US helicopters drone overhead as guards open the gates to the compound. They grip Kalashnikovs while a colleague uses a mirror to check the underside of the car for bombs. Credentials are scrutinized once, twice, three times. At an inner gate a sentry does a serious frisk, not the usual pat-and-go. Mobile phones are handed over. "And your watches." They, too, disappear into a drawer.
Two Americans with crew cuts and flak jackets with grenades, flares and ammunition clips are the escorts through the mansion's grounds. There is a moat with brown water, apparently bereft of life, until a fish leaps out and plops back in.
Of his many Baghdad palaces this was said to be one of former Iraqi president Saddam Hussein's favorites. Now it is occupied by the man poised to replace him as ruler of Iraq. Ibrahim al-Jaafari is a very different man from the deposed dictator but he shares an occupational hazard: lots of people want to kill him.
ILLUSTRATION: YU SHA
To those who knew him as a mild-mannered family doctor in Wembley, north London, the transformation must be astounding. He is the epitome of a family doctor. A neatly trimmed beard, a bowl of sweets for visitors, chit-chat about the weather, reminiscence about a trip to Dublin, the voice so soft you sometimes have to lean forward to catch the words.
Last week the main Shiite alliance which won last month's election chose Jaafari to be its candidate as the next prime minister of Iraq, making his elevation a virtual certainty. It will sandwich him between the aspirations of a divided people, and the competing interests of the US, Iran, Israel and insurgents, to name but some of those jostling for influence.
Everyone is asking the same questions. Will he cosy up to Tehran and push for an Islamist constitution which erodes women's rights? Will he alienate Arab Sunnis by a sweeping purge of Baathist loyalists? Will he ask the US-led occupation force to leave sooner rather than later? Will he be up to the job? Will he survive the insurgents' bombs and bullets?
Perched on a sofa in his office, Jaafari looks his 58 years. A high, bald dome, silver hair combed neatly over the ears, he is impeccable in a blue suit and red tie. His English is good but not perfect, so much of the interview, conducted two weeks ago before his nomination was confirmed, is in Arabic.
Some worry he is too self-effacing and shy for the job but Jaafari plays up the mild persona, perhaps in deliberate contrast to Saddam's megalomania.
"I did not expect to be in this position but I will respond if I am called to serve my country. I believe the government is there to serve," he said.
He smiles, acknowledging the coyness of a politician on the verge of high office.
Just down the street from his office is the victory arch, crossed swords celebrating Iraq's supposed victory over Iran held by hands modelled on Saddam's. It is difficult to imagine the small, neat hands folded in Jaafari's lap ever being cast into monumental bombast but statues of him could conceivably fill some of Saddam's vacated plinths.
Shiites, some 60 percent of the population, were oppressed by successive rulers but that ended in the Jan. 30 election when the Shiite bloc, the United Iraqi Alliance, won 140 of 275 national assembly seats. It has the tacit backing of Iraq's most revered cleric, Grand Ayatollah Ali al-Sistani, and should have little trouble installing its candidate as prime minister, a more powerful post than the largely ceremonial presidency.
Technically the premier is appointed by the president and two deputy presidents, who are themselves appointed by the assembly, but in reality the Cabinet is being divvied up by party brokers in closed-door meetings.
Jaafari clinched the support of his own Islamic Dawa party and that of the alliance's other big party, the Supreme Council for the Islamic Revolution in Iraq (SCIRI). Both have strong ties to Iran's ruling clerics. The Shiites' historic political ascendance worries minorities like the Kurds and Arab Sunnis. In a manner that can only be described as bedside, Jaafari offers soothing words of moderation and inclusion.
The Kurds and Sunnis will be integral to building a democratic and stable nation.
"They are all our brothers," he said.
There are lessons to be learned from South Africa's truth and reconciliation commission, the template of avoiding revenge.
"Though of course there are many differences between our experience and theirs," Jaafari said.
If Jaafari was nervous about his elevation he betrayed no sign, relaxing in an office furnished with an Iraqi flag, chandeliers, and a widescreen television. The bookcase had Islamic texts, Western academic tomes and former South African president Nelson Mandela's autobiography. No sign of Winston Churchill, though the doctor quotes him. An aide served milk diluted with boiling water, into which he spooned instant coffee. At one point he turns nostalgic.
