In The Red Zone

Dear Lisa,

Wednesday morning found me back at Basrah Palace, a.k.a. the British Consulate, ironing out some final details with press liaison Deborah about my embed gig with the Queen’s armed forces. Beginning next week, insha’allah, I spend a week a guest of the U.K. military. Patrols, anti-smuggling operations on the Shatt, reconstruction projects in Umm Qasr, should be interesting.

While there, I met an embassy official named Qasem, who took about an hour out of his crowded schedule to give me a comprehensive over-all breakdown of the religious parties vying for control of Basra. Da’wa Islamiyya (all three branches), the Supreme Council for Islamic Revolution in Iraq (SCIRI), the Badr Brigade, Fidallah, Moqutada al Sadr, Yacoubi, Mohammad Bakr, Ayatollah Hakim, names, dates, organizations, on and on. Fortunately, because I’ve studied this stuff, I could keep up on the tutorial, which helped me immensely later on that afternoon.

Next to show up whilst I was sitting on the BP verandah was Hassan—an old Iraqi friend--piloting a golfcart in which sat Giuliana Daoud Yussef. Giuliana is an English professor at Basra University and the editor of Al Ahkbaar newspaper--in addition to being a woman, an Assyrian and a Christian to boot. (Her husband, interestingly enough, is Sunni Muslim.) I met Giuliana last year and interviewed her at length at the Canary Restaurant in downtown Basra--back when I could wander about the city and I wasn’t cooped up in a hotel. Through Hassan, we had agreed to meet at the Consulate and together we lunched in Basrah Palace’s canteen and afterwards, joined by Hassan, sat on the verandah again, drank coffee and talked.

Giuliana is 48, Hassan is in his 20s, but both remember vividly the Iran-Iraq War when Iran nearly took Basra. They described unforgettable scenes--hearing the thud of not-so-distant artillery, watching Iranian jets roar over the city, seeing paratroopers leap out of planes, witnessing the wounded stream back from the front, fearing that the poison gas used in the trenches would sweep over their neighborhoods--and at night, seeing distant flash of Iranian missiles launched at the city, and waiting for the projectiles to land, Allah knew where. Of course that wasn’t the only fighting they witnessed--there was the 1990 Gulf War, the 1991 Shiite uprising and the 2003 Coaltion invasion. As a British helicopter flew low along the Shatt-al-Arab, I thought of what Ali, Hassan’s young friend who also works at the Consulate, said to me on Tuesday: “I have never known a time of peace.”

What followed about an hour later was one of the most interesting encounters I’ve had yet in Basra--but one that needs a little explaining. About three weeks ago, I e-mailed SCIRI’S Washington D.C. office. They, in turn, put me in touch with the organization’s Basra branch, which set up a meeting between me and a SCIRI rep named Alaa Turej. And sure enough, two SCIRI men were waiting for me when Sa'ad took me back to the hotel. Though they seemed nice enough, and offered to drive me over to the meeting place, I opted to ride with Sa’ad as he followed their car. I recognized that SCIRI’s was a respectable political party uninterested in molesting foreigners, but I just felt like taking precautions. I wasn’t the only one: as we drove through a sky progressively clotting with ashen-white sand, Sa’ad took down the SCIRI car's license plate. “In case trouble,” he grunted, a little ominously.

We drove way out on the outskirts of Basra, where buildings become sparse, giving way to wide fields dotted with irregular, dilapitated stucco, brick and concrete structures.  Just when we seemed we were headed back to Kuwait, we turned onto a short gravel road, that led to through a narrow gate where a free-standing, box-like structure made of gray cement rose up out of a vacant lot.  Within a second gate and sitting on the steps of this structure were a number of young men, most of them holding AK-47s. Everyone seemed watchful, but relaxed, but I couldn’t help feeling a little tense as Sa’ad pulled away leaving me in the midst of armed members of SCIRI’s private militia, the Badr Brigrade.

