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Middle East: No Heroï¿½s Welcome
Heidi Kingstone

In an exclusive account from Baghdad, Heidi Kingstone details the surreal homecoming of the longtime exiles who had hoped to succeed Saddam

You arrive in Baghdad to the intense heat and chaos thinking that you have landed in hell. The flat, sprawling city is dilapidated and decayed. Nothing works but things function; commercial life is returning to the streets.

The rings of palm trees that old exiles remember have disappeared, and hideous concrete structures erected by Saddam Husseinï¿½s Baï¿½athist Arab socialist regime have replaced them. Piles of litter lie heaped up all over. Baghdadis drop everything on the ground; they seem to regard their city with the contempt with which the elite who ruled regarded them. Saddamï¿½s palaces are even more indecent and vulgar in real life than on TV.

The returning exiles of the former Iraqi opposition are disappointed at what they have found. All their years abroad, they fought unremittingly for the toppling of Saddamï¿½s regime. They claim personal credit for having instigated the American-led Operation Iraqi Freedom and now they expect to play a major role in the leadership of a democratic New Iraq. But what was to have been the moment of triumph is tinged with confusion. The dreams of return over long, agonized decades have met with the ugly reality of what Iraq has become: impoverished, dirty and untrusting.

The U.S. civil administration temporarily running Iraq, headed by Ambassador L. Paul Bremer III, has not yet achieved much political progress in nurturing an authentic Iraqi leadership. Growing resistance to the American presence and the increasingly frequent attacks on troops are complicating the situation. Bremer has announced that he will set up the Iraq Governing Council by July 15. It is likely to include the major political parties and local independents, but in the meantime, the councilï¿½s form has remained vague and the former exiles are far from certain of getting the kind of role they believe they deserve.

"People need to get a soul here," says Nabeel Musawi, the political deputy to Ahmed Chalabi, head of the Iraqi National Congress, a leading opposition movement formerly based in London. "Saddamï¿½s regime wanted to and has destroyed its people. The whole country was allowed to sink into the abyss," he says, grim-faced.

Alongside disappointment, there has also been elation. "For me it was a euphoric time," says Musawi of the moments after Saddamï¿½s regime collapsed. "I felt victorious, excited at meeting my family and friends and daunted by the task ahead."

Musawi didnï¿½t recognize his family home, and his 80-year-old grandfather didnï¿½t recognize his own grandson after his 20-year absence. It apparently came as a shock to be confronted by an aged man eating his dinner Arab-style cross-legged on the floor, a far cry from the posh London world that Musawi and his fellow exiles have inhabited these past years, despite the undeniable and genuine longing to return.

"It was surreal," he says, of his homecoming. "I couldnï¿½t stop asking myself if this was really Baghdad. It certainly wasnï¿½t the Baghdad I knew. And my grandfather kept asking me if the nightmare was over. I said Iï¿½m here, so it appears to be over. And we sat together as it got dark and talked."

In the few short weeks since Baghdad fell on April 9, the struggle has evolved from one of liberation to one of power. The sense of anticipation that defined the prewar period in Iraqi Kurdistan where Chalabi and his INC colleagues had based themselves has evaporated, and the unedifying process of gaining control amidst the chaos is in full flow. Thoughts of automatically taking over leadership, a tangible reward for decades of exiled opposition, lie like so much litter on Baghdadï¿½s streets.

Chalabiï¿½s name came up frequently in the West in the past year as a potential lead-er in a post-Saddam Iraq, along with a few others like former Iraqi foreign minister Adnan Pachachi. Chalabi has always had his detractors, particularly in the U.S. State Department, but he garnered strong support too, from the Pentagon and other quarters.

The U.S. forces transported Chalabi and 700 of his INC fighters, members of the Free Iraqi Forces whoï¿½d been trained by the Americans in exile in the months before the war, to the southern Nasariya air base during the campaign. Chalabi, who had been away from Iraq since 1956, arrived in Baghdad shortly after the warï¿½s end.

He and his INC colleagues did not receive the heroï¿½s welcome they had hoped for. Instead, their Iraqi compatriots see the returnees as having "been on vacation, not in exile," as Reem Abu Shawrep, an Iraqi correspondent for the Lebanese Broadcasting Corporation, put it.

Nor has the INCï¿½s mode of operations endeared it to the general population since the return. In Baghdad, the INC has established itself in dozens of buildings, mostly in Saddam regime offices or houses of the former despotï¿½s cronies and henchmen. "Real Iraqis are not those living in the houses of Saddam Hussein," said Hamid al-Ramahy, an unemployed make-up artist speaking in a local Baghdad cafï¿½.

There are rumors that the Free Iraqi Forces are acting like thugs, looting and stealing. Itï¿½s hard to know what the truth is in the absence of any reliable media, but associations and comparisons with the hat-ed former Baï¿½athist elite are easily made.

