.Violence Changes Rituals of Death in Iraq
BAGHDAD, Iraq (AP) - Jassim al-Kinani, a 34-year-old car mechanic, did all he could to follow Shiite Muslim traditions when his brother and three cousins were slain. But like so much in Iraq, the rituals of death have been knocked awry by violence.
Al-Kinani's efforts to honor his dead relatives provide a glimpse of the new Iraq, where even attending a funeral can be dangerous.
The agony began when a car carrying his brother, Hakim, 40, and three cousins was stopped one night last month at about 9:30 at what they thought was a police checkpoint in the capital's mostly Sunni Arab neighborhood of Azamiyah.
Hakim called his brother on his cell phone to say he would get home later than planned in Sadr City, a Shiite area of Baghdad. But Hakim and his cousins never showed up.
It turned out the checkpoint was phony, and the four men had been gunned down by fake policemen - apparently the latest victims in Iraq's sectarian violence. Shiites and Sunni Arabs accuse each other of using death squads who disguise themselves as police.
Jassim and relatives recovered the four bodies, carefully washed them at his home, wrapped them in white shrouds and placed them in caskets rented from a Shiite mosque. But other Shiite traditions quickly fell by the wayside.
With sectarian bloodshed and insurgent attacks hanging over much of Iraq, only 16 friends and relatives of Jassim's showed up for the traditional Shiite funeral procession. Wailing and beating their chests, the mourners carried the four caskets from the home to several cars.
The plan was to follow Shiite tradition by driving to Najaf for burial in Iraq's holiest Shiite city, within 24 hours of death. But Iraqi security forces suddenly closed the highway to Najaf, so the burial took place in Karbala, the No. 2 holy city.
Many Shiites believe people buried in Najaf's Wadi al-Salam, or the Valley of Peace, one of the world's largest cemeteries, will go to heaven because the burial ground is near the shrine of Imam Ali, a 7th-century Shiite saint.
"We were deeply hurt because we could not bury the dead in Najaf, as our religion said we should," Jassim said in an interview at his home.
Shiites generally hold a three-day wake for the dead after their burial. But that wasn't possible either.
Such ceremonies are usually attended by dozens of relatives and friends, last late into the night and include a dinner on the final day.
But few relatives living in nearby provinces dared drive to Baghdad, and the feast of meat, rice and fruit that Jassim's family arranged had to be held in the afternoon, given what had happened to the four relatives as they drove through Baghdad at night.
"After the feast, we told the mourners to leave as soon as possible. In the past, that would have been considered an insult at such a sacred event," Jassim said. "But today everyone knows that security is necessary to save lives."
Sunni Arabs generally follow the same funeral traditions. They also bury the dead wrapped in simple shrouds, not expensive coffins. The main difference is that Sunnis usually use cemeteries near their homes, not burial grounds in holy cities.
But Sunnis now often have to cut corners, too.
Iraq's insurgents have found no ceremony too sacred to attack, striking at mosques and shrines, wakes and funerals, and weddings with mortar shells, roadside explosives and suicide bombs despite criticism from religious leaders.
Last year, a suicide bomber killed 47 people and wounded more than 100 at a Shiite funeral in Mosul, 225 miles northwest of Baghdad. On Jan. 4, in Maqdadiyah, 60 miles north of the capital, a suicide bomber attacked a funeral for a Shiite politician's nephew, killing at least 32 mourners, wounding dozens and splattering tombstones with blood.
Several prominent Sunnis have been kidnapped while traveling home from funerals and then killed. On Feb. 25, shooting broke out near the home of a Sunni cleric during the funeral procession for Al-Arabiya TV correspondent Atwar Bahjat, who was slain in sectarian violence.
Such violence motivates some Sunnis and Shiites to turn up at funerals and wakes heavily armed or to hire guards to protect the ceremonies.
Few Iraqis set up big tents for the three-day wakes anymore, nor do they invite crowds of friends to accompany relatives of the dead in funeral processions. Many Sunnis and Shiites once considered it a sign of prestige and honor for the dead when as many as 20 cars accompanied a hearse.
"Nowadays, we are far more cautious during funerals," said Mahmoud Hadi, 34, a Shiite who works at Al Kashkoul mosque in Najaf.
"We carefully search the mourners to make sure that a suicide bomber hasn't slipped into the crowd as it enters the mosque," he said in an interview. "We also have undercover workers in the area around the mosque to look for suspicious strangers."
Hadi said few Shiites would have forgone burying relatives in Najaf or missed important funerals or wakes.
