.Looters of Hussein's Bunker and Palace Threaten Iraq's Heritage, Lawmaker Warns
BAGHDAD, Iraq, May 28 — It would be hard to get a better glimpse of how Iraq's cultural and political heritage continues to slip away.
The colossal concrete bunker in the heart of Baghdad's security-obsessed Green Zone, from which Saddam Hussein is believed to have planned his futile defense strategies and made some of his last televised appearances as the leader of Iraq, was unscathed by a savage American bombardment that mangled the upper floors of the palace above.
But these rooms have been faring less well against the lawlessness, both petty and significant, that has gripped Iraq since then. The large table Mr. Hussein sat behind disappeared sometime over the past year, say Americans who visit regularly, and the embossed carpet has been gradually ripped from the floor as progressively heavier pieces of mechanical and electrical equipment have vanished from nearby rooms.
They smell increasingly dank, possibly because of water spurting from holes where fixtures used to be.
"You can see if it's not bolted down, people will get it," said Joe E. Scott, who works for a nearby construction contractor. "I can't tell you who," said Mr. Scott, pointing to a spot where recently stolen components had been in one of the catacomblike rooms, "but it's gone."
As Iraq struggles to create a viable political system and quell insurgent violence, the country clearly faces more urgent problems than the looting of historical artifacts, which began after the American invasion in 2003. But eventually, said Maysoon al-Damluji, a member of Parliament and a former deputy culture minister, the country will want to turn to its cultural and political heritage — including the era of Mr. Hussein.
"This is the property of the Iraqi people," Ms. Damluji said in a telephone interview. "And looting is looting whether it's done by Genghis Khan or the American Army or the people of Iraq."
"I don't feel happy about it, obviously," she said.
Exactly how looting continues in the bunker and other protected structures is unknown. Layers of armor, blast walls, checkpoints and guard shacks proliferate in Iraq, but areas of responsibility are chaotic and overlapping. This structure is effectively controlled on one side by a construction contractor, Parsons Corporation, and on the other by a telecommunications company, Lucent Technologies, because their compounds sit just outside. Mr. Scott works for Parsons.
Access to the communications tower linked to the bunker — a kind of poor man's Space Needle, it is one of the more prominent structures on the Baghdad skyline — is controlled by still another company, Arkel International, an obscure contractor based in Louisiana. When a reporter asked to climb the tower, Arkel's project manager, Larry Miller, could not find a key to the padlock on the gate, so he offered to have the lock smashed.
"Got my key," Mr. Miller joked, walking toward the gate with what looked like a 12-pound sledgehammer. The top of the tower had also been picked clean.
Roughly 650 feet long and 120 feet tall, with three blue domes that somehow remained standing even though one was pierced by bombs, the complex built over the bunker, called the Believers Palace, looks as if it would be astronomically expensive to repair and nearly impossible to demolish.
The palace reportedly cost about $60 million when it was built by a German company in the 1980's, but nothing close to it could be built for that amount today.
The structure is massive, with steel reinforcing bars of all sizes poking from the riot of heavy concrete and ductwork where the bombs pummeled the roof, causing little or no damage to the bunkers themselves. An elaborate system of airlocks and filtration systems protect against a gas attack, two enormous electrical generators made by Siemens lie deep within and secret passageways and escape routes are everywhere.
Officials from Parsons, Lucent and Arkel allowed a reporter and photographer access to nearly all parts of the complex and in some cases pointed out places where looters had recently made off with artifacts.
No one seemed to know who the looters were, although most of the graffiti inside was in English and appeared to originate with the American military, whose members often request tours. "31st CSH," reads one scrawl at the bottom of the bunker, referring to a combat support hospital unit. "Rightfully Proud!" A line at the top of the communications tower says, "Sgt C was here for OIF III," using the American military's title for the invasion, Operation Iraqi Freedom.
Other possible looters are the Iraqi workers and guards who move almost invisibly through Western-held areas, or civilian and military officials from Eastern European countries, or even employees of the American contracting companies themselves.
