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It's a land of big dreams - in Iraqi
Kurdistan
13.8.2007
By Susan T.Martin
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August
13, 2007
Erbil-Hewler, Kurdistan region (Iraq), --
They call this "The Other Iraq."
The one where people still think rivers are for
swimming in, not dumping headless bodies.
The one where Spc. Jotyar Tile, a U.S. soldier, can
shop at the market on Saturdays without fear of
being kidnapped or killed.
The one where life is generally so calm there's
serious talk of developing tourism.
This is also the part of Iraq where you almost never
see the Iraqi flag or hear anyone call themselves
"Iraqi." Instead, 5 -million Kurds know it as
Kurdistan -- a veritable country within a country.
"All the negatives aside, we've managed our region,"
says Vian Ahmad Pasha, a member of the Kurdish
Parliament.
"There is peace in our land - this is a very
important point."
While other parts of Iraq remain paralyzed by
insurgents and extremists, the Kurds are building a
comparatively safe and progressive society. There's
so much construction -- schools, highways, luxury
housing -- that Kurdistan is being compared to Dubai
and Kuwait at the start of their boom times.
And like the rich gulf states, Kurdistan floats on a
vast sea of oil.
For now, Kurds say they are willing to share their
oil wealth and remain part of Iraq, albeit a largely
separate one with its own government, flag and
security forces. But it's no secret that Kurds
distrust their Arab countrymen, that they think the
main Iraqi government is a dysfunctional mess and
that they hope to have a nation of their own.
"I'm not in a hurry," says Imad Sedeek, a Kurdish
hotel owner. "Let us get our energy infrastructure,
our roads, a good higher education system. When we
have everything, then we are a state."
Isolated no longer
Passengers at the Kurdish airports in Erbil and
Sulaimaniyah need a lot of patience.
The United States still controls all Iraqi airspace,
meaning civilian planes can be delayed eight, even
20 hours when there is military action elsewhere in
Iraq.
But for Kurds, it's a minor annoyance compared with
the heady sense of independence that comes from
being able to fly nonstop to Vienna, Dubai and other
foreign cities without going through Baghdad.
"This was a big dream for us," says Rizgar Hamawandi,
associate director of the Kurdistan Development
Corp. "This was like a gate opening to all the
world."
A non-Arab people with their own language and
customs, Kurds have long lived in relative isolation
in mountainous northern Iraq. During Saddam
Hussein's era, as many as 500,000 were killed or
disappeared when he tried to "Arab-ize" the country.
Kurds rose up against Hussein after the 1991 Persian
Gulf War, but the revolt failed when expected U.S.
support failed to materialize. More than a million
Kurds fled to the mountains along the Turkish
border. Thousands died of cold and starvation when
Turkey denied them entry.
Faced with world outrage, the United Nations created
a haven for Kurds in three northern Iraqi provinces.
With the protection of U.S. fighter jets and the
help of foreign aid money, Kurds began rebuilding
their region while the rest of Iraq stagnated under
international sanctions.
The fall of Hussein's regime in 2003 brought hopes
of a united, peaceful Iraq. But scenes of mayhem
quickly convinced the Kurds that their continued
progress lay in protecting themselves from Arab
terrorism.
"We have a problem with Arabs," says Sabah Khidr of
Assayish, the Kurdish version of the FBI. "We have
suffered too much from Arabs."
Security is tightest at Kurdistan's two new
airports. Departing passengers go through three
checkpoints and a maze of barricades before reaching
a remote waiting hall, where they and their luggage
are screened. A bus takes passengers to the terminal
a mile away.
"The security is inconvenient, but we have to do
it," says Handren Hiwamufa, manager of the
Sulaimaniyah airport. "We don't want to be
embarrassed."
The Kurds have also dug a deep ditch around Irbil,
their capital and largest city. That forces all cars
from Baghdad and other non-Kurdish areas to go
through checkpoints, where guards search every
vehicle and examine identity papers.
Arabs cannot enter unless sponsored by a Kurd, who
must go to the checkpoint in person.
