Active Unit News

In Hussein's town, a day now like any other
National holiday to mark birthday isn't observed in Tikrit for 1st time in years
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By Scott Calvert
Sun Foreign Staff
Originally published April 29, 2003
TIKRIT, Iraq -- The birthday party's over for Saddam Hussein, even here in his hometown and political stronghold 110 miles north of Baghdad. Hussein turned 66 yesterday, assuming he's still alive, but no bash was thrown at the gleaming, marble-columned complex built for the annual nationwide celebration of his birth on April 28. For the first time in years, the only noisemakers were the U.S. tanks clattering around beneath the big red "28" emblazoned on the palatial facade. About 150 chanting Hussein loyalists did rally outside a nearby mosque, prompting U.S. soldiers to tell the crowd to go home. It was the latest sign of tension between troops and Tikritis standing by their fallen leader; residents said a tank crushed two cars during a pre-birthday rally Saturday. Still, the recent demonstrations have been tame compared with the three-day festivals that in past years drew top Iraqi officials -- but rarely the security-conscious Hussein -- to the flat landscape of Tikrit. All across Iraq, April 28 has reverted from a national holiday to a normal day. In Baghdad, for example, Arbatash Ramadan Street looked like any commercial strip rebounding from war. Gone were the dancers, singers and slogan-shouters who flooded it in past years, replaced by growing numbers of shoppers. Not only is there little reason to cheer for Hussein today, but many Iraqis did so in the past only because they thought the regime's myriad eyes were watching them. Even so, Tikrit is a special case. The city on the Tigris River benefited disproportionately from Hussein's 24 years in power, and some residents wish they could keep those perquisites. Hussein's largesse paid for public improvements such as new roads and a modern hospital. He put relatives and members of his tribe in plum government jobs. He erected a mosque in honor of his late father, Hussein al-Majid. Tikrit's links to the regime, while producing envy or anger around Iraq, spawned such a sense of civic pride, arrogance even, that people from elsewhere in the north falsely claimed the city as their own, said Mahmoud Hashim, an appliance salesman. "Nowadays," he said with a wry smile, "it is the opposite." Now, some residents are trying hard to portray Tikrit as a typical city, nevermind the mammoth palace with a front gate topped by two statues of a warrior Hussein on horseback. "Iraqis imagine Tikrit as a big castle -- a luxury city," said Nafa Hazim, 35, a lawyer. "This is the real Tikrit. You can see the truth: a normal city, normal buildings, sometimes less than normal buildings, a simple life." In some ways it does look like a normal city. It is relatively clean, with a sleepy feel that may or may not be due to the tanks on its streets. The business district consists of several streets with one-story shops. Humble origins Hussein was born just outside Tikrit, in the village of al-Oja, in 1937. His family's simple mud hut still stands, carefully tended by relatives to show off his humble origins. Hussein's father died or disappeared before he was born, according to Sandra Mackey in The Reckoning. His mother, Subha, then married Ibrahim al-Hassan, a man Hussein depicts in official biographies as an abusive brute. Despite his hard childhood, Hussein retained, through his birth father, prized membership in the al-Bejat clan of the Albu Nasir tribe. He would use this connection to help build up his power and, later, to keep it by placing tribesmen in trusted roles. On the Baghdad-to-Mosul highway yesterday, signs that one was entering Hussein country were evident well south of Tikrit. At one point, two dozen men shouted and waved rifles in the air as they converged on the two northbound lanes. One man bounced a framed portrait of Hussein up and down over his head. As cars slowed down or stopped, some of the men began firing repeatedly into the air, presumably in celebration. They scattered only when a convoy of U.S. Army trucks approached minutes later. Farther north, in Mosul, Americans were still feeling some resistance. U.S. forces shot and killed one Iraqi when he tried to ram into a battalion command center; another man was killed after firing on another U.S. installation. After dark, gunfire could be heard in different parts of the city. In Tikrit, beyond the "Down USA" message scrawled on a road sign, a dozen children held a rally of their own. They waved Iraqi flags and unfurled a picture of Hussein as they danced in the street, unintentionally undercutting their message with their youth and small number. "With our blood and souls," they chanted, thinly, "we shall redeem you, Saddam Hussein!" 'They had a lot to lose' Members of the Army's 4th Infantry Division had taken up temporary residence inside the birthday complex. "There are definitely some hard-liners out there who are upset," said Capt. Andy Kahmann. "They had a lot to lose." As a precaution, Apache attack helicopters circled slowly over the city yesterday afternoon. One fired its 30-mm gun, the spent shells falling to the ground like hail. It was impossible to discern its target except that it lay east of town and was soon smoking. On Saturday, the Army imposed a 10 p.m.-to-6 a.m. curfew in Tikrit and painted over anti-American graffiti and portraits of Hussein that still blanketed the city. In Baghdad and other cities, Iraqis defaced or destroyed Hussein's likeness on their own. Not so in Tikrit. In a game of cat and mouse, U.S. troops -- first Marines and now the Army -- take one down only to have Tikritis put up another. While troops have tried to cover up English graffiti, they have left untouched those written in Arabic. "Saddam is going to come back again," reads one. "Happy birthday, sir, the leader," says another. "You could tell it was building up," Kahmann said, resting a foot on the severed head of a Hussein statue. "People were testing the water by spray-painting anti-American graffiti and putting up posters of Saddam." Many Tikritis want the troops to stay, Kahmann said, because they worry that Hussein might re-emerge once they leave. But others, he conceded, give soldiers "a hard stare." But none has fired shots at the soldiers, he said, because the Marines made clear they would shoot anyone carrying a weapon in public. The Army broke up yesterday's rally to send a message, he said: "It's to show that the regime is no longer in power, that we want them to establish their own government, and it's not going to be that one." That attitude struck one young resident as ironic. "They gave us freedom," said a teen-age boy who did not give his name, "but then prevented us from celebrating." Until this year, the main celebration in town, and in all Iraq, took place at the birthday complex. Residents would line the streets to cheer buses bringing revelers from all over the country. The procession would end in what resembles a large parking lot with grandstand seating on either side. The three newest buildings, erected in 1996, stand in a row. The two on either end have green seats and a total of 28 marble pillars. High-ranking Iraqi officials such as Deputy Prime Minister Tariq Aziz could sit in the second floor of one and watch the spectacle of singing and dancing, and make speeches glorifying Hussein. Hazim, the lawyer, used to look forward to the celebration. His family baked a cake in Hussein's honor and turned out to cheer and chant slogans. But not even the cake was baked this year. "I participate only with my tears," he said glumly, sitting outside with his three children. Whatever Hussein's flaws as a leader, Hazim said, he gave Iraqi people security -- and Tikritis a sense of pride. He described the war just ended as the work of U.S. aggression. And while Hazim does not know if Hussein survived to mark his birthday, he knows an era has ended, and that makes him sad. "We were happy in those days," he said, weeping. "We are not going to forget." Copyright © 2003, The Baltimore Sun