Baghdad's Many Contradictions Points to the Emergence of a New Two-Tiered Iraqi Society

There is a big poster hanging above the big intersection right in front of Baghdad's Green Zone, the fortified government compound created by the American occupation forces. Underneath the pictures of Ismail Haniyeh and Qasem Solemani are the words "We will never forget the blood of our martyrs." Haniyeh is the leader of Hamas assassinated by Israel in Iran, and Solemani is the leader of Iran's elite military unit the Quds Force, assassinated by America in Syria. It is clear from the poster what the government's stance is on the matter of these assassinations.

Yet, as my taxi was stuck at this intersection, allowing me to carefully gawk at the poster and the heavy walls and military presence behind it, the driver was also blasting American pop music out the windows. The American cultural influence is not limited to him. Unlike the burqa and hijab so commonly seen in the wealthier Gulf countries, here most young women let their hair flow freely in the wind, while dressed in figure-hugging T-shirts and jeans. Even for older men, the supposed bastion of traditional values, Western clothing is more common than Arab attire (again, unlike any of the Gulf countries).

The pro-American culture and anti-American politics are just one of many visual contradictions that welcome any first-time visitor to the country. Despite having architecture and layout geared toward walkable neighborhoods and streetside shopfronts, Baghdad is devoid of pedestrians, with shops even on main thoroughfares almost entirely shuttered or boarded up. Even in the few street blocks where the government spruced up traditional architecture with lights and nice pavements, shops are getting little patronage on a weekend night.

The result is that this city, one of the largest in the Middle East and perhaps arguably the most illustrious history, not to mention plenty of American attention and investment in the post-war years, visually looks like one of the most neglected. Even high-rise concrete towers, no doubt symbols of past commercial success, remain riddled with bullet holes and broken glass. The backstreets, no doubt residence to many in the past, are served by neither streetlights nor garbage collection services. In the pitch dark of the night, stray dogs run around, scavenging for dinner in the heaps of garbage lying in the gutters.

Moreover, years of American occupation have not created an Americanized city once looking past the prevalent Western dress code. Almost no shops in the streets have non-Arabic signage and even drivers for taxi-hailing apps do not speak English at all. Given the massive inflow of migrant workers and bilingual education in Kuwait just next door, it can be a shock just how a short geographic distance can create entirely different social realities. And years of American presence have not erased the architectural heritage of the Baathist years, evidenced by the still towering government buildings dotted around the city.

It is clear even from a few hours in the city that years of war, political upheaval, and general instability have not been kind to Baghdad. The lack of investment in public services has killed off street life, even as pockets of prosperity are not very much on show, as traffic snarls across the city's inadequate boulevards handling a growing number of cars. As these cars inch by sites where gated residential compounds and brand-new shopping malls are being built at a rapid clip, their drivers can look forward to a near future where traffic may move even slower.

At least within those residences and malls, the fruits of Iraq's new emergence as a multicultural democracy with full Western economic backing, whatever their demerits, are clearly being seen. However, that "new" Baghdad seems to be built away from the existing one, planned as entirely new neighborhoods and suburbs populated by those who do not want and need to drive through blighted areas that were formerly the city's most vibrant districts but are now enveloped by darkness at night. They know of the city's gaping contradictions, yet choose to ignore it by physically staying away from it.

On the wall of my room at an old hotel in one of these neglected areas is a painting of a centuries-old imperial palace, the vestiges still remain among the neglected buildings a short drive away. It is sad to imagine that the once-proud residents of the neighborhoods closest to imperial power are rapidly being eclipsed by a wealthy elite that chooses to stay many miles away, in the confines of their new cars, malls, and homes. If that pride turns into resentment, there is no telling what sort of new instability will be introduced into a country that has already endured so much in such a short time.