Basra's Wary Rebirth

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Cautious Freedom in Basra

Two months after the Iraqi government ordered its fledgling military to root out religious militias in Basra, many of the city's nearly 3 million residents are resuming lives that had been interrupted by an austere interpretation of Islam.

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Four times, he said, militiamen linked to a religious faction in the Basra government tried to assassinate him. They also destroyed $80,000 worth of surgical equipment during a rampage through his office. He fled to Syria, returning last year.

But he has no plan to reopen his practice.

"The government is still the same," said Mohammed, who asked that his full name not be used because he feared for his life.

Rendezvous At the Park

In al-Andalus Park, seven families held picnics on a recent evening. Children played on colorful slides and swings. Vendors sold ice cream and toys. It was a remarkable scene given that this park was the reason picnics were banned in Basra.

In March 2005, Mahdi Army fighters barged into a picnic held in the park by engineering students, killed a Christian woman and her fiance, and injured 15 people. They confiscated cellphones and destroyed tape players and music cassettes.

"They beat up everybody who was walking with a girl," recalled Salih Foaud, 22, as he stood near his stall of Spider-Man dolls and toy saucer sets. "For those girls not wearing a head scarf, they punched their faces. They broke one woman's jaw."

On this evening, Zainalabedeen Sabah, 20, and his fiancee, Iman Emad, 17, sat at a table in one corner. The park, they thought, was now one of the few public places in Basra where they could enjoy each other's company. As a precaution, they arrived separately.

"We can't walk everywhere together," said Sabah, slim, with long Elvis Presley sideburns. "Sometimes, in some places, I can't even hold her hand."

As Foaud watched the families enjoy the new security, his eyes drifted toward two young men floating around the park, listening intently to conversations.

"The Mahdi Army is still here," Foaud said. "They didn't totally finish them. "

A Militia of Tribesmen, Waiting for Mahdi Army

Militants send Ayad al-Kanaan, the tribal leader, death threats nearly every day. He heads the largest tribe in Tannouma, a neighborhood where the Mahdi Army ruled.

"The Mahdi Army will be back. And you will be under their feet," read one recent text message he received on his cellphone. "Maliki cannot help you."

Two weeks ago, Kanaan's men found bombs planted along a route he drives frequently. He keeps a well-oiled AK-47 behind his living room couch.

"They are waiting to rise up again, but their wings are broken," said Kanaan, a polite man with a white goatee who prefers a shirt and slacks to tribal robes.

The Iraqi army has pulled out of his area to focus on other parts of Basra. So Kanaan has launched his own government-sanctioned paramilitary force, drawn mostly from his tribesmen.

His 760 men patrol an area along the border with Iran. But the Iraqi government has yet to pay his men their $260 monthly salaries. They have only 10 vehicles. Most of his men purchased their own weapons and uniforms.

"We are afraid that if they are not paid, the militias will lure them away," he said.

A Sense Of Impending Doom

For the violinists of the Fine Arts College, the new freedoms are a mixed blessing. The death threats have stopped. They no longer have to hide their instruments in bags when they leave the university.

But they have few places to play. Iraq's security is still too fragile for concerts to be held in most public areas.

"We don't have a lot of musical events or festivals," lamented Qais Oda, 35, the school's violin teacher.

Nearby, the graduating class of the Translation Department held a festive party, with singing and dancing. But their joy was bittersweet: Jobs for graduates are scarce.

Zaki and Jawad know their limits, too.

Jawad carries an Islamic head scarf in her purse -- just in case. Outside the college, she wears less makeup to avoid attracting the attention of extremists. Although she writes poetry, she's afraid to attend literary gatherings because women are not allowed to recite their work.

"The British did nothing to protect us," Zaki said. "If the Iraqi army leaves, perhaps we will be targeted more than before. They might take revenge on us because we are so free."

The dangers remain on campus as well. That morning, a Mahdi Army member stopped them in the hallway for walking too close together. He demanded to see Zaki's identification card and was never confronted by the school's administration.

"They are afraid he will regain power again," said Zaki, the brand name "American Classics" emblazoned across his T-shirt.

He paused.

"I know this is temporary," he said. "I want to enjoy this time."

Special correspondents Zaid Sabah and Aahad Ali contributed to this report.