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ARBIL, Iraq, Aug 8 (Reuters) - It may not be an
independent state and is unlikely to gain that
status any time soon. But land at the airport of its
"capital" and you could be forgiven for thinking
that Kurdistan was a country.
Arbil, the capital of the autonomous Kurdish region
that occupies a large portion of northern Iraq, is
just 45 minutes flying time from Baghdad.
But there are no Iraqi flags at the "international"
airport -- a single glass building stuck at the end
of a short runway. Instead the Kurdish flag flutters
everywhere, red, white and green with a golden sun
at its centre.
Passports, even Iraqi ones, are minutely checked by
Kurdish immigration staff.
Most signs are only in Kurdish, the mobile phone
network is a distinct Kurdish one that doesn't
connect to Baghdad, and locals warn the newly
arrived not to utter a word of Arabic.
The situation has been more or less the same since
the Kurds carved three semi-independent provinces
out of northern Iraq after the 1991 Gulf War,
sealing it off from the rest of the country under
cover of a no-fly zone enforced on Saddam Hussein's
air force by U.S. and British warplanes.
For 14 years, that separateness allowed them greater
opportunities for growth and investment, while
keeping the rest of Iraq and its problems at arm's
length.
But as Iraq prepares a draft of a new constitution,
which must encompass all Iraqis -- Kurds, Sunni and
Shi'ite Arabs, Christians and Turkmen -- many Kurds
fear giving up hard-won ground and settling for
something less than they have.
"I am Kurdish. My life is Kurdish. I love Kurdistan.
We must remain separate from what is going on in
Iraq," says Abdul Kadar Mustafa, 40, the owner of a
dry cleaning shop in Arbil.
"I feel sorry for what is going on in Iraq -- we
don't want the same problems here. But I don't trust
our government to keep us apart," he said, referring
to the Kurdish regional government, which operates
independently of Baghdad.
ANOTHER WORLD
The president of the Kurdish region, Masoud Barzani,
who also heads the Kurdistan Democratic Party, one
of two major Kurdish parties and the one that is
dominant around Arbil, was on his way to Baghdad on
Monday for talks on the constitution.
Barzani, a former guerrilla leader known for his
traditional Kurdish head dress, makes little secret
of his disdain for Baghdad and his longing for an
independent Kurdish state.
While independence may not be possible, he at least
wants a Kurdish region that is strongly autonomous
within federal Iraqi state, with its own budget, oil
revenues, army, education system and demarcated
borders.
Yet the constitution, which he is under intense
pressure to sign up to, and a draft of which must be
presented to parliament by Aug. 15, is expected to
describe a much more general form of federalism, one
that doesn't mesh with Kurdish aspirations.
If it falls short, filling the gap could prove
problematic.
"It's real federalism we want, Kurdish-style
federalism, not something weak," says Hiwa Kassim,
25, an engineering student sipping tea in an Arbil
cafe.
"If we don't get that, then we will have to be
another country without Iraq. And if that is not
possible, then war."
War is hardly a serious possibility at this stage,
with U.S. troops enforcing a peace of sorts across
Iraq and memories still painful of fighting with
Saddam and then years of civil war among the Kurds
themselves during the 1990s.
But there is no question the Kurdish sense of
separateness runs deep, particularly in Arbil, and
that if Kurdish leaders appear to settle for too
little in the constitution, it will cause profound
ructions.
Tensions with their Arab neighbours are particularly
great over the fate of the oil city of Kirkuk, just
south of Kurdish territory, which Kurds hope one day
to annex as their capital.
At the same time, Arbil is pushing ahead with its
subtle, and at times not-so-subtle, campaign to look
and feel completely apart from the chaotic, violent
regions to the south.
Business and investment abounds, with money flooding
in from Lebanon and Turkey, untroubled by problems
elsewhere in Iraq.
And in the Sheraton Arbil, a swanky, mirrored-glass
hotel completely renovated in the past two years,
the clocks at reception give guests the time in New
York, London, Istanbul and Arbil -- just not in
Baghdad.
Reuters
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