Mahmoud Riyadh al-Sawadi Character Analysis

But there were two fronts now, Mahmoud said to himself— the Americans and the government on one side, the terrorists and the various antigovernment militias on the other. In fact “terrorist” was the term used for everyone who was against the government and the Americans.

The Mantis’s brother had led a small gang that terrorized the locals until he was arrested and detained. The news of his arrest was greeted with great joy by many, including Mahmoud, who then wrote a newspaper article about the need to enforce the law against this criminal. He philosophized a little in the article, saying there were three types of justice—legal justice, divine justice, and street justice—and that however long it takes, criminals must face one of them.

Publishing the article won Mahmoud points for courage and for embodying the journalistic ideal of enlightenment in service of the public interest.

He turned to Mahmoud and said, “Brigadier Majid is one of the people you’ll have to get used to dealing with.”

Mahmoud said nothing but waited for further explanation because he didn’t plan to see Brigadier Majid and would try as far as possible to make sure that kind of meeting didn’t happen again.

“There are people like him in our world,” said Saidi, “and we have to learn how to deal with them tactfully, how to get along with them, how to accept that they exist.”

Yes, for a year or more he’s been carrying out the policy of the American ambassador to create an equilibrium of violence on the streets between the Sunni and Shiite militias, so there’ll be a balance later at the negotiating table to make new political arrangements in Iraq. The American army is unable or unwilling to stop the violence, so at least a balance or an equivalence of violence has to be created. Without it, there won’t be a successful political process.

Anyway, the best way to protect yourself from evil is to keep close to it. I humor him so he doesn’t stand in the way of my political ambitions, and so he doesn’t put a bullet in the back of my head, fired by one of those fat guys with shaved heads, in response to an order from the Americans.

Mahmoud thought back to his theory about the three kinds of justice, but he wasn’t convinced it was valid. It was anarchy out there; there was no logic behind what was happening. He took a deep breath and gave a long sigh. What mattered now was that he had broken free of a worry that had been weighing heavily on him.

But what if one percent of his story were true? Isn’t life a blend of things that are plausible and others that are hard to believe? Isn’t it possible that Saidi reaching out to Mahmoud was one of those hard-to-believe things?

That’s why Mahmoud didn’t send a hostile response to Saidi’s message, or any other kind of response. He left things in a gray area, like the sky that day, trying to use Saidi’s own style against him, leaving him uncertain.

But there were two fronts now, Mahmoud said to himself— the Americans and the government on one side, the terrorists and the various antigovernment militias on the other. In fact “terrorist” was the term used for everyone who was against the government and the Americans.

The Mantis’s brother had led a small gang that terrorized the locals until he was arrested and detained. The news of his arrest was greeted with great joy by many, including Mahmoud, who then wrote a newspaper article about the need to enforce the law against this criminal. He philosophized a little in the article, saying there were three types of justice—legal justice, divine justice, and street justice—and that however long it takes, criminals must face one of them.

Publishing the article won Mahmoud points for courage and for embodying the journalistic ideal of enlightenment in service of the public interest.

He turned to Mahmoud and said, “Brigadier Majid is one of the people you’ll have to get used to dealing with.”

Mahmoud said nothing but waited for further explanation because he didn’t plan to see Brigadier Majid and would try as far as possible to make sure that kind of meeting didn’t happen again.

“There are people like him in our world,” said Saidi, “and we have to learn how to deal with them tactfully, how to get along with them, how to accept that they exist.”

Yes, for a year or more he’s been carrying out the policy of the American ambassador to create an equilibrium of violence on the streets between the Sunni and Shiite militias, so there’ll be a balance later at the negotiating table to make new political arrangements in Iraq. The American army is unable or unwilling to stop the violence, so at least a balance or an equivalence of violence has to be created. Without it, there won’t be a successful political process.

Anyway, the best way to protect yourself from evil is to keep close to it. I humor him so he doesn’t stand in the way of my political ambitions, and so he doesn’t put a bullet in the back of my head, fired by one of those fat guys with shaved heads, in response to an order from the Americans.

Mahmoud thought back to his theory about the three kinds of justice, but he wasn’t convinced it was valid. It was anarchy out there; there was no logic behind what was happening. He took a deep breath and gave a long sigh. What mattered now was that he had broken free of a worry that had been weighing heavily on him.

But what if one percent of his story were true? Isn’t life a blend of things that are plausible and others that are hard to believe? Isn’t it possible that Saidi reaching out to Mahmoud was one of those hard-to-believe things?

That’s why Mahmoud didn’t send a hostile response to Saidi’s message, or any other kind of response. He left things in a gray area, like the sky that day, trying to use Saidi’s own style against him, leaving him uncertain.