Religion is Saddam's newest weapon
Bid to unite Shiite, Sunni Muslims
KARBALA, Iraq — Seated in a sweltering reception room opposite the historic Golden Mosque, the spiritual leader of the city's Shiite community is welcoming and generous with his opinions.
But asked for the proportion of Shiite to Sunni Muslims in Iraq's second-holiest city, Al Sayeed Mehdi Al-Gurabi bristles, his smile turning to a deep frown.
"This is a very aggressive question," he says. "I don't think it is polite to ask such things."
Religion has become a focal point as tensions build in Iraq and the possibility of war with the United States grows stronger. And numbers have taken on vital significance.
After years of covert — and sometimes openly bloody — struggles between the country's Shiite majority, who make up about 60 per cent of the population, and the ruling Sunni minority of President Saddam Hussein, a campaign is intensifying to do away with divisions and unify the country under a single, and loyal, Islam.
Sandwiched between two fiercely religious regimes — Shiite Iran and Saudi Arabia which practises the strict Sunni Wahhabism — and threatened by the United States, Saddam has thrown his weight behind the religious campaign, which he hopes will strengthen the resolve of Iraqis to form a common front and support him in any coming war.
The campaign, launched in the mid-1990s, is already changing the face of secular Iraq, which has been ruled by the socialist Baath party since 1968. Its unifying drive is also yielding results, accelerated by anger and frustration at U.S. plans for war against Iraq.
Even here, in the important Shiite centre of Karbala, where an uprising against the government after the 1991 Persian Gulf War led to draconian reprisals and thousands of deaths, Al-Gurabi, one of Iraq's main Shiite leaders, is quick to say that Islam is universal and that all followers of the faith stand together, especially against a foreign enemy.
"We do not discriminate at all here," he says. "There is a lot of intermarriage nowadays between Sunni and Shia and people of both faiths come to our mosque. In Islam, there is no god but Allah."
Karbala, 90 kilometres southwest of Baghdad, is one of Iraq's most important religious centres. The Golden Mosque, its glittering dome newly embellished with gold leaf paid for by the government, is a shrine to Imams Hussein and Abbas, the two sons of Ali, who in turn was the son-in-law of the Prophet Muhammad.
In 681, the city of Karbala was the site of a battle in which Imam Hussein was killed. Its embattled legacy continued after the Gulf War, when Shiites opposed to Saddam seized their chance to overthrow him, believing that Washington would back them. Instead, they suffered brutal retaliation and parts of the city were razed.
The uprising did not weaken the resolve of the devout to visit Karbala's holy shrines.
For years, Muslims from all over the region have arrived here with the bones of their dead for interment in the sacred ground. Clay from Karbala is made into tablets and shipped to Muslim communities throughout the world. When praying, the pious press their foreheads against these remnants of its soil.
But to the Iraqi government, Karbala has a more unsettling significance. It is seen as a potential magnet for extremists, perhaps disguised as innocent worshippers, planted by neighbouring Iran. The enmity between the two countries culminated in the catastrophic 1980-88 Iran-Iraq war.
"We get millions of pilgrims a year here," says Sheikh Sabar Karbalai, a student of Islam. "And you can see that a large number of them come from Iran."
Driving through the narrow streets, it is easy to observe the influx of visitors: the marketplace swarms with black-clad women, many of them Iranian, and Farsi mingles with Arabic in the streets.
In the centre of town, dozens of hotels cater to guests from Iran. The poorest pilgrims spread mats in the shade of the Golden Mosque and sleep there with their families.
Although Iraq has not resisted the steady stream of visitors, it is wary of the threat that the cross-border traffic might present in an area with a volatile Shiite population.
The great majority of Iraq's Shia are moderates and Iraqis have traditionally shunned religious extremism. But the killings of two prominent Iraqi Shiite clerics in 1998 and 1999 served as warnings to followers who harbour disloyal thoughts.
Nevertheless, there is simmering, if unspoken, anger among the Shia, many of whom lost relatives and friends in the brutal purge that followed the uprising.
They also resent being labelled as Iranian dupes, insisting they are loyal Iraqis who want only to take control of their religious life, free of government interference, in a democratically ruled state. They have no representatives in Iraq's government and no political power, a sign, outspoken exiles say, of discrimination.
To them, the religious campaign is merely an attempt to stamp out their religion and reinforce a Sunni dictatorship.
Saddam, meanwhile, continues to regard Iran with suspicion. But he is also wooing Tehran's support in opposing an American-led war against Iraq.
So far, he has been only partly successful. Iran appeared sympathetic to Iraq's plea during recent diplomatic meetings, but indicated it would not oppose a tough United Nations resolution threatening Baghdad with the use of force, if it had the backing of the Security Council.
The hand that Iran will play in the international game for Iraq's future leaves much for Saddam to worry about.
Iran's current regime, although less anti-Western than its predecessor, is in a tug-of-war with its conservative mullahs. Its relations with Washington are still adversarial and it has not forgotten that during the Iran-Iraq war, which cost up to 1 million Iranian lives, the United States backed Saddam.
