After the, to use the term loosely, interview with Hussein, I find myself with enough time left in the Republic to witness the inauguration of the new President. The preparations have been occurring all the time since my arrival, flags on every building, the streets polished, the steps of the Presidential Palace polished and scrubbed to perfection. The new President is representative of his countries majority religion, a Sunni Muslim, but is distinct in one key area: he is a Kurd. Masoud Barzani was virtually unknown outside the Kurdish Autonomous Region before Nader nominated him as his successor. Being known before hand is not a pre-requisite of power in this country; merely that your predecessor trusts you and the voters support you. The fact that opposition candidates are poorly funded and often liable to harassment by groups who the state maintains are “misguided comrades” but the League regards as hired thugs make democracy in the UAR, on the national level, if not a sham, at the very least a performance. The rules might not be written, and theoretically subject to change, but everyone knows how the game is played.
The inauguration is as one would expect from a country whose Presidency owes itself more to the Roman Principate then any modern republic. It is a the period of inauguration is one where all work stops, and the streets are backed; as always, the closer you are to the podium, the more power and prestige you have. There is a military parade, the Indian built tanks looking like they just came off the factory floor. My contacts tell me that the tanks and the aircraft flying overhead are not all they seem; according to my sources, only 40% of the Regiments of the Army and 30% of the Air Force are at a level similar to a German Panzer Regiment or the Squadrons of the US Air Force. And the less said about the Arab Navy, the better. Still, regardless of the faults of the military of the Arab Republic, it is an impressive spectacle.
The parade ends, and there is silence for a while. In the distance, I can see figures emerging on the inauguration podium. There is the incumbent President, and his successor. He is surrounded by men, and they are all men, in suits and uniforms. Women, in this country, are not visible where power lies. One wonders what President Duckworth would think of the spectacle, the machismo, the militarism of a country that’s fought one war in its history, which it lost. After the grand speeches and bombastic words, the swearing in is low-key and quite.
The cheering and shouting is quite the opposite, it goes on and on. A novice watching would get the impression that this is some major change in the countries path, a major turning point, but that is far from the truth. The people cheering and clapping are those who lives and livelihoods depend on the system keeping on as it always has. They, are they are far more diverse the moustached men on the stage in terms of age, gender, colour, and so forth, are the public servants, the middle ranking union-representatives. As I look around, I see a society, a country that somehow, in the 21st Century, blends socialism, Arab nationalism, Weimar style presidential dictatorship and even a pinch of old Tsarist Russia into one. It is a seething brew, but one that has, as of yet, not boiled over.
I turn away and start a difficult trek towards the airport. India awaits me.