Checkpoint Pillaged After Iraqi Staff Flees

The soldiers stationed at the concrete arches that mark the gateway to Iraq from Jordan disappeared sometime after dusk Thursday, along with customs agents and other government bureaucrats.

For a brief period, Jordanian authorities kept up the ruse that the Iraqi government still existed at this outpost, letting only those with valid visas leave Jordan. But soon it became clear that an Iraqi visa had passed into the realm of the souvenir, and the gates were opened to all.

“Welcome to the Hosts of Iraq and the Great Leader Saddam Hussein,” said a blue plastic sign, the first thing to greet visitors entering Iraq. Dark green uniforms of Iraqi soldiers still hung in the barracks.

This border post has long been a point of entry where the Iraqi regime presented itself to newcomers, the place where the bureaucrats manning the desks made it clear to anyone crossing the border that they must obey the rules -- or slip money under the table. All travelers entering or leaving Iraq, for example, were required to take an AIDS test.

That was the law. The unwritten understanding was that the test would be waived for $50. (The price jumped to $150 after the war began.)

Before the border officials fled, the rules imbued them with power. For travelers who had to obey them, the regulations provoked anger, which was evident in what was left of the empty, pillaged offices. The buildings weren’t just looted, they were ravaged, with beds smashed, windows shattered and computers dumped on the floor.

A floor-to-ceiling portrait of Saddam Hussein was slashed. But the symbol of the Iraqi nation, an eagle, had been carefully placed against a wall. The only room untouched was the sleeping quarters, where a German shepherd was locked inside.

Sebti Alousi wasn’t at all apologetic as he wheeled away a cartload of rugs and a large-screen television freshly looted from the government offices.

“This is my money,” he said as he pushed a rusty, overloaded wheelbarrow up an empty desert road. “Saddam Hussein robbed us. Americans see us on TV stealing. We are not stealing. This is our right.”

The reaction to such scenes was disturbing and unsettling to some who had grown up in a country where people were afraid not to follow the rules. Mohammed Qubeisi, 32, stopped to buy some gas at the government-owned station near the border. He could not believe what had become of the border post, much less his country.

“It’s God’s will,” he said with a touch of sadness. “I consider this looting a betrayal. I am very surprised -- schools, office buildings, everything. For the last 30 years no one would have thought of such a thing. For 30 years the regime controlled everyone.”

But even here, where the closest town of any size is an hour’s drive east, it was clear that the war had split the populace.

“You can’t blame the people because they are starving,” said Ali Khalef Awad, 30, in response to Qubeisi’s remarks. “It’s the government’s fault. I blame the regime.”