Iraqi writer Hamid Alkifaey, who fled from Saddam Hussein’s regime, recalls life under his leadership and considers what the future could hold for Iraq
However, it is possible to talk about certain aspects of life under the regime. I remember when I was in the first year of secondary school, in 1971. I was only 12 years old, and was approached by 18-year-old Adnan, who asked me to join the Ba’ath party. He said that he wanted me to “be there first” because “in a year or two, everyone would be a Ba’athist”.
My first reaction was to totally reject the idea. I had often heard my parents cursing the time when my elder brother joined the Ba’ath party in the early 60s, and had to flee the country, fearing for his life, after it was overthrown in 1963.
The advice from my parents was never to get involved in politics if you wanted to stay safe in Iraq. That advice saved my life: I never discussed politics in front of strangers until I left the country.
Adnan’s prophesy came true a few years later, with one slight variation. Everyone who wanted to get along in life became associated, in one way or another, with the Ba’ath party. This was not because they wanted to, but because they had to.
I remember our physics teacher coming to class one day to say goodbye. He said that he was being moved from his job at the school to be appointed as an ordinary clerk in the municipal authority office opposite. The reason was obvious: he had refused to join the Ba’ath party.
In later years, even this option was not on offer. Everyone who wished to remain “above the soil”, in the eloquent words of the Iraqi poet, Sa’adi Yousuf, had to join the Ba’ath party. If you refused, you and your family could expect an uncertain future, and lose your right to remain above the soil.
However, even joining the Ba’ath party was no guarantee of safety. One could still face imprisonment, torture, and execution – even senior party members whom the leadership did not consider to be loyal enough. One must not forget that Saddam murdered half of his politburo in 1979 because he feared that they might present a threat to his authority.
I remember a student in my class, who was a Muslim. Suddenly, he disappeared from the class and the town altogether. A few weeks later, he returned to school with a totally new image. He was clean-shaven, and had become member of the students’ Ba’athist organisation. He even had the keys to the office of the exclusively Ba’athist students union.
When his close friends asked him about the reasons for this sudden change, he replied: “You would do the same if you experienced what I have.” Apparently, he had been imprisoned and tortured, and told that, if he did not become a party member, he would disappear forever.
He disappeared again in 1980, but this time it was his decision. He returned soon afterwards, and was executed. His mother and sister were taken prisoner and told that they would remain in prison until he returned.
Thousands of students disappeared from schools and universities between 1979 and 1981. Nobody knew the reason for their disappearance, and no one dared to ask, but everyone knew their fate.
Against this background, I had no doubt that I would be next. I had no choice but to leave Iraq. The destination was not important, but the speed with which I got away was. In June 1980, I decided to go abroad “to study” at my own expense: that was the only way for me to leave the country legally.
Britain was my first choice because of Iraq’s historical link with the country. People in Iraq felt passionately about Britain. When people wanted to buy something, the advice was “buy British, it’s the best”. When they wanted to go abroad for treatment, the best doctors and medicine were in London’s Harley Street, and when they wanted to study abroad, Britain had the best educational system.
And, of course, there was no better destination than London if you wanted to go on a holiday abroad. Big Ben, Hyde Park, Buckingham Palace, Oxford Street, even Fleet Street, are big names in Iraq. Seeing them was not only fascinating, but also socially rewarding.
I was lucky to get admission to a college in London, thanks to the British Council in Baghdad, which helped to secure it. I will never forget the help of “Um Qusay”, an English lady working at the council, who was apparently married to an Iraqi. She spent so much time looking for colleges and universities in Britain with vacant seats for the year 1980-81, and explaining to me, in beautiful Arabic, what I should do to gain access to university.
Nobody felt safe in Iraq after Saddam became president in 1979, launching a relentless crackdown on his political opponents. I saw some of my secondary school peers murdered. On one occasion, five of them were led out of class and executed for no obvious reason other than that they disagreed with Saddam and his method of ruling the country by fear. They paid for what they believed in with their lives.
It looked as though the country was entering a new phase, and this was terrifying to all Iraqis. Most people were forced to carry arms and be part of the so-called popular army or the regular army, hang Saddam’s photographs in their homes, shops and offices, and carry badges featuring Saddam’s photo wherever they went. Even watches had Saddam’s photo on them.
Teachers and professors were humiliated into walking in the streets carrying candles on Saddam’s alleged birthday. I was frightened, not because I was doing anything to threaten Saddam’s rule, but because I did not do anything to support it.
I had to leave my family, which was destroyed. My brother was killed while on duty in the army. My other two brothers were disabled during their compulsory military service.
Saddam was a disaster for the whole region, and removing him was a necessity. His regime was the cause of wars and instability. Peace and stability could not be established while it was in place.
No Iraqi can forget the moment when Saddam’s statue was pulled down by Iraqis, assisted by US forces, in Baghdad. On that memorable day, April 9 2003, a new dawn shone on Iraq, and indeed the whole world.