Itï¿½s simple enough to misunderstand or misrepresent the INCï¿½s motives and actions. Musawi reasonably explains that the INC made a deal with the U.S. forces to be allowed to use any building of the defunct Baï¿½ath Party or security services, "but that once the interim government was established the fate of those buildings would be decided, and most likely auctioned off."

Musawi now lives in a gracious, not grand, low level house built in the 1950s in the once glamorous neighborhood of Al-Mansur, made famous when the Americans bombed the local Al-Saï¿½ah restaurant in search of Saddam. Files from Saddamï¿½s office were discovered in the garden of this home, previously inhabited by a regime henchman, which is why Musawi went there in the first place. Instead of files, Musawi has now planted rose bushes that grow in the shadow of majestic palms.

The house had originally been confiscated from a doctor executed in 1986 for having cursed the regime. "I knew his daughter lived in London," says Musawi. "I called her to ask if we could pay to use the house. Our deal, now being drawn up by a lawyer, is that in lieu of rent I am fixing it up. Eventually, Iï¿½d like to buy it."

Still, the signals can be confusing. In the drive of Musawiï¿½s home sits a ghastly purple American sports car that used to belong to the collection of Uday Hussein, Saddamï¿½s notoriously sadistic older son.

Reminders of Saddam and his regime are everywhere. Musawiï¿½s house is furnished with gaudy tables, love seats and chairs lifted straight out of Saddamï¿½s palaces. A solid glass ashtray with Saddamï¿½s eagle insignia sits by the side of his bed in the heavily air-conditioned room.

One of Udayï¿½s erstwhile personal assistants hangs around, no doubt thrilled at his good fortune that he had enough information to make him useful to the officials of the former opposition. He pops in and out of the house, dropping tantalizing tales of Udayï¿½s alleged insanity. The latest one is that he regularly had sex with his mother Sajidaï¿½s sister. After being here a while, nothing seems shocking.

One typical day at the house, a man comes round and offers to make a statue of Musawi (the once ubiquitous statues of Saddam having been toppled and destroyed.) "I told him Iï¿½ll shoot him if he does," he says jokingly. But guns are everywhere; most of Musawiï¿½s staff of 21 are armed at all times. The London exiles claim they are the target of former Baï¿½athists, and Musawi never leaves his house without protection.

The only ones who arenï¿½t armed are the kitchen staff, on call day and night. The young kitchen boy, who is maybe 16, constantly answers the call for trays of sweet dark tea. It never occurs to anyone else to walk the 20 feet to the kitchen to bring as much as an ashtray. Somebody even carries Musawiï¿½s briefcase in from the car.

In one case of particularly bad judgement, Ahmed Chalabi started holding court at the Baghdad Hunting Club sitting in Uday Husseinï¿½s favorite chair.

Chalabi, the son of a wealthy banking family whose father and grandfather held government positions in Iraq, is no stranger to scandal. He was tried in absentia in Jordan in 1992 and faces a 22-year jail sentence should he ever return there for embezzlement and fraud following the collapse of the Petra Bank he founded. Chalabi has long maintained that he was the victim of a set-up, but signs posted around the city accuse him of being a thief.

Itï¿½s hard to make sense of much in the present day chaos of Iraq, on the political, economic or any other level, and itï¿½s no different with the opposition. People wander in and out of the Musawi house all the time: relatives looking to reconnect, some desperately poor needing money. Foreign missions, regular Iraqis and tribal leaders all seem to make their way at some point to one of the INC properties. Others come to make deals, presenting a huge temptation for the returnees. Many in the former opposition say they are sick of politics and are looking to move into business. But they havenï¿½t yet given up their leadership ambitions, leaving them open to criticism.

On the streets, posters have started appearing of Gen. Abd al-Karim Qasim, the Iraqi prime minister who was executed in 1963 by the Baï¿½athists. There is nostalgia for a man remembered as humble, who used to wash his hands in the Tigris, lived in a rented house and died with only three or four dinars in his pocket. This is contrasted to the way in which Chalabi, not to mention Saddam Hussein, is perceived.

The perception is that "A.C.," as he is known in his close circles, behaves like a Baï¿½athist, a member of the former ruling party, as illustrated by a long talk with theater make-up artist Ramahy, 38, and a group of his friends at the Kan Zaman coffee house in Baghdadï¿½s Al-Nidar Street.

"They didnï¿½t suffer like we suffered," says Ramahy about the former opposition. "If we could have left Iraq we would have done so, but we couldnï¿½t. Saddam Hussein stole our lives as humans, but the ones on the outside were never in danger," he continues, dressed in a white dishdasha, smoking a nargileh and drinking a soft drink. "The opposition are like moguls coming back with other IDs and visas."

There is also plenty of criticism of the American administration on the ground headed by Bremer. There are no phones to speak of, and the satellite network is unreliable. People drive in the wrong lanes, and without licenses. Black smoke coughs out of cars and trucks, and combined with inhumanly high temperatures, the atmosphere is suffocating.

When you ask people what they want, they all list the same requests: Security, work, electricity and government.

