Overheated car culture bubbles in Iraq

BAGHDAD -- There may be few better places in the world to buy a used luxury car than the rubble-strewn streets of Iraq's capital.

A 2002 Mercedes-Benz C-Class sells for $20,000, a 1995 Mercedes-Benz E320 with all the extras has an asking price of $7,000, and stories abound of late-model Land Rovers costing comparable sums.

Down the street from police checkpoints, stores hawk shiny, high-end cars scarred with bullet holes. Shoppers are distracted by American helicopters screeching overhead.

One large retailer has hauled in empty, rusting railroad cars to house the dozens of guards who watch over its acres of autos.

That does not bother Sabiha Hasan Ibrahim, a 62-year-old nurse who is fed up with transferring seven times a day on Baghdad's buses for her three-hour commute. "Thanks to God, this is the reality now," she said as she cruised the Nahadah car market, interrogating dealers to make sure their newly discounted cars were not stolen.

As befits the residents of this wide, flat desert country, where until recently gasoline was less expensive than water, Iraqis have long been crazy about cars. Their automotive obsession has reached new heights since the fall of dictator Saddam Hussein, who kept a quota on the number of cars permitted in the country.

Hussein's government had not imported a significant number of vehicles since 1980, consigning most Iraqis to a boxy, rusting existence on the roads. Now the range of newly purchased cars on the streets of Iraq -- almost all used and imported on ad hoc truck convoys from neighboring Jordan and Syria or the Persian Gulf states -- is the most prominent sign of the nation's shaky steps toward a consumer culture.

Since the end of the US-led war and the 13-year United Nations embargo against Iraq, the nation has been flooded with merchandise from all over the world. Iraqis are marveling at products rarely or never seen under Hussein's reign.

Although the country's newly rampant crime and uncertain future have dampened the enthusiasm of some consumers, many who once hoarded money in case they needed to bribe the secret police are now going shopping.

"Iraqis have been banking for bad days," said Humam al Shamaa, an economist at Baghdad University. "Now they feel the bad days will not come again. So they spend on the most important thing for them, which is a car."

After all, added Shamaa, who bought his son a 1990 BMW immediately after the fall of Hussein, "Iraqi people have been prevented from buying new cars for almost 30 years."

Iraqi commerce with other countries virtually ended in 1980 with the start of Hussein's eight-year war against Iran, which was soon followed by the embargo and the 1991 Persian Gulf War. Many Iraqis paid thousands of dollars to the government to get on lists for new cars that never came.

Under Hussein's regime, onerous customs duties and taxes jacked up the price of most cars, and only a handful of import licenses were doled out for high fees. This meant that only the well-connected drove luxury vehicles. Perhaps the best connected was Hussein's son Uday, whose fleet of Rolls-Royces and other exorbitantly expensive cars was legendary; he demanded that anyone seen driving a more opulent car hand over the vehicle or face prison -- or worse.

Many Iraqis shuddered when they saw a late-model BMW or Mercedes in their rearview mirror, knowing a friend of the dictator was probably at the wheel.

Iraqis boast of their personal connections to their cars. Friends frequently ask about one another's vehicles, using the cars' personal nicknames -- "How's Abu Jumeili? How's Abu Jamal?" A Baghdad pharmacy owner, Jubran al Saffar, 42, said cars "are like a piece of the family." He calls his blue 1980 Peugeot "Sattoota," after a homely yet dependable girl in an old Iraqi comic book.

Cars are needed not only to navigate Iraq's sprawling, low-lying cities, but also to maintain connections with rural relatives. Muhammed Yahya Timimi, 33, lives in Baghdad but has long relied on a 1988 Nissan pickup for regular runs to the back roads of his hometown of Baqubah, about 35 miles northeast of the capital.

Aware that car prices are plummeting, Timimi was tempted to drop by the Nahadah auto market and treat himself to a newer sport utility vehicle. But, like many Iraqis now, he is an ambivalent shopper. Timimi's carpet factory was looted after the war and he did not want to buy a very flashy car, for fear of becoming a target for bandits. "They are stealing everything now," he said. "They might kill you just for your shirt."

To many, this fear represents the paradox of the new Iraq, awash in glamorous goods but rife with poverty, crime, and attacks against occupation forces. "Even paradise is unbearable without good people," Timimi said, citing an old proverb. "Happiness without feeling secure is nothing."

Mohammed Ahwan Saad, a former lieutenant colonel in the Iraqi police who became a luxury-car dealer, said his business is up 50 percent since Hussein was ousted. He said business would be even better if the situation were more stable.

"If it was a good security situation, you would see many people asking for Rolls-Royces, Jaguars, Lamborghinis," he said.

Despite the risks, Saad drives a late-model Mercedes. "Some people will not evaluate you for what you are," he said. "They will evaluate you for what you are driving."