Hussein finally fades for Iraqis

The Methboub family's portrait of Saddam Hussein survived two months after the dictator's fall - tucked away in a back room as if daring them to destroy it - before they were finally able to take it out of its frame and tear it up.

But that act hardly brought an end to the Hussein era for this poor Baghdad family of nine that the Monitor first began following in late 2002.

Instead, removing images of Mr. Hussein is just one moment of a much longer transformation that is felt as viscerally today as ever, as Iraqi families continue to grapple with the emotional legacy of Hussein's rule, and to redefine themselves. Even though the US occupation began nine months ago, it's taking time to bring true closure to a generation of tyrannical rule, and the Orwellian double-speak mind games that were required to survive.

"We have been burning his picture, and his money, but Saddam is still in our minds," says daughter Fatima, 17, who says she cried when Hussein was captured by US troops last month. "Nobody will feel happy when their president falls. Even if he is bad, he was brave and strong."

"That's her view - not everyone believes that," says her younger sister Amal dismissively, sparking an argument. Amal kept a diary during the war, which was strongly critical of the US invasion of Iraq due to its impact on her family. Excerpts were published in the Monitor.

"I realized everything after the fall of Saddam," says Amal, sitting barefoot in a living room devoid of furniture that was sold to pay bills. "Saddam betrayed the love of the people. He only cared about keeping power. If he put half the oil resources into this country, it would be better than America itself. But he built his palaces and bought weapons, while hospitals were short of medicine."

Those are strong words for a 14-year-old, who before the war was a member of her school's Baath Youth Party, and warned that "if God wants America to be burned, it will be burned."

The public loyalty that Hussein once commanded is hard to overstate. Iraqis used to name newborns "Saddam" at a rate of one a week, "to guarantee the future, because it would give the sons power," says Mohamed al-Chabek, head of the Alwiya Hospital. Since April, the doctor says, "thank God no one has named his son Saddam."

And some that did so are now regretting their choice. Iraqi officials at Baghdad's central identification department say that 15 "Saddams" have changed their name, the most recent on Wednesday.

The issues of the US occupation, unemployment, and insecurity still dominate daily thoughts; the Methboubs' electricity has actually diminished in recent months, to two hours on and four hours off. But at the same time, Iraqis are being forced to confront the ghosts of Hussein.

"Saddam didn't do anything good for us, but there was fear, so there was security," says Karima Selman Methboub, who has been raising her eight children alone, since the 1996 death in a car crash of her husband.

She admits she was "a little sad" when Hussein was arrested, because "he's still a Muslim, and he was humiliated."

The arrest seems a footnote compared to the daily grind in this household. After weeks of searching for work, Ms. Methboub is now working as a cleaner in a local hotel to earn precisely her monthly rent of $60. While she works from 8 a.m. until 3 p.m. every day, she has to leave Fatima in charge of the family. She won't be able to bake bread at home again, her usual work, until the price of propane drops.

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