"If they donï¿½t hurry up," warns Ramahy, "people are going to start wanting Saddam again, and if this situation continues, theyï¿½ll start to kill the Americans with knives. The Americans did one good thing: they killed our faintheartedness. We are not afraid."

In another part of town, a woman stops to ask for directions to the local CIA branch. Sundass al-Azzawi says her two brothers were picked up by the Americans, punched and taken away for no reason. During the conversation, she repeats what has become a familiar refrain, revealing the depth of suspicion of American motives. "The Jews are coming to buy houses and are paying twice the price, inflating the market," she says, referring to spurious Arab press reports to this effect. "The Americans and the Israelis want Israel to expand from the Euphrates to the Nile. But Iraq will not be another part of Israel."

There is no clear consensus in Iraq over who should rule in the transitional phase before elections can be held. Those, according to Bremer, are at least 18 months down the line.

In the meantime, if the INC feels entitled to a major share in the interim governing council, it ought to have realized by now that the equation has changed. The playing field is level for the 140-odd political parties that have sprung up in Iraq. All over, groups like the Free Officers and Civilians Movement and Iraqi Tribe Confederation try to make their mark.

The Americans in Baghdad donï¿½t seem over-impressed so far with the INC on home turf. Though the organization continues to play an important role in the national dialogue with Bremer, there is much talk of it being sidelined.

"We realized how little we know about this country and the INC has to get to know it too," says a U.S. administration source in Baghdad. "Their networks have to expand and deepen and they have to do real political work. No one in this country represents Iraqi society, and we keep trying to expand our network to include as many facets as possible."

Bremer, says the U.S. source, was given a clean slate to go to Baghdad, "look around, take a deep breath and get it right."

The INC, for its part, spends its days in a variety of activities. There is a lot of time slippage, and sometimes it is difficult to distinguish work from play.

One day Musawi debriefs one of Saddamï¿½s former bodyguards and hears how he was dismissed on April 15, after five years on the job. Saddam reportedly gave him five million dinars (about $1,000). If true, the story suggests that the former Iraqi leader indeed survived the war.

Later in the day Musawi meets with representatives of the International Socialist Movement. And still later, the Group of Seven, the parties that make up the former opposition (the INC, the Kurdish Democratic Party, the Patriotic Union of Kurdistan, the Shiï¿½ite Daï¿½wa Party and Supreme Council for Islamic Revolution in Iraq, and the Iraqi Democratic Party) meet to discuss the agenda for their regular meeting with Bremer, held roughly once a week.

"One of the things we will examine," says Musawi, "is working out our position regarding the interim government. We need to know who is going to be in it, for one, but ultimately it boils down to how independent the council will be. Unless it is done on our terms, we are not going to be part of it. No one is going to be in an interim government that appears to be a puppet government. We would only lose credibility."

On another day, Musawi tours presidential sites looking for living quarters for INC staff. He has come across yachts hidden in gardens and numerous cars from Udayï¿½s vast collection. (While tinted windows used to be reserved for top secret service members and other elites, they have now become the rage in Baghdad and you can get them done while-u-wait.)

The INC also focuses on humanitarian issues. Musawi lists helping sick people as a priority. "We try through personal connections to take them to hospitals outside the country," he says. The INC has been a leader in identifying mass graves and is appealing for help from forensic experts abroad. "We believe weï¿½ve discovered a mass grave in which the prisoners were used in chemical experiments," he adds. "We need experts to help preserve the evidence."

Despite the Americansï¿½ legitimate reservations about the INC, the U.S. source insists that "we will not abandon our allies. They are a source of great ideas."

When it comes to the question of credibility, though, he makes it clear that the INC has to worry less about losing it and more about building some up. "We meet with many different people and at this moment it is impossible to tell who is legitimate and who isnï¿½t," he says. "The INC has talents, skills, vision and ability, and they are a critical element in shaping the future of Iraq." The American official notes that the U.S. has had good cooperation from the INC on issues like mass graves and security, and that it has very good sources of information across the country. But he adds that if the formerly exiled opposition is going to have any political future, "they must become effective with the Iraqi people. Because if they are not effective with Iraqis they will not be effective with us, and they will be irrelevant."

He points out that the Americans have "already expressed concern" about why Ahmed Chalabi would be out of the country visiting America just six weeks from the end of the war and less than a month before Bremer was due to form the council. (Chalabi was, among other things, attending his daughter Tamaraï¿½s graduation at Harvard.)

A defiant Musawi responds that the "Group of Seven" represents the biggest political force in the country. "If the Americans donï¿½t include us there will be people out on the streets -- perhaps one million," he declares. "Weï¿½ll mobilize them. I personally have 48 departments nationwide, and 200,000 people are new full-fledged signed-up members (of the INC). We can have marches from Basra to Zahko."

Musawi says heï¿½s certain that Bremer is "trying to do the right thing. He needs time and the Iraqis need time, and we cannot expect too much too soon. What is important is for Bremer to get the political process right."

Saddam has gone. But for the former exiles of the INC, the struggle goes on.

Middle East