Anthony Shadid, 38, has captured the voices of Muslims throughout the Middle East with his reporting for the Washington Post and other news outlets. Shadid, who speaks and reads Arabic fluently, has had unique access to Iraqis living under the U.S. occupation and sectarian violence. Born in Oklahoma City to Lebanese Greek Orthodox parents, he learned Arabic at the University of Wisconsin and the American University in Cairo. Before joining the Post, he worked in the Associated Press Cairo bureau and covered the second intifada from the West Bank for the Boston Globe. He won a Pulitzer Prize for his reportage from Iraq’s streets, and empathically described the trials of Iraqis in his 2005 book, Night Draws Near: Iraq’s People in the Shadow of America’s War. Moment’s Eileen Lavine spoke with Shadid about the challenges of reporting in the Middle East and his bleak prognosis for the region.
Were you brought up thinking of yourself as an Arab?
The Greek Orthodox Lebanese community in Oklahoma has lost the language, so I had to relearn Arabic over time. But there was never a question of being Lebanese. The church served as a way to keep the community intact because all the Lebanese there were from the same village, most sharing the same faith.
Speaking Arabic clearly opened doors for you as a reporter, but was it ever a hindrance?
This is a time and a region that is very suspicious and I think people often would wonder, since I speak Arabic with an Egyptian accent, “Is he a spy?” In that situation, the best answer you could hope for was, “Of course he’s a spy, but we’ll still talk to him.” I suspect every reporter in the region gets accused of being a spy at some time. It is part of the job to earn trust.
Did reporting in Iraq change while you were there?
It has become much more difficult in nearly every way. People are reluctant to talk. They are often angrier, understandably. They think: Why would we talk to you? What are we going to get out of talking with you? That wasn’t the case in 2003.
How do you convince sources to talk?
You have to show that your sincerity is genuine. When you can interview people over a period of several weeks or even months, you get real opinions and perspectives.
Could you do that if you didn’t speak Arabic?
Probably. I’ve worked in places like Afghanistan and Turkey or Iran where, hopefully, you can get a sense of things but it’s harder. It’s the texture of the story, the context, making it a little richer—that comes with the language. Where I could not speak the language, I didn’t feel as authoritative. But working with interpreters can help, because you get their perspective, too.
Should all reporters covering the Middle East speak the local languages?
You don’t necessarily have to speak it fluently, but if you make an effort it means a lot to the people you’re speaking to; it shows you’ve taken the effort to learn and understand them.
Based on your experience, what do you foresee happening in Iraq?
In some ways, I feel bleaker about the rest of the Middle East than I do about Iraq. I can only see bleak prognoses for the entire Middle East. For Iraq, it is pretty clear that political necessities are going to demand some sort of [troop] withdrawal next year that will probably last a few years. But I still think Iraq will emerge intact as a country, even if that’s down the road. There remains a possibility for reconciliation but I don’t think that it will be engineered by the United States acting as a mediator. It is going to have to be generated within Iraq.
What about the future of Lebanon?
I’m much bleaker about Lebanon. There is a collective national anxiety there. The people feel they will be fighting for a long time, that it is an unfinished war. There will be prolonged instabilities. Hezbollah will remain a key player because they represent a superpower in the Shiite community, which will be a majority in time. The rest of Lebanon is going to have to reach some kind of agreement or deal with the Shiites. For a book I’m writing I have been talking to people in my grandparents’ village of Marjayoun in southern Lebanon. It is about 100 meters from the Israeli border and just across from the Golan Heights. Israel put a lot of money into the community. But now the Israelis have left, and while Israel is not popular, the people feel things have gotten more difficult. There is an Arabic saying, “when the shekels left, the problems came.”
What about America’s role?
It’s going to take an incredible amount of U.S. diplomacy to stop the region from disintegrating. Disintegration may be too strong a word—perhaps serious instability is more accurate. The problem is that the United States has lost so much capital in the past four years. Officials in Washington might not admit that, but diplomats in the region are very blunt about the impact of the Iraq war on the standing of the United States.
Can the United States improve the way it is perceived in the Middle East?
I’ve always been a little dismissive of “public diplomacy.” Whether we like it or not, whether we agree with it or not, there are very concrete policies that are shaping public consensus. So I think it’s less the perception of the United States; it’s more a reaction to certain policies—Guantanamo Bay, Iraq, the intifada. All of these have a huge impact on America’s standing.
Is there any way to improve that standing?
I don’t think so at this point. In Iraq, at least, nobody will express faith to me in the American project. That’s different from saying they want the Americans to leave immediately, because there is serious fear among the Iraqis that, if we leave, it’s going to get bad very quickly. At the same time, it’s rare to find an Iraqi who would say he wants the Americans to stay, because that would mean endorsing occupation.
What are your plans now?
I’ve taken a year off and am rebuilding my grandparents’ home in Marjayoun, and doing research for my book on them and their move to America—going through old clips of the Daily Oklahoman from the 1920s and 1930s and interviewing people.
Do you plan to go back to war reporting?
At this point, I’m tired of conflict. War is my least favorite thing to cover and you run the risk of becoming callous. I find myself wanting to write about families, culture and people. But covering the Middle East in one form or another will occupy the rest of my career.
Anthony Shadid, 38, has captured the voices of Muslims throughout the Middle East with his reporting for the Washington Post and other news outlets. Shadid, who speaks and reads Arabic fluently, has had unique access to Iraqis living under the U.S. occupation and sectarian violence. Born in Oklahoma City to Lebanese Greek Orthodox parents, he learned Arabic at the University of Wisconsin and the American University in Cairo. Before joining the Post, he worked in the Associated Press Cairo bureau and covered the second intifada from the West Bank for the Boston Globe. He won a Pulitzer Prize for his reportage from Iraq’s streets, and empathically described the trials of Iraqis in his 2005 book, Night Draws Near: Iraq’s People in the Shadow of America’s War. Moment’s Eileen Lavine spoke with Shadid about the challenges of reporting in the Middle East and his bleak prognosis for the region. 
