Baghdad: Idle Time and Air Raids

The conflict brings intermittent tension, but little hardship

A city dominated by drab architecture and numerous construction projects, Baghdad these days bears no resemblance to the legendary home of Harun al Rashid and A Thousand and One Nights. Although the battlefronts along the Shaft al Arab are more than 300 miles away, Iranian aircraft have brought the war to the Iraqi capital with repeated bombing raids against military and industrial targets. TIME Middle East Bureau Chief William Stewart and Correspondent Adam Zagorin report on the mood of the city:

The prevailing joke in Baghdad is that the city must be the only one in the world where the sirens do not start to wail until after the air raid is over. Strictly speaking, that may not be true, but since there is no difference between the alert and the all clear, there is room for confusion. Iranian Phantoms have put on a dazzling display of technical skill, swooping in over Baghdad at treetop level to avoid radar detection, dropping their bombs and hightailing it back to Iran before the Iraqis realize what has happened.

So far, few bombs appear to have been dropped on Baghdad proper. The raids have been contained for the most part to the French-built nuclear energy facility just outside the city and industrial targets in the suburbs. One direct hit, in particular, on petroleum storage tanks next to a power station, caused a huge fire that turned Baghdad's blackout into a stage setting for Goetterdaemmerung. The minarets and distinctive egg-shaped domes of the city's mosques were silhouetted against a sky that glowed deep crimson all night long.

Traffic police and soldiers carrying machine guns throughout the city nervously clear the streets when the sirens begin to wail and pedestrians crowd into underground shelters. Many of the concrete shelters are new or still under construction; they contain no food but often have water storage tanks. The atmosphere in air raid shelters is frequently relaxed even if, as one Iraqi insisted, the shelters are considered essential not only as protection against Iran "but especially against Israel, which might attack us at any minute."

The sense that Baghdad is a city at war is most acute at night, when the blackout is strictly enforced. Glimmers of candlelight escaping through a slit in the curtains can arouse outpourings of official ire. Customers in a restaurant one evening heard an explosion overhead. Waiters nervously scurried to put out candles and lanterns. When the patrons went outside to find out what had happened, there were no planes to be seen. As the diners went back inside to resume their meal, the unanimous conclusion was that it was not an Iranian raid at all, but a sonic boom caused by an Iraqi MiG breaking the sound barrier.

Apart from the intermittent tension caused by Iranian bombing forays, the mood in Baghdad is little different from that of prewar days. "We are not afraid of the Iranians or anything they might do to us," said the owner of a small shop in the Baghdad souk, or marketplace. His remark reflects not so much bravado as the fact that there have been few Iranian bombing raids in which civilians have been hit. Even in the famed Shi'ite Muslim Al Kadhimain mosque, where posters of Ayatullah Khomeini once hung during religious festivals, there is little evidence of special security precautions. Strongman Saddam Hussein's government, dominated by Sunni Muslims, is apparently confident that the Iranians will not be able to spark uprisings among their Shi'ite Muslim brethren in Iraq, who make up more than half the population.

For many people, the war has brought unemployment and a surfeit of idle time. Most schools have been closed, and children are playing in the streets. Many construction projects and factories have been shut down, and men have been mobilized for the front. The Daura oil refinery on the outskirts of Baghdad, a potential target of Iranian fighters, has been closed down as a safety precaution. Along the palm-lined avenues, men sit in cafes and restaurants much of the day, sipping tea and exchanging the latest rumors about the war. Although gasoline is scarce, there appear to be no other shortages. Says the wife of a foreign businessman: "I go to the market now and find more of everything. I guess the government must have saved up food and released it when the fighting started.

Iraqis are not reticent about discussing the war, but in a country where informers and government surveillance are everywhere, it is unrealistic to expect honest opinions. Said a book salesman in the souk: "Oh, I'll tell you straightaway that we support the war 100%. Our nation is united against the Persian aggressors. They took our land, and now we will take their lives." The merchant looked up at one of the omnipresent portraits of Saddam Hussein on the wall and handed his visitor a stack of propaganda from the ruling Baath Party. Said he with a smile: "If you want to know what the Iraqi people think of the war, just read this."

The regime has reached deep into history to adopt analogies for the current struggle with Iran. Government pronouncements constantly refer to the Iranians as "racist Persians." The victory of the Arabs over the Persians at Qadasiya in the 7th century is trumpeted at every turn. Radio and television keep up a drumbeat of patriotic poems set to martial music. The propaganda has had some impact. Many Baghdadis feel that their country is not only waging a war against a traditional enemy that gained control of the Shatt al Arab waterway by exploiting Iraqi weakness, but spearheading a patriotic, nationalist cause for the entire Arab world.

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