THE ECONOMY
An Iraqi Factory Reflects U.S. Recovery Effort
By EDWARD WONG - NYT
BAGHDAD, Iraq, Feb. 14 — The five-story headquarters of one of the biggest cigarette factories in the Middle East rises on the northeastern edge of this city's largest slum, towering above dirt fields filled with donkey carts and children playing soccer and puddles reeking of urine.
American marines wrested it from snipers last April. Then the Second Armored Calvary Regiment moved in, and Army soldiers now stare from watchtowers at the concrete houses of the sprawling neighborhood known as Sadr City.
The factory is on the front line of the American military's battle to win the trust of possibly the most hostile — and certainly the poorest — area of Baghdad.
Many of this neighborhood's 2.2 million inhabitants follow the decrees of a fiery anti-American Shiite cleric named Moktada al-Sadr. His militia, known as the Mahdi Army, has ambushed and killed American troops.
The way the American military sees it, part of dousing the flames has involved reopening the cigarette factory and trying to get it running smoothly again. That means giving 850 Iraqi workers access to half the base, which the 1,000 soldiers here call Camp Marlboro.
It seemed a simple task at first. The factory began production again last October, churning out 300 to 400 cases of Sumer brand cigarettes a day, or up to 2,500 cigarettes per minute. But with problems ranging from labor strife to faulty machinery, the project mirrors the complexities of governing Iraq.
"One of our weapons is our culture," Maj. George Sarabia, a spokesman for the Second Armored Calvary Regiment, said as he walked across the factory floor one morning. "Part of the reason why we won the cold war is because of the military. But one of the reasons is because of the Beatles and bluejeans."
Never mind that the Beatles were British. The point, Major Sarabia said, is that teaching the laborers Western work habits and putting money in their pockets will help bring stability.
"These are things that aren't in the book," Major Sarabia said as clumps of processed tobacco rolled along conveyor belts. "You don't learn this in the Army. We're trying to teach economics, the work ethic, the American way of doing things."
Those words no doubt echo sentiments expressed by other officers during other imperial ages, in other dust-choked parts of the world. As with many colonial projects, though, the task these warriors-turned-administrators describe is easier said than done. The factory has sat idle in recent weeks while the workers have gone on strike in a wage dispute. Furthermore, members of Saddam Hussein's Baath Party still hold jobs here, annoying some workers, and the factory is operating well below capacity because spare parts were looted.
Mr. Sadr's supporters remain skeptical of the American presence.
"Some people consider the people who work in the factory to be spies for the Americans," Sheik Amir al-Husseini, a representative for Mr. Sadr, said as he sat in an office crowded with local men beseeching him for financial help. "The jobs in the factory don't solve the problem of unemployment. The Americans haven't provided new jobs."
The number of jobs at the factory has actually increased by 50 from before the invasion, said Ali Hussein Salman, the factory manager.
Two British companies built the factory decades ago, then handed it to Saddam Hussein in 1988, who ran it as a government enterprise. Last April, after dealing with snipers on its rooftops, the marines decided to occupy the building because of the vantage point it held over Sadr City.
A month later, the Ministry of Industry suggested letting the government restart cigarette production at the factory. The Coalition Provisional Authority had listed the factory as one of 50 businesses crucial to generating revenue for Iraq, said Command Sgt. Maj. Charles Waters, a burly career soldier from Kentucky who maintains security at the factory. He moved American soldiers out of factory buildings, had a wall built between the factory and the rest of the compound, and set up a separate entrance for Iraqi workers.
When the factory reopened in October, most workers came back. Sergeant Major Waters told the managers to stop paying those who did not show up. Many of the absentees returned.
The factory hummed with life. Decrepit machines pumped out steam and sprayed perfume onto processed tobacco. Bales of dried raw tobacco sat in a corner of the building, alongside boxes of "virgin blend" tobacco from India and Vietnam.
Mr. Salman, who had worked as an engineer here for 12 years, was assigned to oversee the plant. Unlike the former Baath Party managers, he did not appear to be feared or disliked by the workers. The employees had complaints, though.
"If someone is sick, how can he be treated?" one worker asked Mr. Salman as he walked across the floor one morning.
Then the workers decided to strike because they had not been paid since late December, and because of what they called wage disparities among government workers.
Many government employees around the country have filed similar grievances in the last month.
The strike brought the factory to a standstill. But it also reflected a degree of freedom that did not exist before. Mr. Hussein disbanded unions in 1987 and quashed any attempts at strikes.
Sergeant Major Waters said that negotiations were progressing and that workers should be back soon.
He helped organize a new union here, and on the day of the union elections, he rounded up four Baathists at the factory and held them for several hours of "interrogation" so they would not intimidate workers during the balloting.
The fact that some Baath Party members remain on the payroll bothers him. "The concern is when we decide to pull out, they'll come back into power and run the factory the way they used to do — with corruption," he said.
Mr. Salman, the manager, said five top Baathists were immediately fired after the Coalition Provisional Authority enacted a law last May allowing such purges. Twelve remain, he said, because the law does not allow for automatic dismissal of lower-level Baathists.
The most urgent need, though, is for spare parts. Looters stripped the factory during the fall of Baghdad last April. In optimal conditions, the factory can produce up to 2,000 cases of cigarettes per day, five to six times its output now.
Vendors all over Iraq buy the cases for $40 each, which means the factory can pull in an additional $64,000 a day for the government if it ever gets to full capacity.
"Our mission over here is to establish a foundation the Iraqi people can build upon," Sergeant Major Waters said. "I believe in my heart of hearts that this factory is part of it."
Copyright 2004 The New York Times Company |
