JEDDAH, 5 January 2004 — The fire trucks passed me at high speed with lights flashing and sirens blaring. In the distance I could see the smoke. I followed to report and take some photos for the next day’s edition.

I arrived at the scene of a relatively small fire, in an empty lot. Two little boys were standing on a thin wall in the path of the smoke just above the flames. It didn’t look too safe for them to be there, but the firemen didn’t tell them to get off. After getting permission from the residents of the adjacent building, I climbed up on the same wall next to the boys and snapped a couple of photographs.

Within a minute, a fireman approached and asked me what I was doing. I told him I was a journalist. “No pictures, give me the camera,” he bellowed. Experience has taught me that when you surrender your camera to the authorities, you won’t get it back for at least a few days, if ever. So I politely told him, “I’ll stop taking pictures and get down from the wall, but I won’t give you my camera.” The way I saw it was that he had a job to do, just like I did. I wasn’t willing to surrender my camera, any more than he was willing to surrender his hose, both tools of our particular trades.

Besides, what was the problem? He was a fireman, fighting a fire. This was a vacant lot trash fire between two buildings which had already been evacuated. There were close to 80 people gathered, so it was no secret. You would think the Civil Defense would be happy to be photographed doing their job, which more often than not involves some heroism.

As I got down from the wall and was walking to my car, the same fireman followed me and grabbed me. Perhaps in an adrenaline rush from fighting the fire, he tried to wrestle the camera away from me. I asked him to take his hands off me and tried to explain that I was a journalist. He kept shouting, “Liar, liar, liar,” while still trying to wrestle the camera away and manhandling me. This went on for a few seconds until I had had enough. I told him to take a moment to look at my credentials. He tightened his grip on my arm. Now upset, I told him the only reason I wasn’t defending myself in an equally violent manner was out of respect for his uniform.

At this point, he pushed me violently and began to remove his uniform shirt. I pushed him back, which seemed to knock some sense back into him, because his physical attack ended and the verbal one began.

“You are Egyptian, I will show you!” he yelled. I guess the jeans and shirt I was wearing, coupled with my Egyptian accent, must have deceived him. In any case he seemed to think that one nationality is less deserving of respect than another.

Other firemen and those gathered around encouraged him to go back inside and fight the fire instead of me. I handed over my press credentials to the fireman in charge and explained the situation. He said he had seen everything and told me that if I wanted my credentials back, I would have to speak with the person in charge at the station later on. He asked me, “Did you get the photos you need?” I said I had. He said, “All right then, take care.”