Coronavirus Pushes Some Iraqis Into Poverty

Iraqi Muslims perform Ramadan prayers at a store, after the Iraqi government ordered all mosques to stay closed, following the outbreak of the coronavirus disease (COVID-19), during the holy fasting month of Ramadan, in Baghdad's Adhamiya district, Iraq April 26, 2020. REUTERS/Thaier Al-Sudani
Iraqi Muslims perform Ramadan prayers at a store, after the Iraqi government ordered all mosques to stay closed, following the outbreak of the coronavirus disease (COVID-19), during the holy fasting month of Ramadan, in Baghdad's Adhamiya district, Iraq April 26, 2020. REUTERS/Thaier Al-Sudani
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Coronavirus Pushes Some Iraqis Into Poverty

Iraqi Muslims perform Ramadan prayers at a store, after the Iraqi government ordered all mosques to stay closed, following the outbreak of the coronavirus disease (COVID-19), during the holy fasting month of Ramadan, in Baghdad's Adhamiya district, Iraq April 26, 2020. REUTERS/Thaier Al-Sudani
Iraqi Muslims perform Ramadan prayers at a store, after the Iraqi government ordered all mosques to stay closed, following the outbreak of the coronavirus disease (COVID-19), during the holy fasting month of Ramadan, in Baghdad's Adhamiya district, Iraq April 26, 2020. REUTERS/Thaier Al-Sudani

When shops and homes shutter at curfew, some Iraqis in this Baghdad district say it reminds them of past traumas that destroyed lives and livelihoods: sectarian death squads, foreign invasion, and the ruin wrought by international sanctions.

The COVID-19 pandemic is the source of their current suffering. In interviews with Reuters, half a dozen people in the Adhamiya neighborhood said it has driven their families into the worst poverty they can remember.

"For two years I squatted at a friend's to save rent and sent all my earnings - maybe $350 a month - to my sick wife and children in Turkey," said Abdul Wahhab Qassim, a 46-year-old day laborer. "Since the coronavirus lockdown there's no work. I can offer my family nothing."

Qassim says he and a growing number of neighbors who do casual labor or run small stores have watched their modest incomes evaporate. They collect evening meals donated by a family at the local mosque during the holy month of Ramadan, often accepting this charity for the first time.

"It took less than two months of curfew for many to lose work," Qassim said.

Iraq has so far avoided a catastrophic spread of the new coronavirus, recording some 2,200 cases and less than 100 deaths, according to the health ministry.

But as in many countries, the measures required, including a nationwide curfew in place since March, have put stores out of business and left breadwinners idling at home, hitting vulnerable sections of the population hard.

A spokesman for Iraq's planning ministry, Abdul Zahra al-Hindawi, said 20 percent of the population currently lives in poverty and that is expected to rise to nearly 30 percent this year because of people put out of work by the crisis.

The government last month announced a $25 monthly stipend for households struggling for income without state wages.

Hindawi said 13 million people, almost a third of Iraqis, applied for the aid.

Plummeting prices for oil, which accounts for almost all Iraq's revenue, are already squeezing the economy, forcing the government to mull cuts to its vast public sector payroll. The price of oil has fallen more than 55% since the year began.

Iraq faces the same dilemma as much of the world – whether to ease restrictions to help economic activity, or maintain a lockdown to avoid the virus's spread.

Authorities recently lifted the curfew during the daytime but announced new fines for breaking it at night. The World Health Organization says Iraq should maintain a lockdown.

To get their free evening meals, Qassim and his neighbors say they skirt the curfew. With the mosque closed, they gather to pray, shake hands and break the Ramadan fast at a shopfront each night. Men eat from large plastic trays. Women collect polystyrene boxes of rice and chicken to take home.

Ikhlas Majeed, who cooks the food in her small kitchen, said there are more families in need than ever.

"These people have no state income. They earn what they can make in a day running stores or doing laboring. Because of past conflict there are many households without men who have no income," she said.

Israa Khalil, whose two brothers were killed in 2006 and whose husband died of a throat infection several years ago, supported her two children with money from a state fund paid to her mother. But her mother died in March and that compensation is no longer paid.

"As a widow, I can't go out looking for jobs," she said. She said she now owes money to local stores including the grocer, who said he makes a quarter of what he did before coronavirus.

Hindawi said the planning ministry was undertaking a study to measure the number of Iraqis who had lost work or fallen into poverty. A government spokesman could not be reached for further comment on the economic crisis.



