary styles, Ice was hailed by filmmaker and Village Voice critic Jonas Mekas as “the most original and most significant American narrative film” of the late sixties. An underground revolutionary group struggles against internal strife which threatens its security and stages urban guerrilla attacks against a fictionalized fascist regime in the United States. Interspersed throughout the narrative are rhetorical sequences that explain the philosophy of radical action and serve to restrain the melodrama inherent in the “thriller” genre. Shot in the gray landscape of New York City in a gritty cinema-verité style, the film has been compared to Jean-Luc Godard’s Alphaville.

from Coolidge Corner Theater:

Jonathan Rosenbaum from the Chicago Reader: “One of American independent Robert Kramer’s strongest “underground” features (1969), arguably his best, made in and around New York before he resettled in Paris. This potent and grim SF thriller about urban guerrillas of the radical left, shot in the manner of a rough documentary in black and white, has an epic sweep to it. (Like many politically informed art movies of the period, starting with Alphaville and including even THX 1138, it was set in the future mainly as a ruse for critiquing the present.) Now as then, the power of this creepy movie rests largely in its dead-on critique of the paranoia and internecine battles that characterized revolutionary politics during the 60s; the mood is terrorized and often brutal, but the behavioral observations and some of the tenderness periodically call to mind early Cassavetes. A searing, unnerving history lesson, it’s an American counterpart to some of Jacques Rivette’s conspiracy pictures, a desperate message found in a bottle.”

Jonas Mekas said that ‘ Ice ‘ was “the most original and most significant American narrative film of the late sixties.

Born in New York in 1939, Robert Kramer ranks as one of the most original directors of American underground cinema. This exacting loner, the bard of the counterculture, has worked on the fringe both in his homeland and in France. In 1967, he founded The Newsreel, a militant collective that was among the first to produce films about the Vietnam war and its impact in America. His films constantly work at wearing away the impermeability of documentary and fiction forms, paying special attention to his characters. In 1969, Kramer visited Hanoï and brought back Peoples’ War. He returned 23 years later, keen on understanding what had become of Vietnam in the nineties – the result was Starting Place/Point de départ. The country was then in pieces; the old generation had its pride intact whereas the new generation had forgotten. Starting Place is also a melancholic stroll among faces, objects and vestiges that question our relationship with memory and images. His exploration of the American heartlands has been the other fixture of his work. Milestones (1976) is the polyphonic evocation of a rural community, which paints a pessimistic portrait of American society in the seventies. In 1989, he made Route One/USA – Route One is an historic, now disused, road that runs down the east coast. Through Kramer’s eyes, this route becomes the focal point that condenses American history and its traditions of violence, blends fiction and documentary, sets up echoes between collective memory and private recollections. This geographer’s work evokes wars (from the Civil War to Vietnam), confronts feminists with Christian fundamentalists, examines the demands of minority communities. There gradually takes forms a mosaic of America and its history as a living organism with a thousand facets.

From July 22, 2006 Los Angeles Times…

POP MUSIC REVIEW

Music fest is a many-octaved thing

Outsider artists come together for “5 Nights of Soleros and Bandoleros” to give “folk” a punky, esoteric, jazzy tinge.

By Ann Powers, Times Staff Writer

Devendra Banhart was as pleased as tequila-laced punch, holding his empty margarita glass proudly in the El Cid courtyard Tuesday as the first installment of the ambitious five-night outsider folk music festival he programmed slowly turned into a sellout.

He laughed when someone commented on all the bearded males in the room. “It doesn’t take any work to grow a beard,” he said. “You just let it happen.” That’s rather like the scene the gifted singer-songwriter has helped define, made up of lone wolves and outsider collectives emerging out of dusty corners from Venice to Granada.

Banhart, the unofficial leader of the handily named “freak folk” movement (though, naturally, he resists such labels), has a lot of Allen Ginsberg in him. He projects that same twinkly aura the great poet possessed, part hokum and part prodigious vision. This fete, titled “Hypnorituals and Mesmemusical Miracles Hanging in the Sky: 5 Nights of Soleros and Bandoleros,” brings together his “wish list” of semi-unknowns working on the edges of folk-influenced balladry. “A lot of these people came from punk rock,” he said.

