Baghdad:
Is it too early to declare a Sadr City Spring?
In a neighborhood known for its black-clad militiamen and strict Islamist codes, this was the scene on a recent evening: young men with angular haircuts shooting pool at curbside tables; coffeehouses bustling with hookah smokers and American movies; a raucous wedding party banging drums in celebration; photo studios displaying pictures of women with bared shoulders.
All would have been dangerous a year or two ago, but now they add up to just another night in this sprawling neighborhood that has long been the beating heart of Shiite Baghdad.
As Iraq's government remains frozen in a seven-month standstill, the vibrant transformation of Sadr City may offer a prophetic glimpse of the country's next chapter: repressed by Saddam Hussein, fearsome in its resistance to the American-led invasion and then brutal in its religious crackdown, the neighborhood is now fomenting a mix of secular and religious life that is both ad hoc and infectious.
"It's not only new shops," said Majid Lattef, 32, hanging out with three friends on a recent Friday after thousands gathered in the main square for prayers. "Young people here are changing their minds and attitudes.
"No one is harassing us to think one way," he said. "Religion is available, and I worship God, but people who are praying and going to the mosque are also playing billiards and going to the coffee shops."
Much of the last seven years here have belonged to the Mahdi Army, a militia loyal to the fiery cleric Moktada al-Sadr that imposed a strict interpretation of Islam. Residents took cover in overcrowded homes; parents did not allow their sons out after dark. But as the police and Iraqi Army have taken control, Mr. Sadr has remade himself and his following as a mainstream electoral force, winning 40 seats in the national election in March.
Their power is no longer in the streets but in Parliament. In turn, the Mahdi Army, whose violence threatened to marginalize the Sadrists, is letting the locals play.
"Those losers who were trying to claim they were doing this for Islam have no power now," said Amaar Kreem, 26, shooting pool at a sidewalk table. "Now, people don't listen to them."
Memories of the recent past remain close to the surface. Ali Kraibit, who opened an outdoor pool hall, saw his tables as a product of history. First, Mr. Hussein banned all Shiite observances, he said. "Then after that, of course people were looking for religious ceremonies," he said. "But now, people have had enough of this. They've relieved themselves. They realized they are free now."
In a small barbershop, Saad Sabar, 34, remembered plucking beards in secret because it was contrary to Islamic law.
"The people who took control of the neighborhood were taking people with strange hairstyles from the street to the mosque," he said, hesitant to name the Mahdi Army. "Then they beat them and shaved their heads." Now, he said, many customers want Western haircuts. "Right now I can do everything I want, thank God," he said, voicing a common refrain here.
Some here say imprisoned Mahdi Army fighters have started to flow back to the neighborhood after Mr. Sadr threw his support to Prime Minister Nuri Kamal al-Maliki this month. Haider Mazban, 24, wearing a gray T-shirt that said Army in block capital letters, said that the militia could come back at any time. In the meantime, he said, he was "using this opportunity to get back to listening to music in my car and drinking alcohol."
Like other parts of Baghdad, Sadr City is experiencing a boom in weddings. Haider Ali Hussain, 28, said that he stretched his engagement for more than a year because of the security situation. When he finally married two months ago, he had a street party with music and dancing.
"Before, if there was a wedding, people did it quick, and of course there was no dancing in the street, because people were afraid," he said.
Now wedding parties are everywhere. At Princess Bride, a store that sells and rents ornate, candy-colored wedding dresses, Nethal Hussain said that she outfitted 50 weddings a month, up from 15 or 20 a year ago.
"We didn't get threats, but other shops and hairstylists got shut down," she said, adding that with security, brides' tastes had opened up. "Before, they all asked for something to cover their hair and shoulders," she said, displaying a lavender gown with jewels and slender shoulder straps that rented for about $50 a day. "Now, they ask for whatever they like."
Still, a level of caution remains. Hammad Karim, who recently opened a video-game parlor, said he was warned not to network the computers so players could compete against each other, because "people here are simple-minded; they think this is gambling, so it is forbidden."
An unmarked door on one of the neighborhood's main streets leads to a second-floor coffee shop called Orange Juice that opened five months ago. The name comes from a song that has a racy video. The manager, Nawar Sabah, said that the shop was open only to people he knew, because bringing in strangers might invite trouble. Most nights, the patrons watch soccer matches or American action movies and smoke hookahs. "People come in here and talk freely about whatever they want," he said.
He said the owner had to swear an oath at the Sadrists' office to forbid alcohol and drugs. But he said the new permissiveness in Sadr City did not mean a turning away from religion.
"Yes, many young people are more open to new things, we are changing our attitudes and behaviors, wearing Western hairstyles and clothes, but it doesn't affect our values," he said. "You see my hair and clothes," he said, pointing to the Nike logo on his shirt. "But Friday, I go to prayers. This is a new attitude for a new generation."
At a sidewalk pool hall, Ali Abraham and Ali Samah illustrated the push and pull of Sadr City after dark. Below the pool hall was an open drainage ditch; across the street, a row of coffee shops lit by fluorescent lanterns. Mr. Abraham, flaunting gelled hair, declared, "We are living in our freedom right now." Pointing to his beard, he said, "Some do it like this."
But Mr. Samah, 25, was not impressed. "There are many new things, but still we feel suffocated, because we need more," he said. "I can spend time here, but I don't like it, because it's not at the same level of development."