Out of official earshot, words of dissent
(Page 4 of 4)
In economic terms, Iraq is a giant lost opportunity. Only Saudi Arabia has larger reserves of oil. But 12 years of sanctions, imposed by the UN after Iraq's invasion of Kuwait, have squeezed the country hard.
The melon-seller in the market says 25 people live in his house of four small rooms. The woman next to him sells spices and condiments. She does a brisk business in tomato paste a couple of spoonfuls in a plastic bag for 2.5 cents. She says 12 people live in her home, but they have only two rooms.
During the day, it is easy to find working-age men standing on the streets. Some wait at the corners of main intersections for manual labor a day's work on a construction site pays about $1.50; in a small factory, a day's wage might be just 50 cents.
Before three teenagers feel they can invite an American visitor to one of their homes, they stop by the house of their neighborhood mukhtar, or head man, to ask permission. He is out, but his son sees no problem.
When the mukhtar reaches home, he sends word that the American should join him for a cold drink. His sitting room, with rugs and mats to sit on and cushions to lean against, features a poster of Hussein.
The mukhtar says it his job to watch over the 1,000 houses in his neighborhood. He represents his neighbors if they have any problems with the government. Like the vast majority of mukhtars in Saddam City, he is an employee of the ruling Baath Party.
It is not too difficult to keep track of so many people. His son explains that each house has one or two party members. There is no dissent, the mukhtar says. "The Iraqi people love their leadership."
Unbidden, the driver recounts his travails. He is an older man, with a gray fringe ringing a bald head, and he pilots one of Baghdad's newest taxis, a gleaming yellow Nissan that took seven years of savings to purchase. His thin face is stubbly, the whites of his small eyes flecked with red.
It is his wife's health that troubles him.
For years she has suffered from debilitating back problems, and two operations in Iraqi hospitals have proved fruitless. The couple applied to a government committee in order to go abroad for medical care. It took a full year to get the committee members to consider her case.
A few months ago, they refused the request. "They don't offer us any mercy," the driver says angrily. "And they don't allow the mercy of God to reach us."
The driver and his family may be on an official list of unreliable people. A quarter-century ago, shortly before Hussein consolidated absolute power as president of the country, four of the driver's cousins came under suspicion.
One fled to Sweden, where he still lives. Three were arrested and have not been heard from since. Some years ago, the driver asked the government for some knowledge of them. He would have been relieved just to know with certainty that they were dead. The request was ignored. The driver is still bitter.
"We live under force," he says, steering his taxi through Baghdad's cluttered streets, past its many dilapidated buildings, its scores of jaywalkers, its heaps of refuse. "We cannot say no."
As an example, he reviews his experience in the Oct. 15 referendum. When he went to the polls, the registration officials pointedly went over his name and address with him. Then they handed him a ballot. The 'yes' box, approving another seven-year term for Hussein, was already checked.
"If you don't say you want him," the driver says, referring to Iraq's leader, "they will execute you."
Part 1 a Baghdad businessman's life appeared in yesterday's edition.