Though the trappings were more hippie-ish than punk — El Cid’s small main room overflowed with women in gauzy dresses and men wearing sparkly scarves — the sounds made during the program’s first two nights reflected the values those two subgenres share: unpolished enthusiasm, impetuous experimentation and an insiderness that nonetheless welcomed listeners willing to learn the ropes.

The eight acts appearing over the fest’s first two nights (both bookended by jovial readings by poet and painter Eric Ernest Johnson) ranged from solo acoustic guitar-based bards to shambling collectives. Listening felt like wandering through hallways in an old house, opening up doors to find things that never asked to be revealed. Yet the best acts had enough song sense and communicative skills to bring their esotericism into the light.

Most thrilling was Tuesday’s headlining band, Feathers, the Vermont-based collective whose debut album came out in April on Banhart’s Gnomonsong label. Feathers’ seven members alternate instruments every song, a nightmare for anyone wanting a tight set but a revelation for those interested in how improvisation becomes songcraft.

Everyone in the band — two women and three men presented their compositions — had his or her own sparkle, whether leaning toward winsome Baroque pop or feminine introversion. The collective approach and the club’s iffy sound might have sunk a less skilled crew, but Feathers showed how careful listening and subtle self-control can turn a potential mess into magic.

Conversely, Jana Hunter presented her reticent songs with a quietly fierce sense of solitude. Hunter, who hails from Houston and is also a Gnomonsong artist, writes fragmentary verses that work on the page. But it’s her voice, with a tone that’s fluty and rich, that makes her song sestinas memorable. Looking like Thora Birch in “Ghost World,” plucking at a worn guitar, Hunter was an unlikely inheritor of the folk goddess mantle. Her lack of aplomb only served to emphasize her songs’ quiet artfulness.

Entrance, who also performed Tuesday, was all aplomb: This pseudonymous wild man keened and slashed at his guitar, raising a flurry of psychedelic blues-punk that carried shards of Middle Eastern drone in its wake. Not always nailing the falsetto he preferred, Entrance still impressed with his dogged intensity as he sang disturbing meditations on death and transcendence. Not exactly accessible, but completely in the audience’s face, Entrance took the crown as the festival’s most determined rock star.

The only truly notable performer Wednesday couldn’t have been more different. Ruthann Friedman took the stage with unassuming sweetness, looking more like someone who’d headline a community picnic than a hipster gathering. The 62-year-old Los Angeles resident, who recorded one album in 1969 that was recently reissued, is best known for writing the Association’s vanilla pop classic “Windy,” but her set at El Cid showed her talent beyond one-hit-wonder status.

Friedman, a former housemate of David Crosby and the Jefferson Airplane, showed the influence of her peers, but her jazz-touched, melodically complex songs went beyond mere hippie confessions. One reflectively mourned her sister’s suicide; another she dedicated to Astrud Gilberto, and, though Friedman’s voice and guitar-picking showed the effects of years not performing, she captured that Brazilian lilt. As she shared stories from her long, strange trip, many of the festival’s other performers sat rapt, grateful that Banhart had rescued a mentor from obscurity.

Allen Ginsberg once described poetry as representing “that time of night, lying in bed, thinking what you really think, making the private world public.”

That’s the essence of the scene Banhart is exposing. This evening’s final episode of the Hypnorituals festival, presented this week by Arthur Magazine and the Fold, brings esteemed folk elder Michael Hurley, Sun City Girls member Richard Bishop, and Britain-bred, Spain-based experimenters Stuart and Caan. Expect some doors to open.

Sunday, July 30, 2006 8pm – midnight

Arthur & Zebulon present a DVD Release Extravaganza!

Ira Cohen’s The Invasion of Thunderbolt Pagoda + Brain Damage (PREMIERE)

Reading by Ira Cohen
Live scores by Sunburned Hand of the Man + mahasiddhi
Soul/Funk provided by The Rumpus Room Sound System DJS

Invite (click to view): http://www.iracohen.org/zebulon/

Location:
www.zebuloncafeconcert.com
718.218.6934
258 wythe avenue
brooklyn, ny 11211

Map it!

