A Hundred and One Days: A Baghdad Journal (4 page)

Read A Hundred and One Days: A Baghdad Journal Online

Authors: Asne Seierstad,Ingrid Christophersen

Tags: #Biography & Autobiography, #General, #Editors; Journalists; Publishers, #History, #Military, #Iraq War (2003-2011), #Language Arts & Disciplines, #Journalism, #Social Science, #Customs & Traditions, #Sociology

BOOK: A Hundred and One Days: A Baghdad Journal
9.5Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
 
One of Saddam’s official painters shows us around. He looks like a Montmartre artist: long hair swept back, sensitive fingers, casual but stylish attire. But instead of Sacre Coeur or the Eiffel Tower, Khalid is reduced to one and the same motif.
 
- This painting is to commemorate the victory over the Americans during the Gulf War. This one celebrates the triumph over Iran in 1988.
 
Khalid shows us his pièce de résistance - a fifty metre square painting representing Iraq’s history. The central motif is naturally the president himself, in uniform, riding on a white horse, sword aloft. He is broad-shouldered and well-built. His eyes shine, his teeth glow; his cheeks are ruddy and healthy, the posture proud. Below him are the people, the various ethnic and religious groups represented by national costumes, the workers in Soviet-style poses by weapons-filled conveyor belts. The American threat is indicated by bombers, but there is still room for roses, palms, mountains and wild animals. Every living thing is included in Saddam’s ark.
 
Khalid tells me how he became one of Saddam’s official artists. - While I was a student at the Academy a competition was announced to paint the president from a photograph, but to use your own artistic ideas. I won, he says. - Our president is very interested in art and often announces competitions to decide who can produce the best portrait.
 
- Don’t you get fed up with painting the same subject all the time?
 
- Oh no. Our president is a source of continuous inspiration.
 
- Wouldn’t you like to paint something else?
 
- If I were asked to paint divine women, angels or the most beautiful roses, I would decline, because I paint the greatest of all.
 
- Have you met him?
 
- Yes, I was awarded a distinction five years ago. A great honour to my art, the greatest day in my life, Khalid assures me.
 
My favourite painting shows Saddam Hussein wearing Mafioso sunglasses against the backdrop of a setting sun. I feel like asking whether anyone has specialised in presidential caricatures, but I resist the temptation. My residence permit has not yet been granted.
 
Khalid represents one part of the complex system which feeds the personality cult of the president. The forever-appearing grotesque Saddam frescos are supposed to demonstrate his closeness to the people; several of the paintings show him kissing children or clasping the worn hands of a soldier’s mother. But the portraits, both the small and the ostentatious, underline the leader’s elevation - he is almost deific, and in pure goodness now and again descends to the level of the people.
 
Khalid no longer needs a photograph to paint from. He knows the face by heart.
 
 
The tour around Saddam’s many faces continues after we leave the Art Centre. We encounter him on street corners, in restaurants, on public buildings and in squares.
 
- It’s beautiful, isn’t it? Takhlef asks.
 
Saddam is everywhere. On every single piece of construction, on posters, in shop windows. He makes an appearance on each of the ministry buildings. Outside the Ministry of Justice he is holding up scales. By the Ministry of Defence he sits on a tank. He stands in a field by the Ministry of Agriculture and wields a hammer and anvil by the Ministry of Industry. Outside the Ministry of Communications a large poster shows him talking on a telephone. In front of the mosques he is praying and near a teahouse he is drinking tea. The different costumes and poses accentuate the conviction that he is omnipresent. He is the descendant of the Kings of Babylon - and the man of the moment.
 
- Saddam Hussein has elevated Iraq to a shining world star. The Americans try to wear us down with bombs and sanctions. But we will prevail, come what may.
 
Takhlef does not wait for me to respond. Others might draw breath or cough; my guide proclaims, at suitable intervals, clichés about the President.
 
- Everything he did in the past was good and everything he will do in the future is good.
 
- How can you be so sure about that?
 
- I know it as a result of my belief in the party and his leadership.
 
Takhlef glares at me; he suggests we finish the tour. I am frustrated. What sort of a game is this? How long will it continue? How much longer must I praise Saddam’s shining hair? How often will Takhlef boast about the victories of the revolution and how wonderful everything would be in Iraq but for sanctions? He knows he is lying, he knows I know he is lying, he knows I am lying, he knows that I know that he knows that I am lying. I keep my mouth shut. To report my questions and attitude is one of Takhlef’s duties. But I want my first article home to deal with something real - how people live, how they think about Iraq, about the USA and about the war that is lurking over the horizon. I cannot just phone
Aftenposten
and ask for some space in the travel section: ‘A guide to Baghdad’s art scene - from Babylon to Saddam at sunset’. Bon voyage!
 
- Shall we do the National Museum tomorrow? Takhlef asks.
 
I shrug my shoulders.
 
- They have one hundred and seventy thousand artefacts. It is very interesting.
 
I do not want to see one hundred and seventy thousand artefacts.
 
- What about the monuments to the revolution? Or Saddam Hussein’s gift collection? There are thousands of gifts from all the world’s leaders. Or what about the Mother of all Battles mosque, to commemorate the Gulf War? There is a Koran inside the mosque written with the president’s blood. It has six hundred and fifty pages. In the course of two years our president donated twenty-eight litres of blood in order to write the book. Or what about the Ark of the Clenched Fists? They are enlarged copies of the president’s hands.
 
I shake my head.
 
- Tomorrow at eleven Baghdad’s artists are marching in a peace demonstration, says Takhlef.
 
I might find someone who will divulge some secrets. An intellectual, an atheist, an artistic soul.
 
- Yes, I’d love that.
 
