Sunnis feel chill in new Iraq

In the Baghdad district where Saddam Hussein made his last public appearance in April, strolling through a cheering throng of supporters and vowing defiance allegedly on the same day the capital fell to US forces, public opinion is divided on both his legacy and the future for Iraq's Sunni Arab minority.

Adhamiya is a tough, working-class neighborhood that is made up almost exclusively of Sunnis. The minority served as the country's favored administrators, first under the Ottomans and then the British, finally consolidating its dominance after the Baath Party of Mr. Hussein seized power in 1968.

But the community, feeling frozen out of a political transition they say is being dominated by the Shiite majority and Kurds closely allied with the US, is far from monolithic in its attitude toward the US occupation or the fall of Hussein.

Like every other Iraqi community, Sunnis trod a path of tears and loss during 35 years of Baathist rule. Their fortune was relative. Their conscripted sons died alongside Shiites and Kurds in the devastating war with Iran; they lost jobs when co-workers reported them for private criticism of the regime; and their standards of living plunged with other Iraqis' under the double blow of war and sanctions that Hussein brought upon his nation.

Hussein's strategy for maintaining power pitted various Sunni Arab tribes against each other as much as it divided Sunnis and Shiites. As a consequence, the Sunnis are fractured by competing factions and ideologies that has left them without a unified voice in a new Iraq.

The one thing they all seem to share is an overarching feeling of being swept aside by forces beyond their control.

A common emotion is one of dismay at Hussein's capture. Even for those who say they didn't support him, he remained one of the few uniting symbols for the Sunnis. Though there are efforts afoot to create new Sunni parties - earlier this month a little-known organization called the State Council for the Sunnis said it would lobby for more political power from the US-led coalition - they have yet to gain much traction in the broader community. Unlike the Shiites, who have a highly organized clergy and a hierarchical system of interpreting God's will on earth, much like the Catholic Church, Sunnis look to no particular ecclesiastical authority.

Many equate the Iraqi nation with their own community and refer to Hussein's capture as a humiliation for Iraq. "The way Saddam was captured, down a hole without even fighting back, didn't just strip him of dignity,'' says Tarik Adil, a 19-year-old economics student helping out in the stall where his brother serves sweet Iraqi tea. "It stripped all Iraqis of their dignity."

Not all in the neighborhood agree. Making a throat- slashing motion, Hassan Saleh, a spiffy 60-something in a three-piece suit, tribal head scarf, and Ray-Ban sunglasses, summons a visitor to his bench at a streetside cafe.

"Give Saddam to us - we'll torture him to death," says the father of four, whose eldest son spent 13 years in an Iranian prison after being captured in the war.

"When he came back he was useless, he couldn't function in the world anymore,'' says Mr. Saleh. "We are Saddam's victims as much as the Shiites." A friend, leaning on his cane nearby, scowls at Saleh. "How could you say this - Saddam made us strong,'' he says before limping off down the block. "I'm not putting up with this."

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