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Kurdistan Goes Sour
19.11.2007
By Larry Kaplow
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As
violence elsewhere in Iraq dies down, Kurdish
frustration is up.
November 19, 2007
As shocking as it was to witness, Nariman Ali wasn't
surprised when a mob of his fellow Kurds ransacked
and burned the paramount emblem of their people's
suffering—the memorial to the more than 5,000
victims of Saddam Hussein's 1988 chemical attack on
Halabja. A year and a half later, the building is
still a haunting, smoke-stained shell. Mannequins
representing the fallen victims lie broken and
limbless. The glass panes that once protected walls
bearing names of the dead have been shattered. But
Ali, 27, whose brother and father died from the gas
and who now translates for visiting dignitaries, is
in no hurry to fix the place up. "They must [only]
rebuild the memorial after they rebuild the city,"
Ali says.
Last year's rioters accused Kurdish leaders of
exploiting the monument for photo ops but failing to
address or even visit Halabja itself, a nearby city
of about 60,000 people. Chastened by the outburst,
the Kurdistan government now plays catch-up with a
flurry of road, sewage and housing projects. But
distrust runs deep and the monument, so central in
presenting the Kurdish case to the world, has become
an accidental symbol of Kurds' outrage at their own
leaders. "If the government doesn't meet the needs
of the people, it will happen again," warns Kamran
Ahmed, a student activist who saw the riot and
arson. "It's OK with people if they get rid of it
completely."
It's not just the Kurds of Halabja who are angry. A
poll released last month for ABC, the BBC and
Japanese network NHK reported a steep increase in
Kurdish pessimism. The share of Kurds saying their
lives were good dropped from 68 percent in March to
49 percent in October, while those who thought their
children would have a worse life than they did rose
from 22 percent to 46 percent. www.ekurd.net
The sentiment can seem paradoxical considering
conditions in the semi-autonomous Kurdish north of
Iraq. Life for the 4 million Kurds there is probably
better than it has been in decades and certainly
better than that of their countrymen. The region has
been free from the violence that has gripped the
rest of Iraq. Kurds and foreigners alike can walk
the streets free from bombings or kidnappings. A
building spree has thrown up dozens of flashy new
glass-fronted hotels, hospitals, offices and homes.
Unemployment stands at around 10 percent, compared
to rates higher than 50 percent in other parts of
the country. For the most part, Kurds are free to
speak their minds.
But many Kurds sharply deny that their land is a
success story. They complain of dirty water and poor
electricity, of cronyism and a lack of real
political options. They warn of a growing gap
between the poor and the politically connected rich.
While the Kurdish region receives 17 percent of
Iraq's revenue—about $4.7 billion this year—Kurds
accuse their leaders of blowing the money on
do-nothing jobs for party faithful. Inflation runs
about 30 percent a year, says Muhemmad Raouf, an
economics professor at Sulaimaniya University, as
refugees and contractors have driven up the price of
housing. Entrepreneurs complain of being shaken down
by party operatives, who threaten to hold up
business permits unless they're made partners.
Mostly, people grouse that there are elections but
no real choice between the two monster parties, the
Patriotic Union of Kurdistan (PUK) and the Kurdistan
Democratic Party (KDP), which manage their own
business conglomerates and omnipresent security
services.
The two parties, perhaps America's biggest allies in
Iraq, no longer jail journalists but the threat
remains. Last year an editor received a six-month
suspended sentence when his newspaper wrote that a
top PUK official, who hadn't paid his bills, had
ordered two communications workers fired for cutting
his phone service. A Halabja reporter was detained
overnight in July for writing about favoritism in
the sales of city land. That same month Human Rights
Watch released a report detailing widespread abuses
in Kurdish prisons.
Political leaders recognize that dissatisfaction is
at a high. "The needs of the people are so obvious
but the question is whether there is any will to
solve the problems," says Dr. Fouad Baban, a member
of the Kurdish regional parliament from the PUK
party that dominates eastern Kurdistan. "We have to
really change." Dana Ahmed Majeed, the PUK governor
of the Sulaimaniyah province that includes Halabja,
says Kurdistan is passing through a tough stage
between liberation and democracy. But Kurds doubt
their leaders will ever loosen their grip on power.
Everyone agrees the discontent is most acute among
younger Kurds, who don't remember Saddam's
oppression and are unimpressed with tales of their
forebears fighting in the mountains. "This has
nothing to do with the past. In every age people
have their own demands," says Kamal Abdul Rahman,
26. Some of those demands are self-indulgent: for
the last two months a group of students has staged a
tent vigil in a Sulaimaniyah park, asking for rent
subsidies, money for couples to get married, jobs
for everyone. But it's true that opportunities for
young Kurds have not caught up with their ambitions.
Party connections are required to land a good job
or, in some cases, to get into graduate school. Many
middle-class Kurds are leaving the country for work. www.ekurd.net
In Halabja, there is a plan to rebuild the memorial
with a library and Internet center for young people.
Workers are laying down new sidewalks, as well as
the foundations on hundreds of low-income homes.
"People are unsatisfied still but not like before,"
says Mudrik Hama Amin, a local student, as he showed
an Iranian Kurdish cousin the cemetery for the gas
victims. Still, he thinks the museum should be moved
from Halabja's outskirts to downtown. That way, VIPs
wouldn't be able to ignore today's Kurds while they
pay homage to yesterday's.
newsweek com
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