Ms. Damluji offered an example of just how persistent the problem is. Until recently, she said, she was in charge of a supposedly secure warehouse that contained artifacts from the former government, like the great busts of Mr. Hussein that sat on the Republican Palace, now the occupation headquarters, and his famous carriages.
"I was told that I had the only key to the warehouse," Ms. Damluji said, "but things were disappearing."
The culprits do not want for ingenuity, said John Carter, who until last month worked for Parsons and regularly escorted guests through the complex. "These guys can steal the milk out of your coffee," he said in a telephone interview.
A walk through the tableaus of excess, secrecy, violence and vanity in the palace and bunker complex leaves little doubt about its historical significance as a diorama of Mr. Hussein's obsessions and mad ambitions.
The metal air locks, decontamination rooms and rows of giant air filters are like something out of a bad cold-war thriller. "The guy was absolutely paranoid about gas, chemical warfare," said Thomas Swain, a Parsons vice president.
The main dome, the one punctured at the top, had enclosed a grand dining room with Romanesque pillars, elevated galleries, and friezes that, Iraqis say, placed Mr. Hussein's initials above the word of God cited from the Koran. Now its inner surface is as barren and cratered as a moon of Jupiter, and the gallery is hanging in wobbly tatters.
The skeleton of what must have been a great chandelier is illuminated by a shaft of light from the bomb hole, hanging ghoulishly from the dome's apex, as if from a gallows.
A walk to the Lucent side of the palace, where the ornate arcades and coffered ceilings are still intact, quickly disperses the sense of pathos. The acoustics are so bad, with sounds reverberating endlessly, that the company has put up signs that say "PLZ KEEP YOUR VOICE DOWN. THANK YOU," and on close inspection the decorative motifs are all cheaply made.
But the palace still retains its aura of mystery. Tucked away on the undamaged side is a largely secret communications project that Lucent is carrying out for the Iraqi Interior Ministry, said Frank Gay, a Lucent program director. A Lucent employee who refused to give even his first name let a reporter and photographer peek into the room where people worked quietly at laptops. "There's nothing to see," the employee said, hustling his guests on.
NYT
H/T Back to Iraq
Yea nothing to see here!
The colossal concrete bunker in the heart of Baghdad's security-obsessed Green Zone, from which Saddam Hussein is believed to have planned his futile defense strategies and made some of his last televised appearances as the leader of Iraq, was unscathed by a savage American bombardment that mangled the upper floors of the palace above.
But these rooms have been faring less well against the lawlessness, both petty and significant, that has gripped Iraq since then. The large table Mr. Hussein sat behind disappeared sometime over the past year, say Americans who visit regularly, and the embossed carpet has been gradually ripped from the floor as progressively heavier pieces of mechanical and electrical equipment have vanished from nearby rooms.
They smell increasingly dank, possibly because of water spurting from holes where fixtures used to be.
"You can see if it's not bolted down, people will get it," said Joe E. Scott, who works for a nearby construction contractor. "I can't tell you who," said Mr. Scott, pointing to a spot where recently stolen components had been in one of the catacomblike rooms, "but it's gone."
As Iraq struggles to create a viable political system and quell insurgent violence, the country clearly faces more urgent problems than the looting of historical artifacts, which began after the American invasion in 2003. But eventually, said Maysoon al-Damluji, a member of Parliament and a former deputy culture minister, the country will want to turn to its cultural and political heritage — including the era of Mr. Hussein.
"This is the property of the Iraqi people," Ms. Damluji said in a telephone interview. "And looting is looting whether it's done by Genghis Khan or the American Army or the people of Iraq."
"I don't feel happy about it, obviously," she said.
Exactly how looting continues in the bunker and other protected structures is unknown. Layers of armor, blast walls, checkpoints and guard shacks proliferate in Iraq, but areas of responsibility are chaotic and overlapping. This structure is effectively controlled on one side by a construction contractor, Parsons Corporation, and on the other by a telecommunications company, Lucent Technologies, because their compounds sit just outside. Mr. Scott works for Parsons.
