LONDON, 12 April 2003 — Bringing down the statue of Saddam in Firdous Square was symbolic. But its symbolism is slightly more complicated than it might appear. Saddam was, indeed, brought down decisively. But while the initial impetus to destroy the statue came from jubilant Iraqis, they were not given long to attempt to dismantle it themselves. That might have been a long, drawn-out and dangerous task, as dull and frustrating to watch as, say, the unphotogenic progress of weapons inspectors. Why not opt instead for a quick fix, or in the case of both country and statue, a quick destruction? For the Iraqi people, the challenge was tough. For the US military, it was a cakewalk.
American troops led this operation, just as they led the operation to dismantle the regime of the man himself. They may have had second thoughts about including the Stars and Stripes in the picture, but even this was fabulous propaganda for a Western world brought up on witnessing the triumphant fall of such icons of repression. Once America’s military had been brought to bear, the removal of Saddam was easy. Commentators have remarked on the cheap brick behind the marble facing of the plinth, and the hollow inside of the body of the would-be Saladin: A nice metaphor for a barren leadership.
But it is also a deeply chilling metaphor. Pleasing emptiness may have filled the space previously dominated by Saddam’s monument to himself, but the vacuum that has been left behind by the removal of the real man and his regime is far more frightening. As fear of Saddam drains out of Iraq, fine as this may be in itself, it quickly becomes apparent that fear alone is a powerful glue. Saddam had nothing to offer but sheer, chilling fear, and nothing but fear has been holding Iraq’s civil society together. For the moment, at least, there is nothing at all to replace it. The message of the Fardous Square toppling, seen all over the world, is that Iraq needs America in order to get anything done. Fear, the statue’s narrative tells us, can be replaced with cooperative dependence. The looters though, and the assassins, are delivering another message, unmediated by metaphor or symbol or any other sort of reference. They don’t need the US to help them to destroy anything. They can do it themselves. Even the hospitals were looted on Thursday, while the wounded and maimed lay bleeding and in pain.
Cooperative dependence is not on the agenda here. Yet whether the actions of the mob are put down to euphoria, catharsis, anger, revenge or raw opportunism, their actions speak loudly of the need for outside control to be imposed on this uneasy patchwork of a country. No one, though, appears to have much idea of how to do it. There is no police force, no vestigial army left to take over. These institutions were all part of the glue that it has taken such a short time for the Anglo-American forces to remove. At the same time, because of the angry and divided circumstances under which this invasion was begun, there is no international will, let alone practical effort, in place to quell the disorder.