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American
helicopters drone overhead as armed guards open the
gates to the compound. A colleague uses a mirror to
check the underside of the car for bombs.
Credentials are scrutinised once, twice, three
times. At an inner gate a sentry does a serious
frisk, not the usual pat-and-go. Mobile phones are
handed over. "And your watches." Two Americans with
crew cuts and flak jackets with grenades, flares and
ammunition clips are the escorts through the
mansion's grounds. There is a moat with brown water,
apparently bereft of life, until a fish leaps out
and plops back in.
Of his many Baghdad palaces this was said to be one
of Saddam Hussein's favourites. Now it is occupied
by the man poised to replace him as ruler of Iraq.
Ibrahim al-Jaafari is a very different man from the
deposed dictator, but he shares an occupational
hazard: lots of people want to kill him.
To those who knew him as a mild-mannered family
doctor in Wembley, north London, the transformation
must be astounding. He is the epitome of a GP: a
neatly trimmed beard, a bowl of sweets for visitors,
chit-chat about the weather, the voice so soft you
sometimes have to lean forward to catch the words.
At one point he turns nostalgic. "Did you ever go to
Edinburgh? I liked Scotland. And Dublin was nice."
Last week the main Shia alliance that won the
national election on January 30 chose Jaafari to be
its candidate as prime minister, making his
elevation almost certain. It will sandwich him
between the aspirations of a divided people and the
competing interests of America, Iran, Israel and the
insurgents. Will he cosy up to Tehran and push for
an Islamist constitution that erodes women's rights?
Will he alienate Sunnis by a sweeping purge of
Ba'athist loyalists? Will he ask the US-led
occupation force to leave sooner rather than later?
Will he be up to the job? Will he survive the
insurgents' bombs and bullets?
Shias, 60% of the population, were oppressed by
successive rulers, but that ended last month when
the Shia bloc, the United Iraqi Alliance, won 140 of
275 national assembly seats. It has the tacit
backing of Iraq's most revered cleric, Grand
Ayatollah Ali al-Sistani, and should have little
trouble installing its candidate as prime minister,
a more powerful post than the largely ceremonial
presidency.
Technically the prime minister is appointed by the
president and two deputy presidents, who are
themselves appointed by the assembly, but in reality
the cabinet is being divvied up by party brokers in
closed-door meetings. Jaafari clinched the support
of his Islamic Dawa party and the alliance's other
big party, the Supreme Council for the Islamic
Revolution in Iraq.
The Shias' political ascendance worries the Kurds
and Sunnis. In a manner that can only be described
as bedside, Jaafari offers soothing words of
moderation and inclusion. The Kurds and Sunnis will
be integral to building a democratic, stable nation.
"They are all our brothers."
That is exactly what Washington and London want:
conciliatory leadership guiding the Shias away from
revenge and domination now that the boot is on the
other foot. But Jaafari also advocates "deBa'athification",
the uprooting of former regime cadres from positions
of responsibility. The Shias having been slaughtered
and persecuted by the Ba'ath party, it is an
understandable impulse, but it could turn into a
witch-hunt that deepens Sunni alienation.
"I personally favour an amnesty for some, but not
for those who committed crimes," says the soft
voice. "If need be, we will be strong against the
perpetrators of acts of violence, and at the same
time we will be lenient with anybody who will work
with us." It sounds a reasonable formula, but there
is a calculated vagueness that worries western
diplomats. Going after Ba'athists could undercut any
effort to reach out to Sunnis.
Jaafari was born in Karbala, a holy Shia city. He
graduated from Mosul university with a medical
degree in 1974, already a member of Dawa, Iraq's
oldest Shia party. Saddam's secular, Sunni-dominated
regime cracked down in the late 1970s, massacring
thousands of members and their families. Jaafari
narrowly escaped in 1980, to Iran for nine years,
then Britain, as a mid-ranking member of the exiled
opposition.
Leaving his two sons, three daughters and wife
behind, he returned in 2003 to become the first
chairman of the US-appointed governing council. A
year later he became one of two vice-presidents. The
post was devoid of real power, but it was a platform
to become known and liked as an avuncular figure. He
is the third-most-admired figure in Iraq, according
to one poll.
He is ambiguous about the Americans. They should
stay as long as they are needed to bolster security,
he says, which could mean they will be asked to
leave in a few months, years or decades.
Simultaneously he wants to bring into government
supporters of the radical cleric Moqtada al-Sadr,
who twice revolted against the occupation.
Another explosive issue is Kurdish autonomy. The
Kurds run their own affairs in the north and dream
of full independence. They took a quarter of the
assembly seats, giving them leverage over the Shias
in a system that requires two-thirds majorities for
big decisions. "Our Kurdish brothers are in a good
position. They will have a good presence in the
government." There is a steely, vague warning,
however, not to breach national unity. "If they go
beyond these rights, we could prevent them."
The other big question is Islam. Jaafari's alliance
has strong links to Iran and is guided by a grand
ayatollah who forbids chess and listening to music
for entertainment. Jaafari does not drink, smoke,
play cards or go to the cinema. As a member of the
now defunct Iraqi governing council he advocated
applying sharia law to issues such as marriage,
divorce and inheritance. Now he sounds mellower,
declining to say sharia should be the sole source of
a constitution that is to be drafted by August and
noting that his gynaecologist wife drives a car and
has a career.
Some analysts fear that Jaafari is a frontman for
hardliners determined to build a theocracy. Others
say he is a devout, conservative Shia but also a
pragmatist who will cut deals with the Sunnis and
secular Kurds. Some worry that he is too
self-effacing and shy for the job.
Ensconced in Saddam's former palace, a bodyguard in
the corner, dignitaries waiting inεΚεΚthe corridor,
an insurgency to quell, an economy to fix, a country
to unite .εΚ.εΚ. it is a long way from treating sick
Londoners. "Yes, much to do," he smiles.
http://www.guardian.co.uk
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