In Baghdad, Christmas Brings Jolliness, Jitters

Big inflatable Santas bob in one store window; a stand of artificial Christmas trees draped in tinsel has sprouted in another. At a downtown florist, crimson-leafed poinsettias with big Christmas bows are the most prominent display -- when they’re in stock. In recent days, they’ve been selling out.

In Iraq, where less than 5% of the population is Christian, the first Christmas season since the fall of Saddam Hussein is being celebrated with gusto. More than a few Muslims are joining in the holiday spirit.

But for the Christian minority, a traditional season of bright hopes is also being dimmed by worries -- that a surge of religious persecution may lie just around the corner, that chronic shortages of essentials like gas and electricity will continue to make life an ordeal, and that coalition forces and Iraqi police face an uphill battle to contain street crime and a violent insurgency.

Many Christians say they are torn between their desire to attend large Christmas gatherings -- religious services as well as the big holiday parties that Baghdad’s wealthy Christians like to throw -- and worries that if they make themselves too conspicuous, they may be targeted, either in a terror attack or by criminal gangs.

Reluctantly, most of the capital’s churches have canceled the traditional Christmas Eve midnight Mass this year; few Baghdadis feel safe being out at that hour. And instead of the usual Christmas soirees that last into the wee hours, lavish private parties are being scheduled in the afternoon.

“We want to find a way to be joyful,” said Nidhal Hindo, an elegant Christian matron. “And we will ... celebrate Christmas in our homes, and in our hearts.”

Iraq’s Christian community is one of the world’s oldest, and its Christmas traditions are much the same as the world over: song and prayer, gift-giving, seasonal decorations, holiday feasts. But there are distinctive local touches: Ringing in the holiday, some Iraqi Christian women will burst into shrill ululation, the traditional Arabic expression of celebration.

Unlike Iraq’s majority Shiite Muslims, who were relentlessly persecuted under Hussein, Christians enjoyed considerable religious freedom. Churches and monasteries operated alongside mosques and madrasas, or Islamic seminaries; nuns and clergy were allowed to preach, pray and minister to their flocks.

Christians were subject, though, to the same suffocating restrictions experienced by virtually everyone living in one of the world’s most repressive police states.

“So this Christmas is completely different than Christmases past,” said Rana Ramsi, a 23-year-old teacher at a Christian kindergarten. “Lots of new freedoms -- and lots of new troubles.”

Chief among the Christians’ fears is that a politically assertive Shiite majority will seek to turn Iraq into an Islamic republic and Christians will be forced to abandon what is by local standards a free-wheeling secular lifestyle. Christian women, as a rule, do not cover their heads. Men and women mix freely. And consumption of alcohol is allowed.

Iraq’s liquor stores are almost all Christian-owned, and since the fall of Hussein, they have been a target.

Liquor store owner Moujab Younan, 42, reopened his small Baghdad establishment -- with hastily stocked shelves, heavy metal shutters and no sign advertising its presence -- for the holidays, but he intends afterward to revert to selling his stock from his home, relying on word of mouth to bring in customers.

On Monday, he had just returned from the funeral of a friend, another liquor-store proprietor, who was gunned down, police guessed, by Islamic militants.

Younan said he had received threatening letters from Islamic groups ordering him to shut down. “Anyone could toss a grenade in here any moment,” he said, looking haunted by worry. “But this is my livelihood, the only one I have.”

Under Hussein, street crime was practically nonexistent; even criminals were terrified.

Christians, who make up a disproportionate share of Iraq’s class of prosperous business owners, have been hit particularly hard by the postwar wave of armed robberies, extortion and shakedowns.

“I wish we could stay open until 10 at night like we used to, but that would be much too dangerous -- thieves would instantly find us,” said Christian shop owner Seta Hagobian. “At this time of year, we used to have a Santa who would dance outside in the evenings and give sweets to the children who passed by. Everyone loved this. But it’s impossible now.”

Besides the lack of security, Hagobian had another gripe with the U.S.-run administration: There wasn’t enough electricity to power the strings of colored Christmas lights that would normally wink in her windows.

Down the street, Muslim toy store owner Hamdan Salman had set up a giant stuffed Santa in the middle of a display of tricycles. “To me, Christmas is a happy occasion, something for the kids to enjoy, and my Muslim customers think so too,” he said.

But he, too, was angry at the Americans. “Why is this still such a broken country?” he demanded. “When are they going to make our lives better, not worse?”

Of Iraq’s 25 million people, 1 million at most are thought to be Christian. The largest sect is the Chaldean Catholics who accept the pope’s authority, and in smaller numbers Assyrian and Armenian apostolic denominations, together with Syrian Orthodox.

By tradition, Christian leaders strive to maintain friendly and respectful relations with Muslim religious authorities. At the recent installation of the new patriarch of Babylon -- the Chaldeans’ spiritual leader -- turbaned clerics from Sunni and Shiite sects were among the honored guests.

But reflecting the pervasive security fears, the gathering at a downtown Baghdad church -- replete with clouds of incense, pews overflowing with the faithful, and the fervent murmur of prayers -- was watched over by police snipers on nearby rooftops. All those entering, including novice nuns, women worshippers in lace veils, and elderly men leaning on canes, were patted down by searchers.

“Everything depends on our faith -- if we have freedom, it is a gift from God,” said Sister Luciana, a Chaldean nun. “And whatever hardship God chooses to send along with it, we must accept.”