Uncle Saddam's Land of Terror

By Alexandra Avakian/Baghdad

Fear has always been part of life in Iraq, but never more than now. Secret police and government informers have infected neighborhoods, factories and schools. Some parents are afraid of their own children, fearful that if their young ones hear them express their true political beliefs at home, they might unwittingly betray them. Those adults who oppose Saddam Hussein's regime have to conceal it: when the Iraqi leader appears on television, parents remind their youngsters to call him "Uncle Saddam."

The atmosphere is reminiscent of Stalinist Russia, when no one could be trusted. Words of dissent are rare, especially in the presence of foreigners. A man selling watches with a picture of Saddam on the face looks carefully around before he mumbles, "They're just not popular anymore." At a dinner party in a Baghdad home, the guests do not feel comfortable talking to two visiting Americans without turning the music up loud. Only when they are confident that the music conceals their words from hidden microphones will they quiz the Westerners about U.S. policy in the gulf war. Why did the U.S. stop short of taking Baghdad? they ask. Why didn't George Bush make sure Saddam Hussein was killed? They say the Iraqi people did all they could to overthrow Saddam in the aftermath of the war, but they were so brutally crushed that they could not and would not try again.

The working class and poor are less likely to doubt government propaganda. When given the chance to talk to a foreigner, they invariably ask, "Why is ! Bush punishing the Iraqi people? Why does he hate us?" But when one young woman, robed from head to toe, asks that question, a group of men get out of a pickup truck and stop her from speaking. When they turn their attention to a nearby government official, an older man hustles her away, out of trouble.

Military checkpoints dot Route 6 from Baghdad to the southern city of Basra, evidence that tension persists between the Iraqi army and the rebellious Shi'ite population. At one checkpoint, passersby can see men being searched by soldiers. On a tour of Basra conducted by the local military governor, a general who reportedly commanded the troops that crushed the Shi'ite uprising after the war, foreigners are escorted by a truckload of armed soldiers with a roof-mounted machine gun and grenade launchers -- though the general insists all is peaceful in the city.

Unlike Baghdad, where much has been rebuilt, Basra has undergone little repair. Many bridges lie in ruins, and sewage-pumping systems wrecked during the war have not been repaired. Streets in the city's slums are flooded with filth, and barefoot children often play in the foul roads; disease is spreading.

In a Basra nightclub, young Shi'ites dance or sit in dark corners until the lights suddenly come up. A military officer trailed by about eight armed soldiers strides onto the floor. As the soldiers hold their rifles at the ready, the officer rounds up several of the Shi'ite men in the club, checks their documents and arrests them. A Foreign Ministry minder tells foreign journalists that the men defected from the army. But as always when something happens that the government does not want people to see, the minder will not allow a photographer to take pictures.