Driving through Baghdad in the days before the Gulf War in January 1991, I was struck by the giant pictures of Saddam Hussein that lined the streets. Iraqi troops were on every corner. We couldn’t go anywhere without an escort. Phone calls were bugged.
Saddam’s presence was everywhere. It was a disconcerting feeling. I was staying with the foreign media contingent in the Sheraton, but that was the only familiar thing. The freedoms of America seemed a world away.
The disinformation didn’t stop when the bombs started falling and the murals of Saddam were hit. There was no independent media, and there were plenty more pictures of Saddam.
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