From the Associated Press

Thomas Pynchon fans, the long wait is apparently over: His first novel in nearly a decade is coming out in December. But details, as with so much else about the mysterious author of such postmodern classics as “V.” and “Gravity’s Rainbow,” have proved a puzzle.

This much is known about the new book: It’s called “Against the Day” and will be published by Penguin Press. It will run at least 900 pages, and the author, who doesn’t make media appearances or allow himself to be photographed, will not be going on a promotional tour.

Late last week, the book’s description was posted on Amazon.com. It read:

“Spanning the period between the Chicago World’s Fair of 1893 and the years just after World War I, this novel moves from the labor troubles in Colorado to turn-of-the-century New York, to London and Gottingen, Venice and Vienna, the Balkans, Central Asia, Siberia at the time of the mysterious Tunguska Event, Mexico during the Revolution, postwar Paris, silent-era Hollywood, and one or two places not strictly speaking on the map at all.

With a worldwide disaster looming just a few years ahead, it is a time of unrestrained corporate greed, false religiosity, moronic fecklessness, and evil intent in high places. No reference to the present day is intended or should be inferred.

The sizable cast of characters includes anarchists, balloonists, gamblers, corporate tycoons, drug enthusiasts, innocents and decadents, mathematicians, mad scientists, shamans, psychics, and stage magicians, spies, detectives, adventuresses, and hired guns. There are cameo appearances by Nikola Tesla, Bela Lugosi, and Groucho Marx.

As an era of certainty comes crashing down around their ears and an unpredictable future commences, these folks are mostly just trying to pursue their lives. Sometimes they manage to catch up; sometimes it’s their lives that pursue them.

Meanwhile, the author is up to his usual business. Characters stop what they’re doing to sing what are for the most part stupid songs. Strange sexual practices take place. Obscure languages are spoken, not always idiomatically. Contrary-to-the-fact occurrences occur. If it is not the world, it is what the world might be with a minor adjustment or two. According to some, this is one of the main purposes of fiction.

Let the reader decide, let the reader beware. Good luck.

–Thomas Pynchon”

Warmer Waters Disrupt Pacific Food Chain

By THE ASSOCIATED PRESS
Published: July 22, 2006
Filed at 3:46 p.m. ET

FARALLON NATIONAL WILDLIFE REFUGE, Calif. (AP) — On these craggy, remote islands west of San Francisco, the largest seabird colony in the contiguous United States throbs with life. Seagulls swarm so thick that visitors must yell to be heard above their cries. Pelicans glide.

But the steep decline of one bird species for the second straight year has rekindled scientists’ fears that global warming could be undermining the coastal food supply, threatening not just the Farallones but entire marine ecosystems.

Tiny Cassin’s auklets live much of their lives on the open ocean. But in spring, these gray-and-white relatives of the puffin venture to isolated Pacific outposts like the Farallones to dig deep burrows and lay their eggs.

Adult auklets usually feed their chicks with krill, the minuscule shrimp-like crustaceans that anchor the ocean’s complex food web.

But not this year. Almost none of the 20,000 pairs of Cassin’s auklets nesting in the Farallones will raise a chick that lives more than a few days, a repeat of last year’s ”unprecedented” breeding failure, according to Russ Bradley, a seabird biologist with the Point Reyes Bird Observatory who monitors the birds on the islands.

Scientists blame changes in West Coast climate patterns for a delay in the seasonal upwelling of cold, nutrient-rich waters from the ocean’s depths for the second year in a row. Weak winds and faltering currents have left the Gulf of the Farallones without krill, on which Cassin’s auklets and a variety of other seabirds, fish and mammals depend for food.

”The seas are warmer. And the number of krill being produced is lower,” said Bradley as he held a Cassin’s auklet chick, the only one from a study of 400 nests he expected to survive.

”Normally we would have hundreds,” he said.

The failure of last year’s Pacific upwelling killed seabirds from California to British Columbia. Scientists had hoped the change was just a natural temperature fluctuation in what is known as the California Current.

But the return of higher ocean temperatures and scarce food resources this year has scientists wondering whether last year’s erratic weather was not a fluke but the emergence of a troubling trend.