"All that would have been unacceptable in the past, but not now," he said.
MyWay
Strange as it might sound this post should go into the Iraqi culture file. Or at least Iraq war culture.
Al-Kinani's efforts to honor his dead relatives provide a glimpse of the new Iraq, where even attending a funeral can be dangerous.
The agony began when a car carrying his brother, Hakim, 40, and three cousins was stopped one night last month at about 9:30 at what they thought was a police checkpoint in the capital's mostly Sunni Arab neighborhood of Azamiyah.
Hakim called his brother on his cell phone to say he would get home later than planned in Sadr City, a Shiite area of Baghdad. But Hakim and his cousins never showed up.
It turned out the checkpoint was phony, and the four men had been gunned down by fake policemen - apparently the latest victims in Iraq's sectarian violence. Shiites and Sunni Arabs accuse each other of using death squads who disguise themselves as police.
Jassim and relatives recovered the four bodies, carefully washed them at his home, wrapped them in white shrouds and placed them in caskets rented from a Shiite mosque. But other Shiite traditions quickly fell by the wayside.
With sectarian bloodshed and insurgent attacks hanging over much of Iraq, only 16 friends and relatives of Jassim's showed up for the traditional Shiite funeral procession. Wailing and beating their chests, the mourners carried the four caskets from the home to several cars.
The plan was to follow Shiite tradition by driving to Najaf for burial in Iraq's holiest Shiite city, within 24 hours of death. But Iraqi security forces suddenly closed the highway to Najaf, so the burial took place in Karbala, the No. 2 holy city.
Many Shiites believe people buried in Najaf's Wadi al-Salam, or the Valley of Peace, one of the world's largest cemeteries, will go to heaven because the burial ground is near the shrine of Imam Ali, a 7th-century Shiite saint.
"We were deeply hurt because we could not bury the dead in Najaf, as our religion said we should," Jassim said in an interview at his home.
Shiites generally hold a three-day wake for the dead after their burial. But that wasn't possible either.
Such ceremonies are usually attended by dozens of relatives and friends, last late into the night and include a dinner on the final day.
But few relatives living in nearby provinces dared drive to Baghdad, and the feast of meat, rice and fruit that Jassim's family arranged had to be held in the afternoon, given what had happened to the four relatives as they drove through Baghdad at night.
"After the feast, we told the mourners to leave as soon as possible. In the past, that would have been considered an insult at such a sacred event," Jassim said. "But today everyone knows that security is necessary to save lives."
Sunni Arabs generally follow the same funeral traditions. They also bury the dead wrapped in simple shrouds, not expensive coffins. The main difference is that Sunnis usually use cemeteries near their homes, not burial grounds in holy cities.
But Sunnis now often have to cut corners, too.
Iraq's insurgents have found no ceremony too sacred to attack, striking at mosques and shrines, wakes and funerals, and weddings with mortar shells, roadside explosives and suicide bombs despite criticism from religious leaders.
Last year, a suicide bomber killed 47 people and wounded more than 100 at a Shiite funeral in Mosul, 225 miles northwest of Baghdad. On Jan. 4, in Maqdadiyah, 60 miles north of the capital, a suicide bomber attacked a funeral for a Shiite politician's nephew, killing at least 32 mourners, wounding dozens and splattering tombstones with blood.
Several prominent Sunnis have been kidnapped while traveling home from funerals and then killed. On Feb. 25, shooting broke out near the home of a Sunni cleric during the funeral procession for Al-Arabiya TV correspondent Atwar Bahjat, who was slain in sectarian violence.
Such violence motivates some Sunnis and Shiites to turn up at funerals and wakes heavily armed or to hire guards to protect the ceremonies.
Few Iraqis set up big tents for the three-day wakes anymore, nor do they invite crowds of friends to accompany relatives of the dead in funeral processions. Many Sunnis and Shiites once considered it a sign of prestige and honor for the dead when as many as 20 cars accompanied a hearse.
"Nowadays, we are far more cautious during funerals," said Mahmoud Hadi, 34, a Shiite who works at Al Kashkoul mosque in Najaf.
"We carefully search the mourners to make sure that a suicide bomber hasn't slipped into the crowd as it enters the mosque," he said in an interview. "We also have undercover workers in the area around the mosque to look for suspicious strangers."
Hadi said few Shiites would have forgone burying relatives in Najaf or missed important funerals or wakes.
"All that would have been unacceptable in the past, but not now," he said.
MyWay
Strange as it might sound this post should go into the Iraqi culture file. Or at least Iraq war culture.
posted by madtom at 10:12 PM
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