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Monday, April 21, 2003

By Carol Morello, The Washington Post

BAGHDAD -- In all his 57 years, Samir Ahad has never experienced an Easter Sunday so filled with sorrow, hopelessness and dread as this one.

At every turn was a reminder of the war that left lives in shambles and usurped a government that had cosseted the small Christian minority. Parishioners arrived at the Evangelical Protestant Church, where Ahad is the secretary, in cars pockmarked by shrapnel. The absence of the chocolates, colored eggs and new clothes that usually mark Easter services at the Presbyterian church underscored that the parishioners have no income to spend. The Italian organ donated by ousted president Saddam Hussein sat silent, for lack of $2,000 to repair it.

Under a gloomy sky, nobody could muster even a perfunctory "Happy Easter" greeting. Instead, many wept through the sermon on a day meant to celebrate resurrection.

"This is a sad Easter," said Ahad, sipping tea in the church office where ceiling fans rotated lazily under a generator's power. "We have suffered, not only from Saddam but from pollution of the air and the water, from having no jobs and no income. And in my mind I keep seeing my son carrying a Kalashnikov to protect the church from looters. I didn't want this for him. We are all afraid, for today and for the future."

A smothering blanket of loss and worry stripped joy from Easter services.

Like most Iraqis, Christians are reeling from the double blow of the war and the massive looting that ensued. But many Christians are also concerned that the new, free Iraq will be dominated by Islamic parties. Some already predict they will feel less welcome here and are considering leaving. At the same time, many of the nation's Christian leaders say they are relieved to be rid of the despotic rule of Saddam and his Baath Party followers.

During his 24-year reign, a symbiotic relationship existed between the government, which was dominated by Sunni Muslims, and the Christian minority of less than 1 million out of 25 million Iraqis. One of the founders of the Iraqi Baath Party was a Syrian Christian, Michel Aflaq, who later converted to Islam. Christians held prominent positions in the government, including the deputy prime minister, Tariq Aziz. Saddam hired a Christian nanny when his two sons, Uday and Qusay, were small, and retained several Christian bodyguards and aides.

Many Iraqi churches had a benefactor in the government. It gave land on which to build churches, and sometimes paid for the construction. Their water and electricity were free. About a decade ago, Saddam gave every major church in the country a new organ.

The largesse went beyond material goods. According to religious leaders, government-controlled newspapers were prohibited from publishing anything derogatory about Christians. In return, Saddam counted on their acquiescence, if not outright support. Iraqi television frequently showed Christian leaders warmly greeting him, shaking his hand and praising his leadership.

"Saddam loved Christians," said Ikram Mehanni, the minister of the Evangelical Protestant Church. "He didn't abuse our religion. To the contrary, he gave us money."

Asked why Saddam was so generous, Mehanni replied, "Christians didn't give problems to the government."

Now that is all over, and many Christians worry about what comes next.

"Christians are afraid of the new government, and what it will do with us," said Wisal Kotta, as she left Easter services at Our Lady of Rescue, a Syrian Catholic church. "There may be many political parties, religious parties."

The concern is not limited to Christians. A tiny number of Iraqi Jews live in Baghdad, which before the creation of Israel in 1948 had about 60,000 Jews.

A knock at the heavy metal door in a wall about 15 feet high around the city's only functioning synagogue was answered by a Muslim watchman. He said it was forbidden for anyone to enter. Services were held every Saturday until about two months ago, he said. But the Jews who live in the area either fled to other parts of the city before the war or went abroad, he said. He did not know how to contact them.

To a degree, the concern is as much about the perils and sorrows of the present, as about dread of the future.

"Of course we are sad," said Jusef Waad, an agricultural engineer attending Easter services at the Syrian Catholic church with his wife and two teen-age daughters. "We have no security. We have no electricity or water. We have no jobs. Everything is gone. There is no Easter this year. This smile on my face is false. It is only there so I can carry on with life and do my religious duty. But inside ourselves, we are still afraid."

At the nearby Armenian Catholic church, Vicar Antoine Atamian kissed the cheeks of hundreds of parishioners after Easter services. Many people in the church knew someone who had died, he said. Among the dead was one of his two drivers, who apparently was killed in crossfire during the war. During the worst of the bombardment, he said, hundreds of Iraqis, among them Kurds and Muslims, sought shelter in the church's underground meeting hall.

"He was a dictator," said Atamian, pulling out a letter of appointment as vicar signed by Saddam. "The Shia were afraid. They couldn't move. But he respected us as religious men."

Atamian said the Iraqi president never failed to dispatch greetings and gifts on religious holidays. "For Christmas and Easter, he sent greeting cards and a big box of dates and gifts," said Atamian, sitting behind a large desk in his office, which was furnished with red velvet sofas. "Very high officials, directly from the presidential palace, would come and ask us if we needed anything. I believed Saddam Hussein was a nationalist. We used to be beside him. I had many meetings with him. We used to express our feelings and love to him. Now, we are changed. He talked about staying with us, to the last bullet. He was on TV. 'Live or die with pride,' he said. But we heard he left the city."

But at Evangelical Protestant Church, a widowed parishioner said he was preparing to leave Iraq, hoping to provide his grown son with a better future.

"It's going to be like Iran," warned the parishioner. "Even Christians will have to wear head scarves. There will be no alcohol. No dancing. All Christians are afraid now."