Live From Baghdad

By Scott MacLeod

Hazem Hashem and Shama Ali picked a crazy time to fall in love. After the 20-year-old mechanic tied the knot with his 18-year-old cousin, the newlyweds headed to Baghdad's Ishtar Hotel, where they were greeted by folk dancers swaying to the beat of trumpets and drums. Yet as the couple checked into the honeymoon suite, with its scenic views of the Tigris River, thoughts of war intruded on their joy.

Hashem is an Iraqi army conscript. That makes it almost certain that he will be on the front lines if the U.S. leads an invasion of Iraq. "It's his duty to defend his country," remarks Ali, radiant in her white dress. She says it with a sigh of resignation that is frequently heard on the streets of Baghdad these days. If interviews conducted mostly in the presence of a government minder are an indication, most Iraqis feel that although Saddam Hussein agreed last week to new U.N. weapons inspections, war is coming nonetheless, either because their government will try to cheat the inspectors or because Washington wants to change Iraq's regime, no matter what. Iraqis aren't letting their worries paralyze them. "We're used to crisis, but we can't just sit here and die," says Amer al-Gailani, 21, a student at Baghdad University. "We are trying to enjoy what is left of our lives."

With garlands of colored lights decorating Baghdad for the holy month of Ramadan, the city is engulfed more by holiday spirit than war fever. After the U.N. eased sanctions against Iraq in 1996, local markets grew flush with everything from Korean TVs and Japanese cars to Syrian trousers and Egyptian milk. For reasons unknown, the government recently gave families an extra month's supply of such rationed items as rice and beans. Millions of dollars of illicit revenues are sloshing through the economy, thanks to oil smuggled across the borders with Jordan, Turkey and Iran. Iraqis are thus enjoying a relatively bountiful Ramadan, the time when Muslims fast during the day but join communal feasts called iftars at sunset.

Officers at the Defense Ministry have been instructed to wear civilian dress to work lest they become easy targets in a surprise attack, according to Western diplomats. Beyond that, there are few signs that the country has gone on a war footing. The front entrance to Saddam's main palace on the Tigris is fortified with concrete blocks, but it appeared to have been temporarily deserted by famished troops one evening last week at the time of the iftar. There have been no runs on the banks, no reports of hoarding of food. Iraqis are even relatively calm on the subject of America. Many, of course, are bitter over the 12-year-long U.S.-supported embargo, which Baghdad claims has led to thousands of infants and elderly people dying from preventable diseases. Ammar Shamal, 21, an engineering student, could muster only this lament: "I don't know what America wants from us." Despite a recent rise in Islamic fundamentalism, encouraged in part by a government-sponsored religious campaign, few Iraqis seem to share Osama bin Laden's repugnance for Western culture. Sitting on the lawn of Al Mustansiriyah University, geography student Hamid Lechali, 19, complained that America wants to control Iraq's huge oil reserves. But when the discussion moved away from politics, his 18-year-old girlfriend delightedly declared her favorite actors to be Tom Cruise and Nicolas Cage. "I like John Travolta too," Lechali said. If any Iraqis have sympathy for bin Laden, it is not as automatic as it is on the streets of Saudi Arabia and Egypt, putative U.S. allies. Premed student Omar Alazwain, 21, had a quick answer when asked about the Sept. 11 attacks. "We think bin Laden is a terrorist," he said.

Many Iraqis have harsh things to say about their leader too, if you ask them in a rare moment when they feel brave or unguarded enough to confide their true feelings. One unconfirmable tale making the rounds involves a kindergarten student who was asked by his teacher if he had seen Papa Saddam's speech on television the night before. After the boy replied, "No. When he comes on TV, my father always turns it off," the father went missing. Or so the tale goes. Still, some Iraqis seem genuinely worried that without a strongman like Saddam, Iraq could descend into violent strife among Sunni Muslims, Shi'ite Muslims and Kurds. "I've told my wife to stop listening to these scenarios," says a government official. "It's causing too much anxiety." But then he too took on that air of resignation, as if this were a worry Iraqis must also bear.