”How many years in a row do you see this before you start raising your eyebrows?” said Frank Schwing, an oceanographer with the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration in Pacific Grove.

Climatologists describe global warming as a worldwide rise in temperatures caused by the buildup of carbon dioxide and other greenhouse gasses thought to trap heat in the atmosphere. Predictions of global warming’s effects include rising sea levels, fiercer storms, more wildfires and warmer oceans.

Without long-term data, scientists have so far found it difficult to make direct links between specific natural events and global warming.

But the Farallones present a special case. Researchers have kept Cassin’s auklet counts there every day since 1967. Never before have they seen such a drop-off in numbers. That decline comes as California ocean temperatures hover three to five degrees above average.

”One of the things that the climate models predict is that we’re going to have unpredictable weather, extreme weather, that the whole seasonal cycle of events will not be what we expect,” said Bill Peterson, a NOAA oceanographer in Newport, Ore. ”We aren’t seeing normal patterns.”

Perhaps nowhere is this ecological disruption felt more than here on the Farallones, a 200-acre island chain often described as California’s Galapagos. The U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service keeps the national wildlife refuge closed to visitors except for a small group of scientists and volunteers who live there year-round.

The krill-dependent whales and salmon that inhabit the surrounding waters have not appeared to suffer from the changes in food supply. But during a visit to the islands this summer, scientists pointed to other species feeling the consequences.

The absence of krill has led to a collapse of the juvenile rockfish population. This is the main food source for young of the common murre, a bird that resembles a flying penguin. Though the murre has made a dramatic comeback recently, with about 200,000 adults nesting on the islands this year, nearly three-quarters of murres breeding this year are not expected to raise chicks that survive.

”At this point it’s way too late in the season for the birds to initiate another attempt at breeding,” said Peter Warzybok, a Farallones-based biologist with the Point Reyes Bird Observatory. ”They’ll just have to wait around for next year and hope that it’s better.”

Significant drops in murre and Cassin’s auklet numbers occurred during the El Nino years of 1983 and 1992, when warmer Pacific waters near the equator upset weather patterns worldwide.

A January conference of more than 40 climatologists, oceanographers, and wildlife biologists issued a report describing last year’s altered coastal climate as El Nino-like conditions in a non-El Nino year. Some researchers have given the new climate shift its own name: ”El Coyote.”

The report said a ”ridge” of winter air blocking winds from the Gulf of Alaska lingered more than two months longer than normal in 2005, which delayed the upwelling until well past the birds’ breeding seasons.

”It’s not just a local effect,” Schwing said. ”It’s related to global-scale changes in atmospheric circulation.”

But it could take researchers another decade to determine whether global warming caused those changes. Some climatologists warn against drawing overly broad conclusions from only two years of unusual weather.

Definitive results are ”not around the corner,” said Nick Bond, a research meteorologist the University of Washington who has studied the upwelling’s failure.

”We just don’t know how much the deck is stacked” by the effects of global climate change, Bond said. ”It’s hard to tell from just a deal or two.”

But whatever the cause, the ecological outcome if the trend continues is already clear, according to scientists.

The Cassin’s auklet is unlikely to adapt to the sudden loss of its main food source. And other animals could follow, Schwing said.

In the worst case, he said, ”we could see a great depression of the entire ecosystem.”

Times of London – July 13, 2006

Baghdad starts to collapse as its people flee a life of death

By James Hider, of The Times, from Baghdad

As I hung up the phone, I wondered if I would ever see my friend Ali alive again. Ali, The Times translator for the past three years, lives in west Baghdad, an area that is now in meltdown as a bitter civil war rages between Sunni insurgents and Shia militias. It is, quite simply, out of control.

I returned to Baghdad on Monday after a break of several months, during which I too was guilty of glazing over every time I read another story of Iraqi violence. But two nights on the telephone, listening to my lost and frightened Iraqi staff facing death at any moment, persuaded me that Baghdad is now verging on total collapse.

Ali phoned me on Tuesday night, about 10.30pm. There were cars full of gunmen prowling his mixed neighbourhood, he said. He and his neighbours were frantically exchanging information, trying to identify the gunmen.