While Iraq considers its uneasy relationship with Tehran, it is also casting nervous glances south, to Saudi Arabia, where the conservative Sunni rulers enforce a strict Islamic regime and are rumoured to support even more extreme sects that embrace terrorism.
Ironically, it is fear of the spread of radicalism that has driven Saddam's religious campaign in Iraq.
"Here, we teach the real, the true Islam," says Dr. Yusuf Yakub Mohammed, the head of Al Hassan Al Basri religious school in the southern city of Basra, an hour's drive from the Kuwait border. "There is nothing extreme about it. We believe in moderation. The principles of Islam are grounded in philosophy and science."
And, he adds hastily, "we make no distinction between Shia or Sunni students. We don't ask any questions about anyone's religious background, because that would be planting the seeds of discrimination."
Religious high schools, or madrassas, like this one, have flourished under the "back to religion" campaign. Closed down when the Baath party came to power, Al Hassan school reopened in the mid-1990s, with ever-longer lists of hopeful entrants. Throughout Iraq, hundreds of other schools have sprung up with the blessing of Saddam.
"We're completely funded by the government," says Mohammed, sitting beneath a portrait of the Iraqi leader. "It even gives the students a salary."
The demand for enrolment at the school far outstrips the number of places, he says, especially since the threat of war has become more persistent.
"We choose only the very best students and, currently, there are 112 of them. But during the last few months, we have had to turn away many who want to join us."
In the school's small, spartanly furnished classrooms, white-robed teens sit obediently as teachers read to them from the Qur'an and question them closely on their studies.
"One of our main principles is to fight for our country," explains Mahar Abdul Aziz, 17. "This is the duty of anyone who believes in Allah and Muhammad, his messenger."
Saddam's religious campaign has also influenced secular students, including the most sophisticated ones, studying foreign languages at Baghdad University.
"More and more of us are wearing headscarves," says Roha Mehedi, a smartly dressed 20-year-old whose dark hair is hidden by a silk wrapping. "We feel it's a religious duty and just now we need to be strong in our faith — strong enough to fight for it."
"The crisis around us is making us feel this way," chimes in Haidar al Malik, 24, a graduate student who has travelled in the United States.
"It's true that people have more interest in religion now. We don't drink or gamble or go to nightclubs, but that doesn't bother us. We must be alert and ready for anything because our country is under threat."
Although the students insist they voluntarily abstain from impious behaviour, they have little choice.
Under the religious campaign, gambling has been severely restricted by the government, nightclubs closed and religious programming included on broadcast channels.
A radio station dedicated to the Qur'an was opened and contests created for the best recitations of the Qur'an, with cash prizes.
Alcohol, though obtainable in the market, is banned from cafes and restaurants and Iraqis, who only three years ago admitted to taking a casual drink, now throw up their hands at an offer of wine or beer.
On a sultry evening, Baghdad's nightlife resembles a 1950s Hollywood film, with young people and their parents strolling the neighbourhood squares and chastely clad women in their 20s eating ice cream while their male counterparts congregate in billiard parlours or bowling alleys.
Meanwhile, in Al Rasheed St.'s popular book market, sales of English-language novels have plummeted and shoppers comb the stalls for religious texts.
Although the sobriety of the scene pleases many older Iraqis, those who have spent much of their lives under secular socialism also have doubts about where the religious emphasis is leading.
"Frankly, I think it's gone far enough already," says an official who asks not to be named. "We don't want to have women covering themselves in veils, like Afghanistan, or staying inside the home. This is an educated society and we don't want to live by religious rules."
But few would publicly disagree with a campaign so energetically promoted by Iraq's leader.
Saddam now appears in portraits wearing religious robes and new links between his family and that of the Prophet Muhammad have been discovered.
Most dramatically, at the Umm al-Ma'arik (Mother of all Battles) mosque in Baghdad, where missile-shaped minarets commemorate the Gulf War, pages of the Qur'an written in Saddam's own blood are proudly displayed in glass cases.
"He dedicated 24 litres of blood over three years," custodian Dahar Alani told London's daily Guardian.
The mosque also features a pool adorned with a mosaic of the Iraqi leader's thumb print and a giant copy of his signature.
In rare public appearances, Saddam takes pains to show his religious devotion, punctuating speeches with prayers and references to Allah, the Prophet Muhammad and the Qur'an. "Allah, we rely on you," he said in a recent address to the nation. "Protect us against the schemes of those for whom the devil is a master."
In their distress and confusion following years of war, sanctions and isolation, Iraqis increasingly rely on Allah for solace. And that fact may give little comfort to the U.S.
As Iraq moves closer to its faith, a "regime change" in Baghdad appears less appealing to the beleaguered citizens than closing ranks against any Western invader. Easy victory for Iraq's enemies seems unlikely, while the prospects for mounting bitterness and alienation from the West grow.
"Iraqis are good believers," says Karbala's spiritual leader, Al-Gurabi. "But hard times and harsh threats make them even stronger. They believe in Islam and they are ready to become martyrs."
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