Access to the communications tower linked to the bunker — a kind of poor man's Space Needle, it is one of the more prominent structures on the Baghdad skyline — is controlled by still another company, Arkel International, an obscure contractor based in Louisiana. When a reporter asked to climb the tower, Arkel's project manager, Larry Miller, could not find a key to the padlock on the gate, so he offered to have the lock smashed.
"Got my key," Mr. Miller joked, walking toward the gate with what looked like a 12-pound sledgehammer. The top of the tower had also been picked clean.
Roughly 650 feet long and 120 feet tall, with three blue domes that somehow remained standing even though one was pierced by bombs, the complex built over the bunker, called the Believers Palace, looks as if it would be astronomically expensive to repair and nearly impossible to demolish.
The palace reportedly cost about $60 million when it was built by a German company in the 1980's, but nothing close to it could be built for that amount today.
The structure is massive, with steel reinforcing bars of all sizes poking from the riot of heavy concrete and ductwork where the bombs pummeled the roof, causing little or no damage to the bunkers themselves. An elaborate system of airlocks and filtration systems protect against a gas attack, two enormous electrical generators made by Siemens lie deep within and secret passageways and escape routes are everywhere.
Officials from Parsons, Lucent and Arkel allowed a reporter and photographer access to nearly all parts of the complex and in some cases pointed out places where looters had recently made off with artifacts.
No one seemed to know who the looters were, although most of the graffiti inside was in English and appeared to originate with the American military, whose members often request tours. "31st CSH," reads one scrawl at the bottom of the bunker, referring to a combat support hospital unit. "Rightfully Proud!" A line at the top of the communications tower says, "Sgt C was here for OIF III," using the American military's title for the invasion, Operation Iraqi Freedom.
Other possible looters are the Iraqi workers and guards who move almost invisibly through Western-held areas, or civilian and military officials from Eastern European countries, or even employees of the American contracting companies themselves.
Ms. Damluji offered an example of just how persistent the problem is. Until recently, she said, she was in charge of a supposedly secure warehouse that contained artifacts from the former government, like the great busts of Mr. Hussein that sat on the Republican Palace, now the occupation headquarters, and his famous carriages.
"I was told that I had the only key to the warehouse," Ms. Damluji said, "but things were disappearing."
The culprits do not want for ingenuity, said John Carter, who until last month worked for Parsons and regularly escorted guests through the complex. "These guys can steal the milk out of your coffee," he said in a telephone interview.
A walk through the tableaus of excess, secrecy, violence and vanity in the palace and bunker complex leaves little doubt about its historical significance as a diorama of Mr. Hussein's obsessions and mad ambitions.
The metal air locks, decontamination rooms and rows of giant air filters are like something out of a bad cold-war thriller. "The guy was absolutely paranoid about gas, chemical warfare," said Thomas Swain, a Parsons vice president.
The main dome, the one punctured at the top, had enclosed a grand dining room with Romanesque pillars, elevated galleries, and friezes that, Iraqis say, placed Mr. Hussein's initials above the word of God cited from the Koran. Now its inner surface is as barren and cratered as a moon of Jupiter, and the gallery is hanging in wobbly tatters.
The skeleton of what must have been a great chandelier is illuminated by a shaft of light from the bomb hole, hanging ghoulishly from the dome's apex, as if from a gallows.
A walk to the Lucent side of the palace, where the ornate arcades and coffered ceilings are still intact, quickly disperses the sense of pathos. The acoustics are so bad, with sounds reverberating endlessly, that the company has put up signs that say "PLZ KEEP YOUR VOICE DOWN. THANK YOU," and on close inspection the decorative motifs are all cheaply made.
But the palace still retains its aura of mystery. Tucked away on the undamaged side is a largely secret communications project that Lucent is carrying out for the Iraqi Interior Ministry, said Frank Gay, a Lucent program director. A Lucent employee who refused to give even his first name let a reporter and photographer peek into the room where people worked quietly at laptops. "There's nothing to see," the employee said, hustling his guests on.
NYT
H/T Back to Iraq
Yea nothing to see here!
posted by madtom at 1:27 PM
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