Were they the Mahdi Army, the Shia militia blamed for drilling holes in their victims’ eyes and limbs before executing them by the dozen? Or were they Sunni insurgents hunting down Shias to avenge last Sunday’s massacre, when Shia gunmen rampaged through an area called Jihad, pulling people from their cars and homes and shooting them in the streets?

Ali has a surname that could easily pass for Shia. His brother-in-law has an unmistakably Sunni name. They agreed that if they could determine that the gunmen were Shia, Ali would answer the door. If they were Sunnis, his brother-in-law would go.

Whoever didn’t answer the door would hide in the dog kennel on the roof.

Their Plan B was simpler: to dash 50 yards to their neighbours’ house — home to a dozen brothers. All Iraqi homes are awash with guns for self-defence in these merciless times. Together they would shoot it out with the gunmen — one of a dozen unsung Alamos now being fought nightly on Iraq’s blacked-out streets.

“We just have to wait and see what our fate is,” Ali told me. It was the first time in three years of bombs, battles and kidnappings that I had heard this stocky, very physical young man sounding scared, but there was nothing I could do to help.

The previous night I had had a similar conversation with my driver, a Shia who lives in another part of west Baghdad. He phoned at 11pm to say that there was a battle raging outside his house and that his family were sheltering in the windowless bathroom.

Marauding Mahdi gunmen, seeking to drive all Sunnis from the area, were fighting Sunni Mujahidin for control of a nearby strategic position. I could hear the gunfire blazing over the phone.

We phoned the US military trainer attached to Iraqi security forces in the area. He said there was nothing to be done: “There’s always shooting at night here. It’s like chasing ghosts.”

In fact the US military generally responds only to request for support from Iraqi security forces. But as many of those forces are at best turning a blind eye to the Shia death squads, and at worst colluding with them, calling the Americans is literally the last thing they do.

West Baghdad is no stranger to bombings and killings, but in the past few days all restraint has vanished in an orgy of ethnic cleansing.

Shia gunmen are seeking to drive out the once-dominant Sunni minority and the Sunnis are forming neighbourhood posses to retaliate. Mosques are being attacked. Scores of innocent civilians have been killed, their bodies left lying in the streets.

Hundreds — Sunni and Shia — are abandoning their homes. My driver said all his neighbours had now fled, their abandoned houses bullet-pocked and locked up. On a nearby mosque, competing Sunni and Shiite graffiti had been scrawled on the walls.

A senior nurse at Yarmouk hospital on the fringes of west Baghdad’s war zone said that he was close to being overwhelmed. “On Tuesday we received 35 bodies in one day, 16 from Al-Furat district alone. All of them were killed execution-style,” he said. “I thought it was the end of the city. I packed my bags at once and got ready to leave because they could storm the hospital at any moment.”

In just 24 hours before noon yesterday, as parliament convened for another emergency session, 87 bodies were brought to Baghdad city morgue, 63 of them unidentified. Since Sunday’s massacre in Jihad, more than 160 people have been killed, making a total of at least 1,600 since Iraq’s Government of national unity came to power six weeks ago. Another 2,500 have been wounded.

In early June, Nouri al-Maliki, the new Prime Minister, flooded Baghdad’s streets with tens of thousands of soldiers and police in an effort to restore order to the capital.

More recently, he announced a national reconciliation plan, which promised an amnesty to Sunni insurgents and the disbandment of Shia militias. Both initiatives are now in tatters.

“The country is sliding fast towards civil war,” Ali Adib, a Shia MP, told the Iraqi parliament this week. “Security has deteriorated in a serious and unprecedented way,” said Saadi Barzanji, a Kurdish MP.

Mr al-Maliki told parliament: “We all have a last chance to reconcile and agree among each other on avoiding conflict and blood. If we fail, God knows what the fate of Iraq will be.”

Joseph Biden, the senior Democrat on the US Senate’s Foreign Relations Committee, described Baghdad after a recent visit as a city in the throes of “nascent civil war”.

Most Iraqis believe that it is already here. “There is a campaign to eradicate all Sunnis from Baghdad,” said Sheikh Omar al-Jebouri, of the Iraqi Islamic Party, a Sunni parliamentary group. He said that it was organised by the Shia-dominated Interior Ministry and its police special commandos, with Shia militias, and aimed to destroy Mr al-Maliki’s plans to rebuild Iraq’s security forces along national, rather than sectarian, lines.