That day, I was working with Sky News, commenting on events as they unfolded. I remember saying, earlier that morning: “Today is the tipping point: it is the day on which Saddam’s regime will fall”.
A few minutes later, we watched a brave man, on the streets of Baghdad, holding Saddam’s photo and hitting it with a shoe. Another respectable-looking person tried to urinate on the photo in front of the cameras. Both actions signified the ultimate insult that can be directed at a person in Iraq, and showed the amount of hatred and disdain for Saddam and his regime among Iraqis.
When I visited Iraq just after its liberation, I saw people desperate for basic services, and apprehensive about the possible return of Saddam, but hopeful for the future. I walked in the streets of a small town in the south and, for some reason, people recognised that I was a stranger, although I was walking alone, wearing dusty clothes.
Maybe they noticed the way I was looking at the devastation of the town. Everything looked deserted, and seemed indisciplined. I could see it on the faces of children, who were playing out in the streets, and probably having fun being out of school. I asked one child whether his family had any food, and he said yes. “Do you want to go to school?” I asked. He said yes, “but the headmaster is Ba’athist, and he must be dismissed from the school before I go back”.
A few minutes later, I found myself surrounded by a crowd of people. Some were asking me whether I could help with bringing them some drinking water, others were complaining about the lack of law and order, and others said that schools must reopen to keep children off the streets.
One man had a copy of an official letter signed by “Chemical Ali”. It had a list of more than 120 names ordered to be executed by Saddam’s notorious cousin. He said that his brother was among them, and he wanted help to find the people on the list if they were still alive. If not, he wanted to find their bodies or places of burial.
I was able to talk to people about the future, and what they might be able to achieve under the new democratic system that is to be built in Iraq. I told them a democratic system means that everyone must participate in the decision-making process in one way or another.
I had a feeling that they did not totally believe me. They must have thought that I was an ideologue looking for audience. When I reluctantly said goodbye, a child followed me to the car, and kept asking me questions. Among them was: “Will you come again – can we see you in the future?”
I didn’t have any real answer: I said “perhaps”, and wished him well. Before I got into the car, I shook his hand. He hugged me, and I felt honoured, as well as flattered. I had nothing to give him apart from a bottle of mineral water.
As I was on my way out of Iraq, I couldn’t help thinking about the world’s silence over Saddam’s crimes against those cultured people.
Many questions came to mind: Why did the world allow him to cause so much devastation and suffering in Iraq? Why was the Arab world happy to support a mass murderer? What would have Iraq looked like if we had a government like the one in Kuwait, or even Jordan? Would it not have been a sought-after destination for historians, archaeologists, believers of all world religions, as well as ordinary holidaymakers?
Wouldn’t Iraqis have become the most educated and sophisticated people in the whole region? Would they not have been a force for democracy, human rights and moderation in the Middle East?
How many lives would have been saved? What would the Iraqi population have been if Iraq had not had the Saddam government? 40 million? 50 million? How many Iraqis have been deprived of their lives just because Saddam Hussein and his family wanted to enjoy absolute power?
However, looking on the bright side of life, Iraq is now a free country thanks to the courage of George Bush and Tony Blair, and the US and British people who backed them. Iraqis are looking forward to democracy. The country is, or will be, free of weapons of mass destruction, and above all, it will at last start economic development for the benefit of its people and the rest of the world.
I have no doubt that Iraq will recover very quickly, if the right environment for development is created. In pursuit of this, Iraq will need the cooperation of its friends and allies, as well as the 4 million Iraqis in the diaspora. We need Iraq’s huge debt, left over by Saddam, to be cancelled, and a special economic package to be approved by the IMF and the World Bank.
But the most urgent of Iraq’s needs remain the establishment of a stable democratic system, the lifting of economic sanctions, and guarantees by the US and Britain that they will work towards establishing real democracy before they withdraw from the country.
Finally, the crimes against humanity committed by Saddam and his henchmen in Iraq must not go unpunished. All senior members of the Ba’ath party, and Saddam’s security network, must be caught and tried before an Iraqi or international court.
All those who helped Saddam, inside Iraq or abroad, must pay for suffering he inflicted on the Iraqi people. Achieving justice for millions of Iraqis is very important, but what is more important is for Iraq to turn a new page and put Saddam’s reign of terror behind it.
This cannot be achieved if Iraqis become bogged down in investigating every crime that Saddam’s henchmen committed over the last 35 years. They are so numerous. That is why a truth and reconciliation commission must be established in order to look into people’s grievances.
Every Iraqi who suffered under the regime must be compensated financially. This is the only way to achieve some sort of justice for the victims of torture and repression, and their relatives.
Iraqis need to forgive each other wherever possible, but they must never forget what Saddam and his Ba’ath party did to Iraq.
· Hamid Ali Alkifaey is an Iraqi writer, journalist and coordinator of the International Conference on Free Media in Iraq