Flashy Villas, Cars and Drugs: Assad’s Legacy in Latakia

A man climbs a staircase in the damaged house of Hafez Munzer al-Assad, a relative of ousted Syrian president Bashar al-Assad, in the western port city of Latakia on December 15, 2024. (AFP)
A man climbs a staircase in the damaged house of Hafez Munzer al-Assad, a relative of ousted Syrian president Bashar al-Assad, in the western port city of Latakia on December 15, 2024. (AFP)
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Flashy Villas, Cars and Drugs: Assad’s Legacy in Latakia

A man climbs a staircase in the damaged house of Hafez Munzer al-Assad, a relative of ousted Syrian president Bashar al-Assad, in the western port city of Latakia on December 15, 2024. (AFP)
A man climbs a staircase in the damaged house of Hafez Munzer al-Assad, a relative of ousted Syrian president Bashar al-Assad, in the western port city of Latakia on December 15, 2024. (AFP)

The drive winds between manicured lavender-lined lawns to a crescent-shaped home with a gleaming swimming pool on the Syrian coast: Bashar al-Assad's holiday hideaway disgusts those who now come here.

"To think that he spent all that money and we lived in misery," spat Mudar Ghanem, 26.

He is grey-skinned and his eyes are sunken after spending 36 days in a Damascus jail, accused like other suspected dissidents of "terrorism" against the ousted president's rule.

Now he had come "to see with my own eyes how they lived while other people had no electricity", Ghanem told AFP, standing by the windows of a huge white-marbled living room.

"I don't care if the next president lives here too," he added, "as long as he looks after the people and doesn't humiliate us."

The Assad holiday home is in Latakia, Syria's second largest port after Tartus. It is in an area that is the heartland of the Assad clan's Alawite sect.

On Sunday, a week after the deposed president fled Syria a lightning opposition offensive after his family had ruled for more than five decades, curious people came to see how Assad had lived.

This was just one of three Assad villas on the outskirts of the city.

In scenes that were unimaginable just days ago, Syrians wandered through the luxury home that is now guarded by a handful of fighters.

There was no air of triumphalism, just stupefaction and anger at how Assad had lived a life of luxury in this idyllic seaside spot.

Over the past week the house itself has been ransacked, stripped of its last doorknob, but the grandeur of its rooms and the antique mosaic adorning the entrance bear witness to its standing.

- Showroom -

The land used to be owned by Nura's family.

"They chased us away. I didn't dare come back" before now, the 37-year-old said, adding that she intends to seek legal redress to get her property back.

Most people who spoke to AFP on Sunday, like Nura, spoke freely but preferred not to give their full names. Despite its downfall, the fear instilled by the Assad name is still there.

"You never know -- they could come back," said 45-year-old Nemer, after parking his motorbike outside a flashy villa.

The house belonged to Munzer al-Assad, a cousin of the former leader.

Along with his brother, who died in 2015, Munzer ran the notorious "shabiha" militia, known for its abuses and trafficking operations.

"It's the first time I've stopped here," Nemer said. "In the past the guards would chase us away. We weren't allowed to park."

The two-storey house had also been stripped. Chandeliers, furniture, stucco moldings... all gone. Family photographs ripped up and portraits torn from now bare walls. The looters had been busy.

"I get 20 dollars a month. I have to do two jobs just to feed my family," Nemer said, bitter at the memory of Assad clan convoys that used to speed through the city streets.

Munzer's son Hafez ran a car showroom -- Syria Car. Now just a single vehicle sits there among the broken glass.

The car won't start, so people have been pulling it apart, destroying its bodywork, windows and upholstery. A young couple pretended to get behind the wheel.

- On a mission -

Lawyer Hassan Anwar, another visitor, was on a mission. The 51-year-old inspected the premises, searching for any documentation that could be later used in court.

He said this was because Hafez was well known for confiscating cars or buying them for well below market price before selling them on.

"Several complaints have been filed," Anwar said.

"Syria Car" was in fact one big money-laundering operation to mask the family's trafficking operations, the lawyer said.

On the pavement outside, two passers-by stopped beside a sewer grating. They lifted it up and scooped out hundreds of small white pills.

This was captagon, a banned amphetamine-like stimulant. It became Syria's largest export, turning the country under Assad into the world's biggest narco state.

They said massive quantities of the drug had been found nationwide after Assad fell.

Lawyer Anwar said pills had been exported from Latakia inside clothing labels.

Accompanied by two young opposition fighters newly arrived from Idlib province, Anwar entered the building beside the showroom, stepping through its broken window. As he did so, a young guard, Hilal, appeared.

In the basement, Hilal had discovered brand new scales still in their boxes -- "for weighing drugs", he said -- along with box after box of glassware, pipettes and tubes he said were used to manufacture amphetamines.

"I'm shocked by the scale of these crimes," said 30-year-old Ali, one of the two fighters from Idlib.

As Ghanem said at Assad's sumptuous holiday villa, standing there and looking out to sea, "God will have his revenge."