Ahmed Abu Mustafa, a resident of the Sunni district of Amariyah in western Baghdad, was stunned to see two police car pick-ups speed up to his local mosque with cars full of gunmen on Tuesday evening and open fire on it with their government-issued machineguns.

Immediately, Sunni gunmen materialised from side streets and a battle started. “I’d heard about this happening but this was the first time I’d seen police shooting at a mosque,” he said. “I was amazed by how quickly the local gunmen deployed. I ran for my life.”

Yesterday, General George Casey, the most senior US commander in Iraq, said that the US might deploy more American troops in Baghdad. He said that al-Qaeda, to show that it was still relevant, had stepped up its attacks in Baghdad following the killing last month of its leader, Abu Musab al-Zarqawi. “What we are seeing now as a counter to that is death squads, primarily from Shia extremist groups, that are retaliating against civilians.”

A local journalist told me bitterly this week that Iraqis find it ironic that Saddam Hussein is on trial for killing 148 people 24 years ago, while militias loyal to political parties now in government kill that many people every few days. But it is not an irony that anyone here has time to laugh about. They are too busy packing their bags and wondering how they can get out alive.

My driver and his extended family are now refugees living in The Times offices in central Baghdad.

Ali is also trying to persuade his stubborn family to leave home and move into our hotel.

Those that can are leaving the country. At Baghdad airport, throngs of Iraqis jostle for places on the flights out — testimony to the breakdown in Iraqi society.

One woman said that she and her three children were fleeing Mansour, once the most stylish part of the capital. “Every day there is fighting and killing,” she said as she boarded a plane for Damascus in Syria to sit out the horrors of Baghdad.

A neurologist, who was heading to Jordan with his wife, said that he would seek work abroad and hoped that he would never have to return. “We were so happy on April 9, 2003 when the Americans came. But I’ve given up. Iraq isn’t ready for democracy,” he said, sitting in a chair with a view of the airport runway.

Fares al-Mufti, an official with the Iraqi Airways booking office, told The Times that the national carrier had had to lay on an extra flight a day, all fully booked. Flights to Damascus have gone up from three a week to eight to cope with the panicked exodus.

Muhammad al-Ani, who runs fleets of Suburban cars to Jordan, said that the service to Amman was so oversubscribed that that prices had rocketed from $200 (£108) to $750 per trip in the past two weeks.

Despite the huge risks of driving through the Sunni Triangle, the number of buses to Jordan has mushroomed from 2 a day to as many as 40 or 50.

Abu Ahmed, a Sunni who was leaving Ghazaliya with his family and belongings, said that he was ready to pay the exorbitant prices being charged because his wife had received a death threat at the hospital in a Shia area where she worked.

“We can’t cope, we have to take the children out for a while,” he said.

In one of the few comprehensive surveys of how many Iraqis have fled their country since the US invasion, the US Committee for Refugees and Immigrants said last month that there were 644,500 refugees in Syria and Jordan in 2005 — about 2.5 per cent of Iraq’s population. In total, 889,000 Iraqis had moved abroad, creating “the biggest new flow of refugees in the world”, according to Lavinia Limon, the committee’s president.

And the exodus may only just be starting.

In what has become a common summer camp drill, nurses dispense medication at Camp Echo in New York.

July 16, 2006 New York Times

Checklist for Camp: Bug Spray. Sunscreen. Pills.

By JANE GROSS
BURLINGHAM, N.Y., July 15 — The breakfast buffet at Camp Echo starts at a picnic table covered in gingham-patterned oil cloth. Here, children jostle for their morning medications: Zoloft for depression, Abilify for bipolar disorder, Guanfacine for twitchy eyes and a host of medications for attention deficit disorder.

A quick gulp of water, a greeting from the nurse, and the youngsters move on to the next table for orange juice, Special K and chocolate chip pancakes. The dispensing of pills and pancakes is over in minutes, all part of a typical day at a typical sleep-away camp in the Catskills.

