Regards, Ivan
Posted on 04/26/2003 4:30:59 PM PDT by MadIvan
Just outside one of Baghdad's prisons, Olga Craig finds a former guard taking boys of the Saddam Youth through their drill. For them the war is far from over.
Theia Kalid gazes bleakly at the defaced murals of Saddam Hussein that dominate the walls of the looted and bombed out Baghdad prison where, before the war, he was a guard. He shakes his head in despair as he traces the outline of the former President's face, now bullet riddled and scored with knives.
Then, eyes blazing, he points to the two teenage boys who follow deferentially in his wake. "You boys," he tells them, "you are the seeds from which the new Ba'ath party will flower. See how our great President Saddam has been wiped from these walls and always remember that it is through young people like you that he will rise again."
The boys, Hisham and Daham, nod solemnly, anxious to please their teacher. In silence they produce dusty rags from their pockets and begin to rub fruitlessly at the murals, which are beyond repair.
"These are two of my best pupils," Theia says proudly. "They know our glorious history. They know the West is our enemy. Their hearts are sick to see American soldiers in our country, here to make slaves of us and take our oil. But they, along with the thousands we will muster, will be the Ba'ath party future. They are our Saddam Ftoa."
His words have a chilling resonance: the Arabic word Ftoa means "young from which things grow". Hisham and Daham are two of a band of teenage boys and girls who are, in effect, Saddam's equivalent of the Hitler Youth. In their homes they have distinctive blue uniforms with a picture of Saddam sewn on the right breast. They practise sports and go on picnics together. They support and protect each other.
But their organisation has another, more sinister side. On Thursday nights they still meet in the city to learn the ideology of the Ba'ath party and twice a week they all receive weapons training. Since the war, they have had to supply their own guns, buying them for little more than $10 each over the counters of black market stores all over Baghdad.
Hisham and Daham, both 14 years old, have graduated from the Saddam Talai, which is for children of eight to 11, to the Saddam Ftoa which trains 12 to 16-year-olds. It is only when they enrol in the Ftoa that they are introduced to arms training.
Although Saddam never acknowledged the training of a youth brigade, he has, in several past speeches, spoken admiringly of the Hitler Youth. It is widely believed that he belonged to the Futuwa, a paramilitary youth organisation which was modelled on the Hitler Youth and was formed in Baghdad in the late 1950s.
The brutality that Theia, 27, witnessed in his 10 years as a guard in the political wing of the prison failed to dim his hero worship of Saddam. He insists he never took part in tortures or interrogations but talks enthusiastically of beatings - with cables and bats - that he watched.
As he speaks the boys listen avidly. To them, he is a hero who fought with the Iraqi forces in Basra before fleeing north to Baghdad. He is ashamed that the city's fighters laid down their arms so readily.
"I thought Baghdad would hold out for six months at least," he says sullenly. "Now look at what we have," he tells the two boys. "We are an occupied country where we will be expected to kneel down to the Americans. But the time will come when we will fight again and you young boys must be ready."
At his feet Daham pulls out a book with a picture of Saddam on the cover. "Each night I learn his sayings," he says. "My father is angry with me, he is fearful for me. But like Theia I have grown up with the Ba'ath party. It gave us strong leadership, we had someone great to look up to. Now I want to be part of its resurrection. Theia says we must wait for our time, but I would like to fight now."
Theia holds up his hand and silences the teenagers. "You have not yet learned when to silence your tongue," he scolds him. "They are young, they are impulsive," Theia says, "but that will be their strength. We need a strong, brave army in the future - for when men like me are too old to fight."
Theia will not listen to any criticism of Saddam. No, he has never been to his palace, not even near enough to look at it. But he doesn't care how luxurious it was. "He deserved it," he says. "He had all of us Iraqis to look after."
As he conducts a tour of his dark and foreboding former workplace he explains: "The prison had three wings: the light one for men who served up to 10 years; the heavy one which was for longer, mostly lifers, and the political wing where I worked. There you could never be sure how long they would be held."
As we walk past dingy, barred 5ft by 5ft cells, Theia gleefully walks ahead, opening the door to what appears to be a small, upright cupboard. In here is isolation, he says. The "cupboard" is tall enough and wide enough to hold a standing man, but there is no room to turn around.
"It meant they had time to ponder their crimes," he shrugs, oblivious to the suffering that the prisoners must have endured. "It is important that the boys see such things. They are our future. To be that, they must understand our past and our present so that they can ensure, once the infidels are routed, that we will never be occupied again."
Regards, Ivan
Baghdad Bob lives!
A_R
If anyone thinks this attitude will change with time, it won't.
Look at American liberals -- at any irrational ideology -- to realize that truth based in reality means nothing to them.
What does mean something to the irrational is the essence of evil -- seeing hate to be a virtue.
When I posted that, I was posting to MadIvan. As you may have noticed, he is a citizen of the United Kingdom. When I said "Yanks" I meant "Americans." I am indeed a "Yankee" if you want to get technical--A DownEaster by birth and now an Illinoisian by the grace of God. But where the rubber meets the road, sir, I am an American, not a Yankee, and I do NOT participate in Southern-bashing. Heck, I've probably seen more Klansmen than you, they tried a very unsuccessful recruiting trip in my part of Maine during a big paper mill strike.
Might want to check the action on that gun, sir. Seems you got a touchy hair trigger there.
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