One of the men who met me at the hotel--Alaa's brother, in fact--led me into the building, and I felt even more uneasy when the door closed behind me. Up a flight of stairs, and, almost magically, and typically Arabian, the interior opened up to a clean, comfortable dwelling, with a sort of living room adorned with an enormous wide-screen TV, golden bordello-style curtains and a glittering fake-crystal chandeliers. I sank into a plush sofa, and began admiring a picture of a handsome Iraqi man meeting a figure I recognized as Ayatollah Hakim, one of the founders of SCIRI who was killed in a massive car bombing in Najaf in August, 2003.

While I was looking at the picture, in walks Alaa Turej, who turns out to be the good looking man in the photo. Dark, bearded, with gentle eyes and a pleasant, disarming smile, he sits, and, to my surprise, I discover he speaks perfect English. Turej, in fact, is SCIRI’S Canadian representative, when he’s not living in his hometown of Basra. Tea is brought in, and we plunge into a two hour conversation about Islam, SCIRI, Iraq’s future, the condition of Basra and the role of the United States. (Qasem’s earlier dissertation on the religious parties came in mighty hand at this point.) Again, one of those fantastic conversations that happen so regularly here. 

The upshot of our discussion is this: SCIRI believes that Iraq should be an Islamic state, modeled after Iran. If the Iraqi people don’t want an Islamic state modeled after Iran--and most say they don’t--SCIRI is willing to bend on its principles, as long as certain “red lines” aren’t crossed. These lines include an insistence that Islam be the official state religion and a (as opposed to the) source of legislation. Women should--but musn't be forced to--wear hejab and shari’a need not be interpreted in a drastic, draconian manner that circumscribes human rights. SCIRI, in fact, believes that Islam, human rights, democracy and a free market system can all work together to improve Iraq. And, of course, being a political party in a competitive democratic field, they feel that they are the best politcal embodiment of the culture, hopes and aspirations of the Iraqi people.

Alaa spoke in the calm, measured tones of a media person used to fielding reporters’ questions. The only time he seemed to grew agitated was on the topic of the Wahabbis, and their hatred for Shiites. “We must educate our children in proper Islam to counteract Wahabbi propaganda,” he said. ”The Baathsts are not dangerous for us,” he continued. “As an idea, Iraqis will not accept Baathism.” He paused for a moment. “What we are worried about that Iraqis--especially those who are poor and unemployed--might support Wahhabism.”

The next day, I told Layla about my meeting with SCIRI and she just shook her head and mouthed the word “lies.” To her, SCIRI is a stalking horse for Tehran, which intends to separate southern Iraq from the rest of the country and merge with it with Iran. Layla’s not the only Iraqi who thinks this way and believes SCIRI is too close to Iran: the organization did fairly well on the national election scene, but bombed--whoop, not the best choice of words--in local elections, where Moqtada al-Sadr and the affiliated Fadillah Party won a lion’s share of the seats on Basra Province’s Governing Council. (Alaa explains SCIRI's poor showing on the fact that the organization "concentrated its efforts on the national elections.)  One reason why once-liberal Basra is slipping under the control of religious fundamentalists

Because neither SCIRI nor any other religious parties has actually been tested in the give-and-take, messy compromises of democratic leadership, it’s impossible to tell how fundamentalist, or otherwise, they are, or will be once obtaining power. And to be sure, I found Turej a little too moderate and reasonable to be entirely convincing (nothing in Iraq is moderate or reasonable), but he was a gracious man nonetheless, and I was glad to make his acquaintance, and hope to continue our conversation.

”We are thankful that the United States rid us of Saddam,” he told me as I closed my notebook and rose from the sofa . Is it time for the Coalition troops to leave? I asked. “No, not yet,” Alaa replied. “Not until the security situation improves. SCIRI believes that the multi-national force is helping Iraq right now.”

Sa’ad was waiting for me by the gate. Walking down the stairs, past the lounging, well-armed guards, I turned to wave to Alaa, who pressed his hand against his chest and nodded. Then I climbed into the SUV for the long drive home.

May 4, 2005