 
Lady Macbeth, Medea, Romeo and Othello asked for peace yesterday. The cultural elite of Baghdad, with actors at the front, were called out on to the streets to protest against what the Iraqis call the US aggression. The interpretation of the characters as demonstrators was convincing. Walking slowly, clutching pictures of Saddam Hussein, a purposeful procession wound its way through the streets of Baghdad. It was easy to learn the chant by heart: Saddam, Saddam, Saddam. In our blood and in our hearts. Saddam, Saddam, Saddam, no one must take him from us, they cried in unison.
 
- I hope this does the trick, said Karim Awad, one of Iraq’s most famous actors. - It is our duty as actors to be good role models, we must show that we support our leader, said Awad, who was educated at a Californian school of dramatic art and has appeared in several films and TV dramas. He identifies closely with Othello, the noble warrior betrayed by his servant.
 
A procession of dwarves, often used in Iraqi comedies, and dancers in colourful costumes and well-known pop stars joined in the festivities.
 
A few blocks away, at the UN headquarters, the head of the weapons inspectors, Hans Blix, read out the new 10-point agreement.
 
The most significant development is that the UN is guaranteed unlimited access, to include private homes. Iraq will encourage scientists to speak to weapons inspectors, and will allow inspectors to interview technical experts without the presence of Iraqi officials. In addition, Iraq will establish its own team to look for warheads.
 
Hans Blix said Iraq had handed over several new documents, were preparing others and promised to uncover more.
 
- We have solved a string of practical problems, but unfortunately not all, Hans Blix said when he left Baghdad to report to the UN in New York on 27 January. - I am sure Iraq will honour its promises, he said and reiterated that war was not inevitable.
 
The UN maintains that Iraq is hiding anthrax, the VX nerve gas and Scud missiles. The country has produced no evidence that these have been destroyed.
 
- We have left these points to be discussed later, he promised. Iraq has put forth conflicting information about the nerve gas production programme. Last week UN inspectors found empty chemical warheads unreported by Iraq. Iraq said it was an oversight.
 
After the meeting Hans Blix and his entourage left for Cyprus. Thereafter they travel to Athens to brief the UN executive committee, and then on to New York.
 
So far 400 sites have been inspected with no proof found that the regime in Baghdad has produced weapons in contravention of UN resolutions. The inspections continued yesterday with more than 10 sites inspected.
 
The Iraqis might have agreed to cooperate but the country’s newspapers are taking a much tougher line. Iraqi citizens must not get the impression that Saddam Hussein has given in to western demands.
Al Thawra ‘The Revolution’
, the Baath party’s mouthpiece controlled by Saddam Hussein, accused the weapons inspectors of spying. - The inspections are a direct interference in our internal affairs, the newspaper reported on Monday. - They go in to the homes of normal citizens, to their bedrooms and bathrooms. They do not respect Muslims, or our day of rest, and insist on inspecting even on Fridays and holidays, said the editorial. - Initially we thought the inspectors were neutral, now we know they are American spies. This has nothing to do with the search for weapons of mass destruction. Anyhow, we have neither chemical, biological nor nuclear weapons, so they are looking in vain, it concluded.
 
The demonstration is tapering off. Satem Jassim wobbles the last few yards on sky-high heels and in tight jeans. The host of one of Iraq’s most popular TV music programmes is heavily made up and her long blonde hair is bleached.
 
- The most important thing at the moment is to stand behind our leader. We must inspire people. In my programme we play lots of songs that support Saddam Hussein.
 
- Have you got a favourite song?
 
- Yes, all of them.
 
- What about songs dealing with life, love?
 
- The songs about Saddam are nicer. Nicer and more important, Satem assures me. She says that everyone who works at the TV station is marching in the demonstration.
 
- What would have happened if someone refused?
 
- Nothing, this is a free country.
 
After a few hours the spectacle is over. The clenched fists relax, shoulders sag, placards are collected. Othello and Desdemona disappear into the crowd, their paces heavy and stooping. The curtain has come down.
 
 
In the hotel reception Abdullah nods politely and receives a cheerful greeting in return. I whistle at the canaries, describe a large circle around Mino and step into the rickety lift up to 707. I sink into the grey and white speckled lump which passes as an easy chair. My first article is in the can and it said something, in spite of, or because, no one said anything. Said arrives with loo paper and a clean towel. I thank him and tip him. After just a little while there is another knock on the door.
 
There stands Said with a TV. He places it proudly on the table in the corner and shows me how to turn it on. There are five channels. Channel one shows Saddam talking, channel two the day’s demonstration, channel three music, channel four snow and channel five sport.
 
Said explains the different channels and presses all the buttons so I see all the channels several times. He turns the TV on and off, on and off, to make sure I know how it works. In spite of not understanding Said’s Arabic, I get it. The bit about the buttons.
 
I decide on a different strategy. In place of my usual little tip I give him a huge sum intended to last for some time, so that I won’t have to open the door continually. Said kisses the money and leaps for joy.
 
The TV is on channel one. Saddam Hussein sits at the head of a long table, puffing on a cigar. Around him are men in uniform, probably the Defence Minister and various generals. I recognise the man on his right, his son Qusay, head of the armed forces.
 
The president talks, uninterruptedly. Some of what he says we hear, but the better part is transmitted without sound, accompanied by seductive violin music. Now and again he waves his cigar in the air in time with the music, now and again out of time. Suddenly the sound is reconnected, but there is obviously one cardinal rule: only the president’s voice is heard. Whenever one of the military chiefs makes a comment, the violins take over. The sound returns when Saddam answers.

Other books

Code Blue by Richard L. Mabry
Dorcas by Dara Girard
Vanishing Point by Danielle Ramsay
Mirage by Serena Janes
The Copper Horse #1 Fear by K.A. Merikan