The New York Times notices that, hey, Iraq's improving.

This article by Dexter Filkins nuances the situation to a fare-the-well, of course – but that’s the Old Grey Lady for you. I’m tempted to unload on the author for being quite so surprised at the notion that possibly, possibly things weren’t quite as doomed as he thought, but like Allahpundit I’m going to nobly restrain myself.

Back in Iraq, Jarred by the Calm

BAGHDAD — At first, I didn’t recognize the place.

On Karada Mariam, a street that runs over the Tigris River toward the Green Zone, the Serwan and the Zamboor, two kebab places blown up by suicide bombers in 2006, were crammed with customers. Farther up the street was Pizza Napoli, the Italian place shut down in 2006; it, too, was open for business. And I’d forgotten altogether about Abu Nashwan’s Wine Shop, boarded up when the black-suited militiamen of the Mahdi Army had threatened to kill its owners. There it was, flung open to the world.

Two years ago, when I last stayed in Baghdad, Karada Mariam was like the whole of the city: shuttered, shattered, broken and dead.

Abu Nawas Park — I didn’t recognize that, either. By the time I had left the country in August 2006, the two-mile stretch of riverside park was a grim, spooky, deserted place, a symbol for the dying city that Baghdad had become.

These days, the same park is filled with people: families with children, women in jeans, women walking alone. Even the nighttime, when Iraqis used to cower inside their homes, no longer scares them. I can hear their laughter wafting from the park. At sundown the other day, I had to weave my way through perhaps 2,000 people. It was an astonishing, beautiful scene — impossible, incomprehensible, only months ago.

Read, as they say, the whole thing – and I have three observations.

One, Iraq is not yet Iowa. It’s healing, not healed. But it is healing.

Two, Iraq can very easily slip back to chaos if we’re not careful.

Three, if we had listened to Senator Barack Obama – and the rest of the antiwar movement – Iraq would today be the Hell-on-Earth that Mr. Filkins was expecting to see, and so pleasantly shocked to not. Remember: Not In Your Name.

Not then.
Not now.
Not ever.

Moe Lane

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