The medication lines like the one at Camp Echo were unheard of a generation ago but have become fixtures at residential camps across the country. Between a quarter and half of the youngsters at any given summer camp take daily prescription medications, experts say. Allergy and asthma drugs top the list, but behavior management and psychiatric medications are now so common that nurses who dispense them no longer try to avoid stigma by pretending they are vitamins.

“All my best friends take something,” said David Ehrenreich, 12, who has Tourette’s syndrome yet feels at home here because boys with hyperactivity, mood disorders, learning disabilities and facial tics line up just as he does for their daily “meds.”

With campers far from home, family and pediatricians, the job of safely and efficiently dispensing medications falls to infirmaries and nurses whose stock in trade used to be calamine lotion and cough syrup. Three times a day, at mealtimes, is the norm, with some campers also requiring a sleep aid at bedtime to counteract the effect of their daytime medications.

“This is the American standard now,” said Rodger Popkin, an owner of Blue Stars Camps in Hendersonville, N.C. “It’s not limited by education level, race, socioeconomics, geography, gender or any of those filters.”

Peg L. Smith, the chief executive officer of the American Camp Association, a trade group with 2,600 member camps and three million campers, says about a quarter of the children at its camps are medicated for attention deficit disorder, psychiatric problems or mood disorders.

Many parents welcome the anonymity that comes when a lot of children take this, that or the other drug, so none stand out from the crowd.

“It’s nobody’s business who’s taking what,” said one parent of an Echo camper whose child is medicated for A.D.D. and who asked not to be named for privacy reasons. “It could be an allergy pill. The way they do it now, he feels comfortable. He just goes up with everybody else, gets it and then carries on with his day.”

Increasingly popular is a service offered by a private company called CampMeds, which provides a summer’s worth of prepackaged pills to 6,000 children at 100 camps. The company’s founder, Dana Godel, said 40 percent of the children regularly took one or more prescription medications, compared with 30 percent four years ago. Eight percent used attention deficit medications last year; 5 percent took psychiatric drugs.

Borrowing technology developed for nursing homes, CampMeds distributes pills in shrink-wrapped packets marked with a name, date and time. Camp nurses simply tear each packet along the dotted line, sparing them the labor-intensive task of counting pills and reducing the risk of error and thus liability.

The proliferation of children on stimulants for attention deficit disorder, antidepressants or antipsychotic drugs — or on cocktails of all three — is not peculiar to the camp setting. Rather it is the extension of an increasingly common year-round regimen that has also had an impact on schools, although a lesser one, since most medications are taken at home.

Exacting diagnoses and proper treatments enable some children to go to camp who otherwise could not function in that environment, said Dr. David Fassler, a child and adolescent psychiatrist and a professor at the University of Vermont College of Medicine.

Dr. Fassler said that children with one behavioral or mood disorder often “have a second or even a third diagnosis.” A child with A.D.D. may also be depressed and anxious, he said, a combination of symptoms that can make such children pariahs in the close quarters of a summer camp cabin without the proper combination of remedies.

Some camp owners question the trend, however. Mr. Popkin, the camp owner in North Carolina, is among them. “It’s universal, and nobody really knows if it’s appropriate or safe,” he said.

And many experts say family doctors who do not have expertise in psychopharmacology sometimes prescribe drugs for anxiety disorders and depression to children without rigorous evaluation, just as they do for adults.

“There is no doubt that kids are more medicated than they used to be,” said Dr. Edward A. Walton, an assistant professor of pediatrics at the University of Michigan and an expert on camp medicine for the American Academy of Pediatrics. “And we know that the people prescribing these drugs are not that precise about diagnosis. So the percentage of kids on these meds is probably higher than it needs to be.”

A few medicines growing in popularity, like Abilify and Risperdal, are used for a grab bag of mood disorders. But according to the Physicians’ Desk Reference, the encyclopedia of prescription medications, they can have troublesome side effects in children and teenagers, including elevated blood sugar or the tendency toward heat exhaustion, which requires vigilance by counselors in long, hot days on the ball fields.

Some doctors, nurses and camp directors are uneasy about giving children so-called off-label drugs like Lexapro and Luvox. Such medications are used for depression and anxiety, and have been tested only on adults but can legally be prescribed to children. Clonidine is approved as a medication for high blood pressure but is routinely used for behavioral and emotional problems in children.

