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As Hussein dies, can Iraq ever really live?

By SUSAN TAYLOR MARTIN
Published December 30, 2006

As word broke of Saddam Hussein's execution, I remembered my first trip to Iraq, when Hussein was still solidly in power and his country was far more stable, if no less tormented, than it is today.

The year was 2000. Americans were focused on their upcoming election and Iraq was barely in the news. Hussein had kicked out weapons inspectors two years earlier, and sanctions had left Iraq virtually isolated from the outside world. As two of the very few U.S. journalists to visit that year, St. Petersburg Times photographer Jamie Francis and I saw the terror Hussein inspired in his people - but we also got an insight into the complex feelings toward the United States that would bedevil U.S. "liberators" in years to come.

There was no commercial air service, so we hired a car and driver in Jordan to make the 10-hour trip across the desert to Baghdad. Our first stop was the Ministry of Information, where we were assigned a "minder," a genial translator named Imad whose real job was to make sure we didn't go anywhere or do anything that might upset the government.

Like all foreigners, we had to stay at the Al-Rasheed, a once elegant hotel that by 2000 was best known for the ugly portrait of former President George Bush made from colored tiles set into the lobby floor. Guests entering the hotel had no choice but to tromp on the mosaic face of the former president, who had rallied the coalition that ousted Hussein's army from Kuwait in 1991.

The other striking feature of the lobby was an enormous cake that remained on display for our entire stay, untouched by anything but a growing swarm of flies. Our visit that April had coincided with the celebration of Hussein's 63rd birthday, though most Iraqis, living on rations of rice and flour, had little to celebrate.

On April 28, the actual birth date, Imad drove us two hours north to Hussein's hometown of Tikrit, in what Americans would come to know as the Sunni Triangle. It was a warm, sunny day, and thousands of people were out in the streets, as much to enjoy the weather as to honor a dictator.

I stood in the shade of a large reviewing stand where Iraqi military leaders - many with an uncanny resemblance to Hussein - watched as little girls in colorful ethnic dress danced and sang his praises. They were followed by young men in black leather jackets waving Iraqi flags and shouting, "Saddam! Hussein! We give our blood for you!"

It was all very staged and pro forma. There seemed to be little real affection for Hussein, who was nowhere to be seen. The only person I recognized was Iraq's vice president, the gaunt, red-haired Izzat Ibrahim al-Douri. Years later, after U.S.-led forces toppled Hussein's government, al-Douri would be one of the few high-ranking Iraqi officials to elude capture.

He was also among the very few people trusted by Hussein, largely because both were Sunni Muslims from the Tikrit area. While Hussein stressed national unity when it helped him - as in rallying his country for war with Iran - he knew that much of his power lay in tribal loyalties. That and brute force were the keys to holding together a place of so many ethnic and religious factions.

Our translator, Imad, proved to be a hard-working, cooperative guide who lost his temper only once - when a gold dealer in a Sunni area of Baghdad complained our presence was scaring potential customers.

"You must understand, these people have suffered much from the sanctions - this is the reality, my friends," Imad told us with a none-too-friendly look.

For most of our working hours, we moved in lockstep. Jamie was not allowed to take any photos unless Imad and the subject approved. Because of my limited Arabic, I had to rely on Imad for translations, and many answers sounded suspiciously the same. But even Iraqis who spoke perfect English suddenly forgot every word they knew when asked about the regime or other sensitive topics.

From the Sunni center we traveled to the Shiite south. Hussein was despised there for brutally crushing a Shiite uprising after the 1991 Persian Gulf war. But the Shiites didn't care much for the U.S. government either, as we soon discovered, and as coalition forces would learn in 2003 to their surprise and dismay.

Like the Sunnis, the Shiites blamed the United States - not their own regime - for the tough sanctions that had paralyzed Iraq's economy. They angrily led us through schools that didn't have a single textbook, and hospitals that lacked spare parts for broken incubators and X-ray machines.

A Shiite doctor wept as she showed us photos of hideously deformed babies, whose birth defects she attributed to the depleted uranium used by U.S. troops in 1991. And a Shiite father repeatedly asked "Why?" as he climbed over the rubble of his former home in Basra. U.S. fighter jets that were supposed to be protecting Shiites from Hussein's forces had accidentally bombed the house and killed his three young daughters.

Yet the ire was directed against the U.S. government, not individual Americans. Even in that highly conservative part of Iraq, people in 2000 didn't object to my short-sleeved blouses or the beer we enjoyed over dinner. They eagerly ran to get chairs for us when we came across a scene unimaginable today - a lovely young woman in diaphanous costume dancing by moonlight as Basra's Shatt-Al-Arab River flowed softly behind her.

Now, the liquor stores are gone - most of them burned by Islamic fundamentalists - and women tent themselves in black. No Americans, and few Iraqis, dare venture out in public unless they absolutely must.

Is Iraq better off than in 2000, when Saddam Hussein still ran the country? I'd like to ask Imad, our guide, but I've never been able to track him down.

I've often wondered if he is among the countless Iraqis who have been killed since March 2003. Given the chaotic state of Iraq today, I doubt I'll ever know.

[Last modified December 30, 2006, 00:51:29]