Peace In Their Time

The world has grown weary of conflict. But it never ceases. The skeletal head of death rampant rises on the pike of war, and it strikes throughout the world, in the guise of civil wars, extraterritorial wars, terror attacks, and collapsed territorial integrity.

We live in restless times. But then, the world has never been free of restless times. Merely short-lived periods in which wars of one kind or another have been at a low level, awaiting opportunity to rise like the phoenix.

The war in Iraq, at least, is winding down. There are still suicide bombings, sectarian avenging of historical hatreds. But right now in Iraq there have been fewer deaths reported than has been the 'norm' over the past six years.

A mere 238 civilians killed this past month, down considerably from the thousand or so killed monthly. Think of that enormous toll. Far fewer foreign troops killed as well. Think of all those body bags.

One would like to think that Iraqis have exhausted their tribal hatreds for one another. That the Shia Muslims and the Sunni Muslims, sick and tired of their deadly animus against one another, their savagely deadly raids on each other's enclaves that have taken so many lives, ruptured so many hopes, inflicted torture and misery on one another, has finally drained itself.

And the Iraqi government has reached an understanding with that of the United States, that American troops will be set to leave, along with those of its allied supporters, in the very near future. Nearer still, depending upon the outcome of an election whose results will shortly be known.

Iraqis have lived for such a very long time with the anxiety of conflict. And before that, with the anxiety of never knowing when they might be targeted for unwanted attention by their totalitarian ruler, well acknowledged for his inhumane treatment of dissenters.

Where once he was feared as the brutal dictator of Baghdad, he has now become the "martyr of the Arab nation". Who might have imagined?

On his capture five years ago in his underground hideout, Saddam Hussein had earned the scorn of the vast multitude of his people, but for that of his tribe who mourned his capture. And when he was hanged, it became a festive occasion for many Iraqis who rejoiced at his tawdry end.

His persecution of the majority Shia, of the Kurds, his war with Iran and invasion of Kuwait, had caused endless, massive suffering.

But that was then. He was, after all, their own, murderous as he was. Iraqis, however fearful, and however preyed upon, knew order and predictability. Not so for the past six years. Saddam Hussein's ruthless and iron rule ensured that there was stability, made certain that the savagery of sectarianism unbridled did not blemish his record; it was he and he alone who had the right to kill.

Now, after tribal hatred and clan disagreements brought to the fore, and theocratic spurning of false Islamic faith having created tens of thousands of refugees displaced from the country; thousands of victims murdered, and innumerable instances of civic infrastructure instability, people miss the past they had so chafed under.

Nostalgia rules supreme, just as Saddam Hussein once ruled. At present, those who cowered under his regime, now feel that his was a time of stability and safety for the mass of the population, and he is sorely missed. Now, his tomb in al-Awja, near Tikrit, his home, has become a national shrine.

Visitors come to humbly pay their respects, from all over Iraq.