“That doesn’t mean they are inappropriate or unsafe,” Dr. Fassler said, adding that camp nurses should be able to call the physician when they have questions, but that not all parents welcome that.

Few camp directors risk discussions with parents about behavioral or psychiatric drugs. “We don’t make these judgments for families,” said Marla Coleman, an owner of Camp Echo and a past president of the American Camp Association.

Figuring out how to distribute all this medicine has taken some trial and error, beginning with supervision by the nurses, who watch the children take their pills.

Some camps do it in the mess hall, citing informality to put campers at ease and the convenience of having everyone assembled in one place.

Other camps prefer the infirmary, to provide more privacy. Camp Pontiac in Copake, N.Y., built a special medication wing with its own entrance and a porch where campers wait their turn.

In Fishkill, N.Y., at a Fresh Air Fund camp for underprivileged children, one nurse in the infirmary deals with bug bites and skinned knees and the other dispenses Strattera and Zoloft, the first for attention deficit disorder and the second for depression, social anxiety or obsessive compulsive disorder. Children at the camp take a comparable amount of medication for behavioral and psychological problems as their more privileged counterparts, but more of them suffer from asthma and fewer from seasonal allergies.

The potential for drug interactions is compounded by the widespread use of allergy and asthma medications. Tofranil, an antidepressant for adults that is used for bed-wetting in children, is not recommended in combination with Allegra, for seasonal allergies, Advair, an asthma drug, or epinephrine, the injectable antidote to deadly allergic reactions to bee stings, insect bites and certain foods, primarily peanuts.

Despite a tenfold increase in childhood allergies over the last decade, some camp doctors think daily medication is overused. The owners of Camp Pontiac, Ken and Rick Etra, brothers who are ear, nose and throat doctors, urge parents to forgo prescription remedies for seasonal allergies when occasional over-the-counter antihistamines are sufficient. Their summer camp does not overlap with the height of the pollen and grass season, the Etras say.

They also discourage bed-wetting medications, which can leave a youngster groggy. “They don’t pee, but they’re zombies,” said Mimi Burcham, Pontiac’s head nurse. Instead, camp directors train counselors to wake certain children at midnight for a trip to the bathroom and replace soiled linens with identical sheets to avoid embarrassment.

CampMeds charges $40 per child for any length of stay or for any regimen, a cost that most camps pass along to families. The Fresh Air Fund camps do not use CampMeds, but not because of cost, said Jenny Morgenthau, the fund’s executive director. Rather, Ms. Morgenthau said, many of the families are too disorganized — some in shelters or in prison — to do the preparatory paperwork.

So Fresh Air’s campers arrive with an array of unmarked bags and bottles that cannot be used under state regulations, and without some of their essential medications. Susan Powers and Leticia Diaz, who run the infirmary at the girls’ camp, are accustomed to children bringing their brother’s expired asthma inhaler or their grandmother’s sleeping pills in a perfume bottle. Sometimes the medications are missing because they have been sold on the street or used by adults, Ms. Powers and Ms. Diaz said. It takes a few days to unscramble.

The nurses at high-end camps have the opposite problem, with parents who try to involve themselves in all aspects of their children’s lives. Some, for instance, may view the daily photographs posted on the camp Web site, see their child is sunburned and call the camp director to ask for more diligent application of sunscreen. That mind-set may produce ceaseless efforts to help the child, but it has the potential to lead to overmedication, many camp owners and doctors say.

Ms. Burcham, a special-education nurse during the school year, said she often worried about her unfamiliarity with some of the drugs. She often turns to the Physicians’ Desk Reference for guidance, or sometimes calls her father, a psychiatrist.

Unpacking the shipment of medicine at Pontiac in mid-June, she tried to make sense of a packet from CampMeds for an 11-year-old who, for the first time, would be taking Concerta, for attention deficit disorder, along with Clonidine and Wellbutrin, both mood disorder drugs.

“I’m not a specialist, and that’s very disturbing sometimes,” Ms. Burcham said. “How do I know if we’re really getting it right?”

Then she carefully placed the medications in a plastic bin marked with the camper’s name.