Travel-book Baghdad

     By Youssef Rakha

     What is there to see in Iraq?

     Since the Gulf War, American-led political and economic sanctions, and, particularly, the
     media denunciations that explain them, have effected an almost complete identification
     between two possible meanings of the word "Iraq": on the one hand there is Saddam
     Hussein's rogue state; on the other, all the human phenomena that go into the making of a
     country whose historical importance, at least, remains undeniable.

     Yet global reality checks in the last few years have identified only one, bleak aspect: the
     ruthless despot behind impenetrable walls characterised by hunger and a curiously
     medieval edge of very palpable danger. Revolving round the concept of the (tourist) site,
     the art of modern travel renders the country a no man's land where the seeing can never
     justify the going.

     Baghdad was once the centre of the Arab-Islamic world: now it is among the least likely
     destinations in the universe, almost exotic in its inaccessibility. "Who wants to go there,
     anyway" has become the only possible exclamation.

     But whether motivated by altruism, cultural identification or mere curiosity, the desire to
     find out about the human experience, as opposed to the ministrations of the rogue state,
     continues to exercise the mind. Fortunately, the Arab cultural press occasionally provides the outlines of a possible
     cultural tour. The sad part is when one realises that, however alive and kicking the cultural landmarks might be, they
     are still overshadowed -- controlled, even -- by the mechanics of internal political power: Iraqi phenomena of art,
     literature and entertainment is, alas, continuously crushed by Iraq's hopeless economy, the disinherited,
     disorganised society, and the police state.

     First, a few general guidelines:

     The cauldron in which national identity is cooked takes little account of the outside world. The jars into which
     individuals are subsequently differentiated continue to be labelled according to a curious geographic compass.
     Nationalist and patriotic poles on this compass are inextricably tied up with an implicit subservience to the ruling
     apparatus. Culture and authority should not go together. Whereas the former is associated with values like
     freedom, creativity and truth, the latter, more often than not, finds expression in the very opposite of these
     attributes. Yet in the Arab world, the two are frequently intertwined.

     And it is to the cultural authorities in Iraq that what might be called the demise of Iraqi culture is due. These forces
     dictate the whats and the hows of artistic endeavour; it is they who determine the reward or punishment for anyone
     working in the country and thus manufacture the identities of cultural figures.

     Second, a necessary stop at the Press Syndicate:

                                      It is well to be aware that this institution's recent activities have tended
                                      to reflect the increasingly endemic urge to classify, in which the visitor,
                                      probably eclectically, might like to partake. The syndicate's
                                      culturally-oriented weekly newspaper Al-Zawraa published the names
                                      of 306 Iraqi writers, tidily classified into three categories. The first
                                      recalls the president's attempt to create for himself 99 names like the
                                      Muslim Holy Names, in that it refers to dissidents as the Apostates (75
                                      writers). The second group of writers, the Fence-sitters (38 writers)
                                      are defined quite simply as those who hover on the edge; it is implicit
                                      that, redeemable though they might be, they are not entirely to be
                                      trusted. The third group, the Workers (194 writers), consists of people
                                      who have fled Iraq in search of better opportunities. These, it is equally
                                      implied, are traitors.

     Is it worth pointing out that the syndicate's chairman is ''Udai Saddam Hussein? Or that the alternative General
     Union of Iraqi Writers and Journalists has formulated an intellectually articulate but politically impotent critique?
     (Al-Wasat, 18 September)

     Third, an overview of Iraqi television:

     Founded in 1956, Iraqi commentators insist, the institution is among the oldest and most prestigious in the Arab
     world. Yet in a recent critique, actress Wafaa Na'im describes the sharp downhill slope that Iraqi television has
     taken since the 1990s. In an effort to blow up the country's historical significance, television has devoted its efforts
     to large-scale historical dramas, for the most part ignoring what Na'im calls "the phase through which Iraqi society
     is currently passing -- the psychological, intellectual and economic levels of that phase."

     The historic-heroic and popular comedy genres are by far perceived as the most important, so the visitor can look
     forward to hours of free entertainment that, rather than reflecting the current state of affairs, works hard to conceal
     and subvert it. As Na'im points out, this ultimately does very little to boost the morale of the Iraqi people. A
     dramatist and critic, Na'im's words go doubly for theatre and cinema.

     The actor's position is similarly illuminated. "It is not right," she explains, "that the Iraqi actor should endure so much
     and give up so many rights, the excuse being that the country is in difficult circumstances. Rather, he has the right to
     be rewarded sufficiently, according to his effort, like any other actor. He should also be allowed to determine the
     time period during which he will be committed to an institution, rather than being forced to sit around for indefinite
     periods."

     Instead of blaming the current demise, as it is often the case throughout the Arab world, on the lack of competent
     dramatic texts, one should pay attention to the fatal lack of what Na'im calls "fresh blood" -- young artists and
     writers who can look forward to at least minimal degrees of success. (Al-Hayat, 15 September)

     On a brighter note, the visitor might like to conclude his tour curled up in the hotel with a smuggled copy of Iraqi
     writer Alis Beserini's new book The Baghdad Journals: 1970-1999, published recently in Paris by Larmatin.
     Basserini, who qualifies for the workers category, takes an old Iraqi saying as her starting point: "In the beginning
     God created the world, then heaven and hell, then Iraq." Through a close encounter with all things Iraqi, she
     elucidates the current crisis in excruciating detail, shedding light on the everyday intricacies of living under siege.
     Basserini doesn't hide her feelings about the Iraqi government, so the visitor should make sure the book stays well
     hidden. On the way back, it is important to note, the main thing is not to lose heart, clinging on to all possible hope.