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Two lives, two courses changed by war in Iraq
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The antique dealer
Bassim Sulaiman never calls that momentous day in April 2003 the "fall of Baghdad." Instead he calls it the "fall of Saddam," because it was then he knew that he would never again have to entice customers to the downstairs gallery of his antique shop - as he did to this correspondent just before the war - to whisper curses against the Iraqi dictator.
The regal antiquary didn't want war in his country, but he grew up taught by Jesuit Fathers, had known a number of Americans, and tasted their generosity. He wanted to give the self-described "liberators" of Iraq a chance.
"When people would speak badly about the Americans, I said: 'No, don't be so quick to judge them,' " recalls Sulaiman. "I used to give them excuses: 'They are young, they can make mistakes. They can't tell good Iraqis from bad Iraqis.' "
But Sulaiman's story of how that initial, cautious optimism turned to angry opposition to US forces in the course of three years - as high expectations fell prey to violence and even small, inadvertent humiliations - has been repeated often across Iraq.
"Before [the Americans] started messing up, I opened my arms to them," says Sulaiman. "We have a history of resistance. My grandfather fought the British, and my father fought the British. I never thought that I would fight anybody, but here we are with the Americans."
Sulaiman says he first started to see mistakes, such as the arrival of exile Iraqis slotted into positions of power; they were people who had been away so long that their accents had changed. Violence also began to take root, making it more difficult for Sulaiman to travel from his house in upmarket Mansour neighborhood to his shop elsewhere in Baghdad.
"I'm not going there every day," laments Sulaiman. "It's too far, and you never know what is in the road." He has, in fact, not visited the shop for eight months, and the two women who run it might call with big sales of $2,000 or $3,000 two days in a row, and then sell nothing for months.
While keeping a close watch over the large collection of original paintings in his home - many purchased as families left before and during the 2003 conflict - Sulaiman's first love has turned into more of a hobby. He now manages four large companies owned by a friend he has known since he was a boy.
"I did not think of leaving," scoffs Sulaiman. "I thought: 'If I leave, then who will stay? The idiots, the thieves, and the bombmakers?' "
That disdain is not just reserved for Iraqis and their ineffective politicians. Sulaiman's optimism about the Americans began to deflate with a small incident in late 2004.
He watched as a Humvee rear-ended a car in his district. "The [Iraqi] man got out - he was probably feeding seven kids - his bumper falls off, and his mouth was wide open," says Sulaiman. "The American comes out, and laughs, and says, 'Oh, sorry,' and drives off. Ever since then, I have been disturbed."
Sulaiman is also concerned with the quality of "democracy" being preached in Iraq. He met one man in the street at 10 a.m., drinking the licorice-flavored Arak liquor. When Sulaiman asked him what he was doing, the man replied: "This is democracy."
"Iraqis don't know what democracy is.... If they were serious, [Americans] would print a leaflet for kindergartens, telling them the meaning of democracy and freedom," says Sulaiman. "Most important is to explain why it doesn't interfere with religion, that you can be both democratic and religious."
But Sulaiman's concerns were soon pushed to the limit. While his family of four slept in one room in June 2005, US forces launched an overnight raid. Soldiers fast-roped from helicopters, used explosives to blast open three entrances to the house, and within seconds had their guns trained on Sulaiman.
"They made a mess of the house, a real mess. You couldn't walk because of the glass," says Sulaiman. The soldiers asked for the name of a man he did not know, and then bundled him into a Humvee for questioning. Before he left, Sulaiman told his 26-year-old epileptic son: "Don't worry, they are a bunch of cowards, and your father is a strong man."
When the US troops took off his blindfold at a facility near the airport, they scolded him: "You were talking and cursing, when guns were pointed at you."
"Yes, because I am in my country. You are not in your country," Sulaiman retorted. "I told them: 'I was raised by Americans, they were hospitable. But I have never met any like you.' "
The soldiers eventually realized their mistake, apologized, paid $500 to cover the cost of damage, and showed him a map with his house marked out in red - thanks to a false tip-off, they said, from a neighbor. A final bottle of white table wine, as a goodwill gift, was not enough to change his mind; Sulaiman's $6,000 claim has been filed with the US embassy in Amman.
"If they turned the country into something livable I would forgive them - I would love them!" exclaims Sulaiman. "But from what I see, it is worse and worse."
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