New Baghdad grads size up shaky future

When Iraq's latest crop of architecture graduates lined up for their class portrait Tuesday, cheering and ululating, it was a scene familiar at universities everywhere.

Despite scalding heat, some of Iraq's brightest joked and jostled, posed and panted. Wearing their finest clothes, their hair groomed, they wiped away sweat and marked the savory moment with roll after roll of film.

But the world of these students has been transformed since the Monitor first met them before the war in early March. Then they celebrated their imminent graduation with a raucous party that made the dance floor of Baghdad's Sheraton Hotel quake.

Now, after months of occupation, the reality of the US occupation has set in. Viewing their country from the unique perspective of graduates, these 23-year-old Iraqis are poised to enter the "real world" at a time when it has been rocked by political and cultural change. Some think that dialogue and US aid may overcome the problems of a battered nation. Others understand the armed resistance against US forces. But almost all of these students are watching their post-war hopes for the American presence in Iraq turn toward despair.

"Disappointment has struck us before and after the war," says Dina Abed Ali, a student with red lipstick and a head scarf. "Before the war, we were deceived in everything. And the US, though they lifted a heavy burden, all their promises are false."

Students struggle to list more than one or two things that have changed for the better since the fall of Hussein. Their reaction is part culture clash, part mismatch of Iraqi high expectations and US actions, and part surprise at the apparent lack of US sensitivity on the streets and during raids.

"Watching the graduation photo, you might think we are optimistic, but we are living only day by day," Ms. Ali says. American forces "had the ability to bring in all kinds of military equipment to fight the war. They should be able to meet basic humanitarian needs."

A litany of complaints is echoed by Iraqis everywhere: sporadic electricity and running water, insecurity, and often heavy- handed treatment at the hands of US troops here.

The students, at the dawn of their professional lives, are especially concerned. Some are torn about leaving Iraq to search for work. They are trying to decide whether the turmoil will subside enough for them to practice architecture - an art that they figure must be in high demand after a destructive war.

"We expected the Americans to preserve buildings, and they could have, but they wanted this chaos," says Rawaa Mohamed, who became engaged to fellow student Sarmed Youssif, just days before the class party.

"Our decision now is to not stay in Iraq," says Mr. Youssif, nodding to his fiancée. "We don't know when things will be stable. I can't even take her out. You can see that even our teachers don't have stable jobs."

Doesn't he wonder who else might rebuild Iraq if young talents like him leave? "We are all willing to work to rebuild our country," Youssif says. "But for the time being, I don't know what I can do for my people."

And there is a deeper problem being exposed in the aftermath of the war, Youssif says: "Three-quarters of our community don't know what freedom means. People think it means the freedom to break things, and to shout anything out. That is wrong."

The aftermath of the war has had an opposite effect on Wissam Abdul-Hadi, a narrow-faced student with an easy smile and gel in his hair.

Before the war, he had planned to leave Iraq after graduation. Though he is disappointed with the slow pace of American actions to improve life in Iraq, he sees opportunity.

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