BAGHDAD, 23 August 2005 — When their electricity isn’t zapped by daily power cuts, Iraqis can pretend they live in a normal country with a normal cultural life by tuning into the Iraqi version of “Pop Idol.”
Despite collapsing public services and the constant threat of death, more than 2,000 young Iraqis signed up for the talent show when Al-Sumeria TV announced the venture earlier this year.
Many Iraqis already obsessively watch “American Idol,” a version of the original British “Pop Idol” franchise, and a glitzy Lebanese copy called “Arab Superstar” on free-to-air Arabic satellite channels.
But “Iraq Star” is a brave indigenous effort to perk up the spirits of a depressed nation.
The studio set is spartan and drab, and there is no studio audience, though viewers are being promised tinsel town touches when the finale is held in Beirut.
“We are trying to lighten the load and problems Iraqis are going through,” said director Wadia Nader during recording of an episode this weekend in a Baghdad hotel.
“We had shows like this in the 1960s when people were discovered on television. But since then, with so many wars, Iraqis couldn’t see this kind of thing,” he added.
Drawing on a rich native heritage, the show takes Iraqis back to the era before Saddam Hussein and the successive traumas of war, domestic repression and international sanctions.
Most contestants choose well-known melancholy numbers about unrequited love, sung in an old classical style viewed as the piece-de-resistance of high culture in the Arab world.
“You just want the wounded lover to run after you; I know you and your nature,” croons one young man called Hossam.
He looks non-plussed as one of the three judges tells him he has pronounced some Arabic letters in far too nasal a fashion.
Another singer is upbraided for making a grammatical mistake in a metaphorical tale about a dead bird. “You didn’t prepare the song well. ‘Slaughtered bird’ is masculine, but you kept saying it in the feminine!” the judge gripes like a grammar teacher.
They all run numerous risks in arriving at the TV station, whose name reflects the pride of a nation whose history stretches back 5,000 years. It was the Sumerian civilization of Iraq that first invented writing.
Suicide bombs, assassinations, kidnappings, shootings by nervous soldiers in the US or Iraqi army — all have become daily fare in Iraq since the invasion put an end to Saddam’s rule, which offered stability despite the oppression.
Most Iraqi pop stars have given up or fled the country because of the security situation and threats by Islamist extremists who frown upon singing.
“I don’t regret it at all. Even if I lose, it’s still a chance to be seen and do something without fear or hesitation,” said young hopeful Lu’ay Hazem after singing before the panel.
Only a handful of women take part, reflecting the conservative nature of Iraq today. Decades ago, Iraq had many famous female singers.
Anecdotal evidence suggests the public are lapping the show up, and it has become the stuff of daily conversation.
“Most of the singers aren’t that good but maybe a few of them will go somewhere, if they get enough support,” said Seif Makki, watching from his living room.
Moreover, “Cops” Iraqi-style, minus the “Bad Boys” soundtrack but otherwise roughly modeled after the American TV show is created to make government more transparent, “The Cops Show” featuring Kirkuk officers in action is the first of its kind in the country and is breaking new ground in Iraqi television. A live call-in portion gives the public the chance to praise the security forces or gripe about them.
Screened weekly on Kirkuk Television, which broadcasts in this northern city of nearly 1 million people, “The Cops Show” has opened the floodgates in a community long suppressed.
“During Saddam Hussein’s time, it was very different,” station manager Nasser Hassan Mohammed said.
“You were unable to ask questions. You couldn’t say anything bad about police.
“Now people can call in directly. Anyone has the right to do this. This is the difference now. This is freedom.”
The call-in portion, initially a novelty, has become a staple of the show, and panelists field up to 30 calls per segment, Mohammed said. And because Kirkuk is ethnically mixed, the show switches among the languages spoken by Kurds, Arabs, Turkomen or Assyrians.
It took Iraqis a while to master the art of the phone-in.
“But after more than a year, they understand very well,” Mohammed said.
Col. Gordon Petrie, the show’s American military adviser, said it marks a new era for community service television.
“There has been a sea change in media,” said Petrie, who heads public affairs for the 116th Brigade Combat Team. “Before 2003, it was all-Saddam, all-the-time.
“Kirkuk, which was one of the largest TV stations, basically was robotic. They’d get the Baghdad feed and send it out again. Now they are in charge here.”
Until January’s landmark elections, the Americans “ran the shows, booked the guests, and tried to show them what community service programming was about. But after Jan. 30, we became the monitors. They haven’t disappointed us,” Petrie said. The show also aims to change a Saddam-era image of police as corrupt, inept and unapproachable.
“The first thing we wanted was to show friendship between citizens and police. They are not your enemy. They are your friend,” Mohammed said.
Provincial police chief Gen. Sherko Shakir has appeared as a guest several times. His spokesman, Abdullah Abdul-Qadir, is host and moderator. During a recent taping, the panelists included Kirkuk’s police chief, Gen. Burhan Taha, and two local police station commanders.
The show opened with graphic videotape of the body of an off-duty police captain, assassinated just days after his wedding. Taha decried the shooting as a “cowardly job” and urged the public to help.
“Don’t be afraid. Give tips anonymously. That way, you can stop bad activities,” he said.
Callers were just as quick to demand more of their local police force.
“I was standing on the main road near bridge No. 3. I saw some criminal activity. We don’t have security in our area. Sometimes, we have to secure the area by ourselves,” one man said.
Another, identifying himself as Ibrahim, demanded more police presence in southern Kirkuk.
“We don’t have enough patrols and traffic checkpoints,” he said.
“The criminals all know where the checkpoints are.” Callers are often complimentary about the police, said Mohammed, but a few have been rude.
“Our policy is ‘Thanks for your opinion.’ They are free to say what they like,” the station manager said, laughing and shaking his mane of gray hair.
The show’s popularity has not gone unnoticed by its enemies, and the studios are heavily guarded.
The station’s employees regularly get threats, Mohammed said, adding that he himself was hit by more than two dozen bullets during an assassination attempt in May 2004.
The station remains undeterred, Mohammed said.
“After liberation, many things changed. Many dreams were realized. We use freedom and democracy,” he said. “Our duty is to show people that freedom.”
