By Sandro Contenta
Toronto Star Middle East Bureau
Ten years ago, oil-rich Iraq was considered an emerging success story,
whose
hospitals and schools were the envy of the Middle East. But a decade of
U.N.-imposed sanctions has brought the country to its knees.
A growing chorus of protesters wants to lift sanctions, arguing they hurt
the Iraqi
people rather than the Saddam Hussein regime. The Star's Middle East Bureau
chief
Sandro Contenta recently spent two weeks investigating conditions in Iraq
as part of
a comprehensive look at sanctions and its effect on that country.
BAGHDAD - A sandstorm is obliterating Baghdad as Hassam Abdul Razak and
his
nephew sit in an auction house, their hopes riding on a battered washing
machine.
The machine looks like its best cycles are a thing of the past. It's seven
years old,
made in China. The lid is warped and the machine looks incapable of carrying
a full
load, let alone the hopes of its owner.
But to Razak and his nephew Raied Mohammed Abdul Razak, the washing machine
is
the key to their livelihood.
Like so many thousands of others, they're hoping to strike a deal at the
auctioneers -
one of the few businesses booming in Iraq these days.
There were fewer than a handful of auction houses in Baghdad before August,
1990,
when the U.N. Security Council imposed an international trade embargo on
Iraq days
after it invaded Kuwait.
But as one year of sanctions followed another, the economy collapsed, taking
the
livelihood of Iraqis with it. Struggling Iraqis began selling personal
belongings - from
furniture to family heirlooms - to make ends meet.
Today, Baghdad has more than 50 auction houses.
The minimum asking price of 80,000 Iraqi dinars (the equivalent of $60)
the pair are
seeking equals the back rent they owe on their shop. Their business - a
stationery
store - has gone under and they want to switch to selling fruit juices.
But first, they
have to come up with the rent.
And time is running out. The washing machine had been on the block for
a month,
without attracting a bid. The auctioneers say this will be the last day
they will try to
sell it.
``This is our last hope,'' says Razak, a 45-year-old father of four.
``The embargo has made this kind of business flourish,'' says Nassar Rasheed,
owner
of the Sabalkh Auction House, Baghdad's oldest.
Rasheed's auction house is a big warehouse crammed with bulky couches of
all
colours, TVs, radios, large cooling fans, safes, lamps, carpets, paintings,
hot water
tanks, stuffed animals - you name it.
Struggling Iraqis are selling everything
from furniture to family heirlooms to make
ends meet
It's all jammed together like one big kitsch collage, but each item tells
the story of
better times.
Hassam Razak's face is long and his eyes droop as he waits for the auction
to begin.
He lists the personal items he has sold in the past, and it adds up to
pretty much
everything but the beds.
``Selling my belongings is like selling one of my children, because each
one
represents my life, my progress, my past, my memory,'' he says. ``When
I started
selling it off, it was like something inside me collapsed.''
In the days when Razak's apartment was fully furnished, he had a good business.
The
Casino Salam (the Peace Coffee Shop) employed five people and boasted billiard
and
table tennis tables.
``I was like a king,'' Razak recalls. He lost it all after the embargo,
as rampant inflation
and unemployment ruined a once-prosperous country. Razak's nephew was also
fighting steady economic decline when he joined forces with his uncle to
open the
ill-fated stationery shop.
``We don't think about the future any more,'' says Raied Razak, 26, who
has three
daughters. ``We just think about the next 24 hours and how we'll get food
for the
family.''
The two men represent the collapse of Iraq's middle class, in which business
people,
professionals and technicians have joined the ranks of the poor, or fled
to another
country.
``Every year for 10 years, I thought, `This year or next year, the embargo
will be lifted,'
'' Hassam Razak says. ``I'm still hoping.''
The auctioneer coaxes the audience, but
the silence seems long and brutal
After losing his coffee shop, he and his family moved out of a three-bedroom
apartment and into a one-bedroom that costs about $18 a month. His family
lives off
the monthly food basket distributed by the Iraqi government under the U.N.'s
Oil For
Food program, which allows Iraq to sell oil and buy humanitarian goods
with the
money.
The average monthly ration is made up of: 9 kilograms of flour, 2.5 kilograms
of rice, 2
kilograms of sugar, 150 grams of tea, 0.41 kilograms of pulses (a legume),
100 grams of
salt, 1 kilogram of cooking oil, 3.6 kilograms of powdered baby milk, 250
grams of
soap, 350 grams of detergent, 800 grams of weaning cereal and 153 grams
of cheese
and milk.
``We rarely eat meat,'' an embarrassed Razak says. He had nothing left
to sell to get
the rent money for the fruit juice stand, so Raied put up his wife's washing
machine.
On this, the last day of bidding, 200 Iraqis are gathered at the auction.
To increase the
chances of a sale, the auctioneer lowers the minimum price without permission,
opening the bidding at 50,000 Iraqi dinars, or about $37.
He coaxes the audience, but the silence in return seems long and brutal.
Once again,
the washing machine doesn't even get a bid.
``There's an Arab proverb that says, `The eye sees the goal, but the hand
cannot
reach it,' '' Razak says.
``If things continue this way, I fear my son will suffer the same fate,''
he adds, looking
at 16-year-old Ali.
They don't even have money to get the washing machine back home. A reporter
gives
them a pack of dinars, enough for the transportation.
The Razaks are grateful, but they don't smile and they don't stir. They
sit looking
outside, at the sandstorm that obliterates Baghdad.