Waiting For
Another War To Come
By Scott Peterson
BAGHDAD, IRAQ The painting by one of Iraq's best-known artists
should have been done three weeks ago, a vibrant image of a peace dove
and blue Islamic-style dome, with an emerging deep red backdrop.
But news of impending war
carried by radio into Selma al-Allak's studio has sapped her inspiration,
and is forcing her to confront the uncertainty of war that today is
menacing every Iraqi, like the pointed barrel of a loaded gun.
"I sit, but I don't
know - I lost something here," Mrs. Allak says, tapping the side
of her head while showing her latest canvas.
"We try to be strong
on the outside, to cover what fear is on the inside," says al-Allak's
husband and fellow painter, Moayad al-Haidari. "We are crushed
by the daily news reports. We can make a kingdom for ourselves, but
we can't isolate ourselves from our people."
The Haidari family shares
a conundrum with their 23 million Iraqi compatriots: How do you maintain
enthusiasm for work and life, while facing a US-led war that promises
to be orders of magnitude larger than the 1991 Gulf War?
This upper middle-class family
of four are well-educated and erudite, speak fluent English, have traveled
in Europe to exhibit their work, and are familiar with America through
close relatives living in the US, and a host of other Iraqi friends
and family who have been educated there. Giving insight into the hopes
and fears of Iraqis who plan to stay in Baghdad - and whose hopes for
peace have been buoyed by the millions of antiwar demonstrators on streets
around the world last weekend - the Haidaris spoke in their comfortable
house over tea, without the presence of a government minder.
The family spoke candidly
about how their lives are being affected by the topic that is obsessing
Iraqis, Americans and Europeans alike: the chances of war, and what
that war will bring.
"Our problem is that
the plan is not clear," says Mr. Haidari, whose expertise is hand-painting
flowing robes and dresses with intricate designs and calligraphic poetry.
"Will they bomb in my street? Will American commandos arrive here?
Or will Iraqis fight with Americans near the gate of my house?
"We can't do anything,
because all those things could happen, or none," says Haidari,
whose bespectacled face and neat graying moustache would easily fit
in in the US or Europe. "It is one of the weapons of American psychological
war - all this talk of war, all these years."
Like most Iraqis, the Haidaris
are nationalists who say they are proud of their country, and its thousands
of years of civilized history.
But they also have been jolted
by the events of the last two decades - two devastating wars so far,
and nearly 13 years of economic sanctions - to the point where fatigue
is limiting their efforts to prepare this time. The family has gathered
more water tanks, stockpiled batteries, and candles, and has banked
rice, oil, and sugar. In keeping with government efforts since last
summer to distribute food rations in advance, Iraqis this week were
issued food for June and July to forestall hunger and unrest in case
of war.
Some neighbors are having
their own backyard wells dug. And in anticipation of a shutdown of telephone,
electricity, and fuel-supply services, many are readying bicycles that
haven't been in use since the 42-day Gulf War.
"All the students are
waiting and afraid, because they all went through the last war,"
says son Nabil, a clean-cut second-year medical engineering student
at Baghdad University. He is starting three new courses, but is uncertain
about whether he will be able to complete his work. His brother Hashem,
in his fifth year of college study to be a pharmacist, is also worried.
Though such concerns are
universal, officially no specific preparations are being made in schools
for the possibility of war - and dates have already been set for spring
exams. "They are going on as usual, as if there is nothing,"
says Nabil.
"We can't imagine what
will happen, and it frightens us, because we remember where we hid the
children in 1991," says Allak.
That place is in the center
of the Haidari home, far from windows and adjacent to the kitchen, where
the two-foot thickness of the concrete walls is evident. After leaving
Baghdad for 11 days at the start of the 1991 bombing, the family returned
home to wait out the war.
Father and mother each night
protected the two young boys from the bombing, wrapping their arms around
them on mattresses on the floor.
The vibrations of the blasts
were "like an earthquake," and brought most of the window
glass cascading down inside the house.
The violent explosions in
their upmarket neighborhood along the Tigris River caused a structural
crack on the outside of the house, which is still visible despite efforts
to cover it with spackle; Haidari had to build a new support column
to strengthen the wall.
The family describes the
constant smell of burning in 1991, and how "one day, it rained
black rain." A mention of reports from the Pentagon that any new
bombing campaign is meant to deliver 10 times as much punch is met with
a playful attempt to toss a couch pillow at the visitor bearing this
bad news, and then disbelief.
"Ten times?!" Haidari
asks incredulously, his face dropping. "Send this message [to America]
from a small Iraqi family: Think about the civilization of the country,
the human beings, not only the strategic issues like oil and power.
The best way to win a war is to prevent it."
Just such a hope was rekindled
here last weekend, when Iraqi television offered full coverage of the
antiwar protests that surged through the streets of London, Rome, Paris,
New York, and across the US.
"I cried when I saw
that," Selma says, her eyes tearing up again at the thought. "I
felt that the people are with us. But stop the war? I don't think so.
It is part of a great plan."
Still, the demonstrations
were a welcome surprise that Iraqis are savoring, no matter how fleeting
it may be.
"I see some people understand
what is the human being," says Haidari. "I see people, brave
people, who will stand up and say 'Stop!' ... Maybe on the surface [of
Iraq] you will find some black points, but if you go deep, you will
find a real treasure of people. Now after 20 years of war and sanctions,
some things change. But the root is pure."
That root is all the Haidari
family has to nurture, and it is key to their coping mechanism. Family
discussions about the utility of continuing to work - even with little
inspiration - boil down to this advice for the boys.
"We tell them: 'Son,
do your best,' " Haidari says. " 'It is the best way to show
the others, the Americans and Europeans, by trying to do your best,
even to the last second of your life.' "
The family also has a personal
tale of hope, though, which they suspect tells more about Americans
than any other - war or no war. It began two years ago in Paris, when
Allak came across the purse of a 20-something American tourist at a
photography museum.
The purse was packed with
money, but returned intact to its shocked and grateful owner. The family
still keep in contact with the young woman, who sent an e-mail this
week saying that she had been on the streets of San Francisco over the
weekend - marching for peace with Iraq.
February 21, 2003