The Day Saddam Hussein’s Corpse Was Laid in Front of Maliki’s Home 

Former Iraqi president Saddam Hussein gestures during his trial in Baghdad, Iraq, Jan. 29, 2006. (AP)
Former Iraqi president Saddam Hussein gestures during his trial in Baghdad, Iraq, Jan. 29, 2006. (AP)
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The Day Saddam Hussein’s Corpse Was Laid in Front of Maliki’s Home 

Former Iraqi president Saddam Hussein gestures during his trial in Baghdad, Iraq, Jan. 29, 2006. (AP)
Former Iraqi president Saddam Hussein gestures during his trial in Baghdad, Iraq, Jan. 29, 2006. (AP)

Friday marked the 16th anniversary of the execution of Iraqi President Saddam Hussein. 

The death sentence did not come as a shock. But the events that accompanied the execution and its fallout will continue to haunt Judge Rauf Rashid who announced the sentence. 

The video recording of Saddam’s final moments, when the noose was tied around his neck amid chants of “Moqtada, Moqtada, Moqtada” - a reference of Iraqi leader Moqatda al-Sadr - was widely circulated and remains in Iraq’s collective memory. 

The execution took on a sectarian turn because it took place at dawn on Eid al-Adha. 

Another aspect related to the execution lingered on in the country. I paid a visit to Judge Rashid in Erbil in May 2007 and we discussed the execution. 

He did not wish to delve into the details that upset him. Some people present at the execution took Saddam’s corpse and laid it in front of Prime Minister Nouri al-Maliki's house as a form of “gloating” as that would be the first time the two officials would ever “meet”. 

Maliki had signed the execution order because then President Jalal Talabani was committed to an international agreement that prohibits the death penalty. 

I met with Maliki in May 2010. He served as prime minister at the time and was known as the “strong man in the post-Saddam era”. The meeting was amicable and long and he encouraged me to ask him about Saddam. 

I asked him how he felt about signing his death sentence. He replied: “My wish was not to see him hanged as that would have been a form of salvation for him. The execution is nothing to the crimes he committed.” 

“He should have remained in prison, humiliated and shamed, to set an example to dictators,” he confided. “But the will of the people and families of martyrs prevailed.” 

I asked him if he feared that Saddam would retain the image of the hero in the Arab collective memory because he was toppled by a foreign force. Maliki said: “Saddam can only be a hero to those who share his views and behavior.” 

“What acts of heroism did he offer? His defeats and the chaos he created? Or his policy that culminated in the arrival of foreign forces?” wondered Maliki. 

“I advise all leaders against ending up like Saddam,” he added. 

Maliki said he had never met Saddam, but was forced to view his corpse at the insistence of others. 

“I stood before his corpse for half a minute. I told him: ‘What use is your execution? Will it bring back our martyrs and the country that you destroyed?’” 

I did not tell Maliki that his statement reminded me of the violent images that marked Iraqi history over the decades. He recalled the image of Abdul Karim Qassem being dragged to the radio building and the ensuing dialogue between him and his comrade in the revolt, Abdul Salam Aref, who refused to oppose his execution. 

Back to Judge Rashid, he said he did not sympathize with Saddam, but did not feel the need to gloat before him either. He recalled that Saddam was expecting the death sentence against him and did not show a sign of weakness or of being unsettled. The execution would cast a shadow over Judge Rashid’s life for years to come. 



Watching the Sun Rise over a New Damascus

Damascus is seen at sunrise from Mount Qasyun, which for years was off limits to regular people. (AFP)
Damascus is seen at sunrise from Mount Qasyun, which for years was off limits to regular people. (AFP)
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Watching the Sun Rise over a New Damascus

Damascus is seen at sunrise from Mount Qasyun, which for years was off limits to regular people. (AFP)
Damascus is seen at sunrise from Mount Qasyun, which for years was off limits to regular people. (AFP)

After the fall of Bashar al-Assad, Afaf Mohammed did what she could not for more than a decade: she climbed Mount Qasyun to admire a sleeping Damascus "from the sky" and watch the sun rise.

Through the long years of Syria's civil war, which began in 2011 with a government crackdown on pro-democracy protesters, people were not allowed access to the mountain.

But now they can return to look down again on their capital, with its high-rise hotels and poor suburbs exhausted by war.

When night falls, long queues of vehicles slowly make their way up a twisting road to a brightly lit corniche at the summit.

Once there, they can relax, listen to music, eat and, inevitably, take selfies.

On some evenings there have even been firework displays.

Afaf Mohammed told AFP that "during the war we weren't allowed up to Mount Qasyun. There were few public places that were truly accessible."

At her feet, the panorama of Syria's capital stretched far and wide. It was the second time in weeks that the dentist in her thirties had come to the mountaintop.

A man sells tea on Mount Qasyun, from which government artillery used to pound opposition-held areas under Assad's rule. (AFP)

- Ideal for snipers -

Her first was just after a coalition of opposition fighters entered the city, ousting Assad on December 8.

On that occasion she came at dawn.

"I can't describe how I felt after we had gone through 13 years of hardship," she said, wrapped close in an abaya to ward off the chilly breeze.

Qasyun was off limits to the people of Damascus because it was an ideal location for snipers -- the great view includes elegant presidential palaces and other government buildings.

It was also from this mountain that artillery units for years pounded opposition-held areas at the gates of the capital.

Mohammed believes the revolution brought "a phenomenal freedom" that includes the right to visit previously forbidden places.

"No one can stop us now or block our way. No one will harm us," she said.

Patrols from the security forces of Syria's new rulers are in evidence, however.

They look on as a boy plays a tabla drum and young people on folding chairs puff from water pipes as others dance and sing, clapping their hands.

Everything is good-natured, reflecting the atmosphere of freedom that now bathes Syria since the end of Assad rule.

Gone are the stifling restrictions that once ruled the people's lives, and soldiers no longer throng the city streets.

Visitors to Mount Qasyun can now relax, listen to music, eat and snap selfies. (AFP)

- Hot drinks and snacks -

Mohammad Yehia, in his forties, said he once brought his son Rabih up to Mount Qasyun when he was small.

"But he doesn't remember having been here," he said.

After Assad fell, his son "asked if we would be allowed to go up there, and I said, 'Of course'," Yehia added.

So they came the next day.

Yehia knows the place well -- he used to work here, serving hot drinks and snacks from the back of a van to onlookers who came to admire the view.

He prides himself on being one of the first to come back again, more than a decade later.

The closure of Mount Qasyun to the people of Damascus robbed him of his livelihood at a time when the country was in economic freefall under Western sanctions. The war placed a yoke of poverty on 90 percent of the population.

"We were at the suffocation point," Yehia told AFP.

"Even if you worked all day, you still couldn't make ends meet.

"This is the only place where the people of Damascus can come and breathe a little. It's a spectacular view... it can make us forget the worries of the past."

Malak Mohammed, who came up the mountain with her sister Afaf, said that on returning "for the first time since childhood" she felt "immense joy".

"It's as if we were getting our whole country back," Malak said. Before, "we were deprived of everything".