"Did you ever go to Edinburgh? I liked Scotland. And Dublin was nice," he said.
Born in Karbala, a holy Shiite city, Jaafari graduated from Mosul university with a medical degree in 1974, already a member of Dawa, Iraq's oldest Shiite party. Saddam's secular, Sunni-dominated regime cracked down in the late 1970s, massacring thousands of members and their families. Jaafari narrowly escaped in 1980, to Iran for nine years, then Britain, as a mid-ranking member of the exiled opposition.
Leaving his two sons, three daughters and wife behind, he returned in 2003 to become the first chairman of the US-appointed governing council. A year later he became one of two vice-presidents, devoid of real power but a platform to become known and liked as an avuncular figure. He is the third most admired figure in Iraq, according to one poll.
He does not elaborate on his exile. The here and now is too pressing. After decades of lording it over others, the Sunnis are now politically marginalized. Their resentment fuels the insurgents, a mix of deposed regime loyalists and Islamic radicals. Jaafari's solution is to beef up the security forces to crush extremist factions, such as those headed by Abu Musab al-Zarqawi, and bring the rest into the political process.
"It is a present to Zarqawi if we push [the Sunnis] from government," he said.
That is exactly what Washington and London want: conciliatory leadership guiding the Shiites away from revenge and domination now that the boot is on the other foot.
But there is a catch. Jaafari also advocates "deBaathification," the uprooting of former regime cadres from positions of responsibility. The Shiites having been slaughtered and persecuted by the Baath party, it is an understandable impulse, but it could turn into a witchhunt which deepens Sunni alienation.
"I personally favour an amnesty for some but not for those who committed crimes," Jaafari said in his soft voice.
It sounds a reasonable formula but there is a calculated vagueness that concerns western diplomats. Going after Baathists could undercut any effort to reach out to Sunnis.
At a press conference after his nomination was confirmed Jaafari sounded almost Blairite, promising to be tough on insurgency, tough on the causes of insurgency.
"If need be, we will be strong against the perpetrators of acts of violence, and at the same time we will be lenient with anybody who will work with us," he said.
He is ambiguous about the Americans. They should stay as long as they are needed to bolster security, he said, which could mean they will be asked to leave in a few months, years or decades.
Simultaneously he wants to bring into government supporters of the radical cleric Moqtada al-Sadr, who twice revolted against the occupation.
Another explosive issue is Kurdish autonomy: how much to allow, and how soon? The Kurds run their own affairs in the north and dream of full independence. They took a quarter of the assembly seats, giving them leverage over the Shiites in a system that requires two-thirds majorities for big decisions.
"Our Kurdish brothers are in a good position. They will have a good presence in the government," Jaafari said.
There is a steely, vague warning, however, not to breach national unity.
"If they go beyond these rights we could prevent them," he said.
The other big question is Islam. Jaafari's alliance has strong links to Tehran and is guided by a grand ayatollah who forbids chess and listening to music for entertainment. The doctor himself does not drink, smoke, play cards, or go to the cinema. On a visit to Baghdad last week US Senator Hillary Clinton said she worried about those links, prompting a scornful rebuke from Jaafari along the lines that she was an ignoramus.
As a member of the now defunct Iraqi governing council, he advocated applying Shariah law to issues such as marriage, divorce and inheritance.
"Islam makes a woman the responsibility of her father until she marries, and then she is the responsibility of her husband," he said then.
Now he sounds mellower, declining to say Shariah should be the sole source of a new constitution which is to be drafted by August, and noting that his gynecologist wife drives a car and has her own career.
Some analysts worry that Jaafari is a frontman for hardliners determined to build a theocracy. Others say he is a devout, conservative Shiite but also a pragmatist who will cut deals with the Arab Sunnis and secular Kurds.
Ensconced in Saddam's former palace, a bodyguard in the corner, dignitaries waiting in the corridor, an insurgency to quell, an economy to fix, a country to unite ... it is a long way from treating sick people in London.
"Yes, much to do," he smiled.
The physician seems to prefer the prospect of treating the bleeding trauma that is his homeland.
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