The system is not foolproof: In May, a truck bomb
killed 14 people. The bombers had entered Kurdistan
legally, paying a Kurdish sponsor who wanted money
to buy his brother a taxi.
Still, terrorism is rare enough to allow a rush of
construction.
Erbil's 300,000 residents now have their first
bowling alley and health club, with separate
swimming pools for men and women.
In the center of town, work starts next month on a
hypermarket, theater, mall and four-star hotel.
Outside the city, construction is well under way on
a $50-million international school for 2,000
students. Hundreds of luxury townhomes are going up
in "American Village" and "English Village" - names
unthinkable elsewhere in Iraq.
Most of the projects are partnerships between the
Kurdish government, which provides the land, and
Persian Gulf companies. Hamawandi of the development
council regrets there has been little investment by
U.S. firms, which are leery of building in what
insurers consider a war zone.
He also wonders if some of the current projects
should be priorities, especially when electricity is
sporadic, rural roads are terrible and many Kurds
still live in mud huts.
"We've got Naz City," Hamawandi says, referring to
the 14 upscale condo towers near the airport.
"Apartments cost $165,000. Who can pay this? And it
has to be in cash!"
Enemies all around
Traveling around the Kurdish north, a visitor saw
only one Iraqi flag - in the Sulaimaniyah airport
from which Iraqi President Jalal Talabani, a Kurd,
flies to Baghdad.
"The Kurdish government doesn't allow the flag, but
Talabani told us to put it up," says Hiwamufta, the
manager. So Iraq's flag hangs in the VIP lounge,
mostly hidden from sight, while the Kurdish flag
with its big yellow sun waves prominently outside
the terminal.
The flag issue reflects the fact that Kurdistan is
still largely controlled by two men: Talabani, whose
political base is around Sulaimaniyah, and Massoud
Barzani, the current president of Kurdistan who has
a mountaintop retreat outside Erbil.
Kurds acknowledge their government is not as
democratic as sometimes portrayed. But they are glad
the once-bitter rivals now share power.
"I think the best thing is for the two parties to
join together against the rise of radical Muslim
movements," says Sedeek, the hotel owner. "I don't
want to see Kurdistan and the nice people we have
here end up in organizations like Hamas."
On a national level, Kurds have an uncomfortable
alliance with Iraq's Shiite majority. Both groups
favor a decentralized Iraqi government, with the
oil-rich Kurdish north and the oil-rich Shiite south
having considerable autonomy from Sunnis in the
oil-poor Baghdad area.
But Kurds, many of them secular Muslims who enjoy
their beer and wine, don't want conservative Shiites
telling them how to act. And both Shiites and Sunnis
are angry at the Kurds' aggressive effort to claim
Kirkuk, a city with vast oil reserves.
Barzani recently warned that Iraq is headed for "a
real civil war" if Baghdad keeps delaying a
referendum that could annex Kirkuk to the Kurdish
region.
As much as they distrust the Arabs, most Kurds
concede they couldn't break away from Iraq without a
violent response from Turkey, Iran and Syria. All
have restive Kurdish populations and fear the
growing autonomy of Iraqi Kurds could fuel
separatist movements in their own countries.
"We must stay together with Iraq because we are
surrounded by enemies," says Hamawandi of the
Kurdish Development Council. "They will not accept
our independence."
To protect them from threats inside and out, Kurds
would like the United States to establish a major
military base in their region. Sen. Joe Biden, a
Democratic presidential candidate, and some other
U.S. politicians endorse the idea as a way to get
troops out of volatile areas, but keep a presence in
Iraq.
Kurdistan is so stable that only a few dozen U.S.
soldiers are there now, most of them working in a
supply depot at the Turkish border. Among them is
Spc. Tile, a Kurd who moved to North Dakota during
Hussein's era, became a U.S. citizen and joined the
Army Reserves.
"People here are very, very proud of me being
Kurdish," says Tile, 37. He interprets when he and
fellow soldiers are invited to Kurdish homes for
lunch, as they often are. Unlike most Iraqis, Kurds
are fond of Americans.
"We need good relations in this region," Tile says,
"and Americans are doing a good job at it. But we
need more people to help."
sptimes com
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