Local Boss’ Rise Shows the Perils of a Power Void

Said Abbas sat in the governor’s chair, signed papers as the governor, gave speeches as the governor, even had a governor’s assistant who wore a smart yellow jacket with a black tie. But the Marines had another title for him: squatter.

In postwar Iraq, every ethnic group, religious group and social group is trying to stake its claim. Abbas claimed Al Kut, making it impossible for the Marines to consolidate power and get the Tigris River city of 300,000 running again. So on Friday, Abbas was given an ultimatum: Leave or face arrest. Not long before the Marines stormed City Hall, Abbas slipped out the back door.

For more than two weeks, this self-declared governor occupied the ornate office of the former governor. Dressed in the robes of a Shiite religious leader (though he never received formal religious education), he was surrounded by the accouterments of power: shimmering crystal chandelier, gaudy white furniture and a room full of admirers willing to jump at his command.

He said he was elected, or selected, by his neighbors in the Shiite community because he is a humanitarian.

“I am a popular man,” he said with a hint of a smile and not a touch of humility, about an hour before he made his escape. “I have a popular base. The good and patriotic people are in need of an influential person, especially now, so I came with them to this place.”

The Marines said Abbas was a “thug” trying to consolidate power and enrich his friends. They said he took control of the government-owned food warehouses and tried to sell the food. They said he extorted money from local business in what amounted to a protection racket.

And they said his supporters threatened to have his enemies killed.

Whatever the truth is about the rotund Abbas, who is affiliated with the Iran-based Supreme Council for Islamic Revolution in Iraq, he was undeniably an embarrassment to the Americans, a symbol of their failure to fill a power vacuum that arose in Iraq when Saddam Hussein’s regime fell.

Instead, Shiite religious leaders have seized power, and Iran has allegedly tried to exert influence on its neighbor.

For more than two weeks, U.S. forces in Al Kut tried to look the other way. They tried to work around Abbas. They tried to marginalize him. They tried to convince residents that if they wanted to get something done, such as get the police back to work or the electricity turned on, their best hope was with the U.S. military, not Abbas and his band of followers.

The Americans are able to overcome a lot with their weapons and technical know-how. What they can’t overcome, not right away, is 30 years of conditioning -- and for 30 years, symbols of power were synonymous with real power.

So as long as he sat in the governor’s chair, and as long as his followers occupied the building associated with power, Abbas was perceived as having power. His followers, hundreds if not thousands of young men, camped outside his office to protect him. Local tribal leaders stopped by to pay their respects. Religious leaders praised him in their sermons.

Abbas soaked it up, until the letter came. The Marines decided they had had enough. Shortly before 6 p.m. Friday, Abbas decided not to fight and left. Not long after, the Marines arrived in force, with Humvees surrounding the building and young men armed with M-16s and steely stares taking up positions as crowds of men, some astonished, some angry, others just curious, poured into the streets.

“Everyone should go home,” the Marines announced in booming Arabic from speakers mounted atop their vehicles. “It is not a movie. A single shot and it will be a real battle here.”

Suddenly, Abbas was gone and the United States demonstrated once again that authority can come at the end of a rifle.

But the challenges are far from over, in Al Kut or anywhere else in Iraq. How long can military might ensure authority when what people want is self-determination -- and electricity?

“This is an American-British occupation, which is humiliating,” Said Abu al Hail, 40, said as news of Abbas’ departure spread. “They said they are going to liberate the people and let them govern themselves. When?”

It may well be that once America installs a civil administration in this country, all of the jockeying for power will be forgotten. But for now, there is a sense among the people that Iraq is tacking into the wind without anyone at the helm. People want their lives back, and while it has been only a bit more than two weeks since the collapse of the government, patience has worn thin.

“I want security,” Samer Kassim, 40, wailed as he stood outside City Hall with the thousands of others who had gathered to see what happened. “We don’t care if it is Abbas or America. We want security.”

The people of Al Kut were lucky. Whether it was because of Abbas and his followers, or a sense of community, the town wasn’t trashed when the regime fell. Government offices were not looted, shops remained open, and the rhythm of life carried on with some degree of normality.

Al Kut is a gritty city, with squat two-story homes made of yellow brick and stucco. Many of the walls are covered in graffiti, and the sentiments seem to be those of Abbas’ supporters:

“Yes, yes for Islam.”

“No, no for occupation.”

The United States has warned Iran not to interfere with its neighbor, and Abbas is a symbol of that concern. The Supreme Council for Islamic Revolution in Iraq has been based in Tehran for many years and has in recent days sent its members and supporters flooding into southern Iraq.

These are Iraqi people, but they carry a vision partly shaped by many years in Iran. Abbas understands the sensitivity to Iran, the genuine distrust between many Iraqi Arabs and the Persians of Iran, and so he is eager to minimize the link, even while serving Iranian bottled water in his office.

On Friday, Abbas sat in an inner sanctum of City Hall, on the floor, eating a lunch of rice, stewed tomatoes and a few slices of zucchini. He acted as though he was still the boss, with every intention of staying put.

“Are you working for the military?” Abbas snapped at an American photographer.

“Look at me, am I aggressive? Am I a demon?” He took out a copy of the letter he had received from the Marines. It listed 10 conditions to avoid arrest, one of which in effect would send him into exile. He didn’t want to leave the town of his birth and so, apparently, cut a deal with the Marines. He said he wasn’t about to leave, but then he did.

The Marines were thrilled. “We will return power to the people, through the symbols they are accustomed to,” said Lt. Col. Rick Grabowsky, Marine detachment commander for civil affairs.

The situation may yet work out in Al Kut, and today may prove to be the first successful day of the post-Abbas era. But the Marines will have to prove themselves and demonstrate that they can deliver.

The initial test was nearly a disaster. As soon as the 16-day Abbas era ended and there appeared to be a power vacuum, residents began to loot government offices. That hadn’t happened when Abbas was in power. The Marines stood by, appearing unconcerned.

“They are letting them loot!” Faez Zuwaid, 24, cried in frustration. “They like them to destroy and loot so that America can make money by rebuilding everything.”

The looting soon spread to nearby offices as men tried to haul out rugs and cabinets and desks. The Marines were finally dispatched, stopped the looting and made some arrests.

But they will have to do more than that if they are to overcome residents’ anxiety.

“We are not happy with the Marines,” Ali Fulaih, 30, said as he watched the looters being arrested. “Until now we see no democracy. Life is better than under Saddam. But we fear for the future. Maybe they will bring us another Saddam.”