Joint Isn't Jumping in Baghdad

BAGHDAD =97 Close = your eyes and=20 the dusty ballroom of Hadira Shalal seems to come alive with the = sounds of=20 Iraqi folk music and the scent of booze and cologne. The scattered = wooden=20 chairs of the deserted nightclub become the swirling figures of=20 happy-go-lucky revelers flirting and line-dancing. Juicy kebabs = and=20 bottles of liquor appear on the bare tables, now piled up in the = corners.=20

Until restaurateur Bassel Aziz Majid closed the doors = about a=20 month ago, Hadira Shalal, which means "the sound of a waterfall," = may have=20 been Baghdad's last nightclub. Not one of many restaurants that = secretly=20 serve liquor but the real deal: a rollicking hot-spot where guests = drank=20 and partied until the wee hours.

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Majid,=20 known for his flashy gold jewelry, acquired a taste for la = dolce vita=20 when he lived in Italy in the late 1970s. He opened Hadira = Shalal five=20 years ago and after the U.S.-led invasion of Iraq, he tried his = hardest to=20 keep the party going. He warded off questions from American = patrols, and=20 threats from insurgents. He ignored the initial demands of = Islamists, and=20 for a time succeeded in courting them. Being arrested couldn't = stop him,=20 and neither could the death last year of his ailing wife. =

But=20 finally, Iraq's newly empowered enemies of = Western-style=20 fun got to his landlord, a good friend who with a heavy heart told = him to=20 shut down the club and get out of the building before it became = the target=20 of a bloody attack.

"Before Iraq's wars and troubles we = used to=20 have a lot of nightclubs with bands, music and dancing," said = Majid, 46,=20 who has a penchant for open-collared shirts. "Now, the atmosphere = makes it=20 very difficult."

Since the March 2003 U.S.-led invasion, = Shiite=20 Muslim militias and puritanical Sunni insurgents have begun = enforcing=20 fundamentalist Islamic prohibitions against alcohol and night life = in=20 cities across Iraq. They've firebombed liquor stores in Shiite-run = Basra,=20 once a lively and freewheeling port city, and slain alcohol = merchants in=20 primarily Sunni Fallouja.

Iraq's small Christian minority, = which=20 traditionally dominated the country's liquor industry, has borne = the brunt=20 of much of the religious crackdown. Christian community leaders = say that=20 many of their flock across Iraq have fled to Syria and=20 elsewhere.

Ubiquitous under the regime of Saddam Hussein, = liquor=20 stores have closed down or moved underground =97 even in the = cosmopolitan=20 capital =97 for fear of being targeted by insurgents or enforcers = of public=20 morality.

Although Iraq's newly elected political leaders = =97 many of=20 them members of Shiite religious parties =97 speak high-mindedly = of creating=20 a tolerant new order that includes their onetime Sunni Arab = tormentors,=20 many apparently are loath to allow what they see as Western = decadence.=20

Majid launched his 3,000-square-foot club in 2000, the = triumph of=20 his career after two decades managing restaurants, hotels and = kebab stands=20 in his hometown of Basra and in Baghdad. He enticed customers with = a=20 kitchen that served traditional Iraqi kebabs and rice dishes as = well as a=20 few Chinese and Western entrees.

When Hussein was in power, = the=20 club was a popular hangout, mostly attracting diplomats rich = enough to=20 afford a night out. Under the secular rule of the time, liquor and = clubbing were mostly permitted, though the dictator tried to = bolster his=20 Islamic credentials during the final years of his reign. =

It was=20 immediately following the 2003 invasion that Hadira Shalal took=20 off.

"The days after the fall of Baghdad were great," said=20 25-year-old Lamiya Mayen, a former barmaid at the club, which = employed=20 about 20. "We were people who were having a lot of fun." =

At that=20 time, the club was frequented by foreign businessmen and their = clients,=20 high-level officials of the fledgling government, well-to-do = couples in=20 suits and glitzy dresses, and ordinary young guys with their = girlfriends.=20

Mayen recalled a birthday bash for a well-known Iraqi = television=20 star named Nagham, who starred in "War and Love," a post-invasion = soap=20 opera. Artists and actors laughed and danced into the = night.

Before=20 the war, only fat cats could afford to frequent places like Hadira = Shalal.=20 A postwar increase in salaries and commerce brought people of all=20 different walks of life into the club.

"It was glamorous," = Mayen=20 said. "Iraqi people were deprived of this kind of thing for so = long."=20

Women would launch into impromptu belly dancing. A = three-piece=20 band pumped out Iraqi folk music as guests stood up and did the=20 chobi, a line dance in which men and women lock arms, move = two=20 steps forward, one step back and to the side. Once, a group of = Canadian=20 journalists joined in.

"Iraq needs such places, for = business as=20 well as recreation," said Alaadin Abdul Razzaq, a 50-year-old = civil=20 engineer and construction contractor who was a regular customer. = "We would=20 invite investors and businessmen. It was a first-class restaurant = with=20 excellent service."

But problems emerged almost from the = start of=20 the occupation. Majid kept the place open some nights until 1 = a.m.,=20 prompting questions from U.S. troops patrolling the club's Arasat = Street=20 neighborhood.

"They used to come and ask me, 'Why are you = open so=20 late? What's your purpose?' " he said. "Once the Americans = understood that=20 this was a positive challenge against the general situation and = that we=20 wanted to bring back Iraqi nightlife, they were supportive." =

Newly=20 appointed Iraqi Interior Ministry officials encouraged Majid to = try=20 persuading other restaurant owners to stay open late too. But = Iraq's=20 troubles began catching up with Majid. In late summer 2003, two = car bombs=20 were found and defused near the restaurant, possibly meant for the = Japanese Embassy next door, prompting the diplomats to put up ugly = concrete barriers and barbed wire.

Then an improvised = roadside=20 explosive device went off near the restaurant. More barriers went = up.=20 Visitors to Hadira Shalal now had to walk through a gray corridor = that=20 resembled Cold War Berlin's Checkpoint Charlie. Business slowed to = a=20 trickle.

Majid tried to lift his employees' sagging = spirits. "He=20 would say now there's no work, but maybe in a couple months it = will pick=20 up again," recalled Mayen, the barmaid.

As insurgent = attacks became=20 more common, fewer and fewer people dared traverse the city to = visit the=20 nightclub. A coarser kind of client began frequenting the club. = Once a=20 fight broke out when a woman resisted the advances of a drunken = young=20 man.

Then, more trouble struck. Last October, U.S. troops = raided=20 Majid's home and nightclub and detained him. He said they = confiscated his=20 computer, some cash, a satellite phone, four crates of whiskey and = his=20 gold jewelry. In jail, they gave him two blankets; his cell was a = cage on=20 an outdoor basketball court, he said. He was told that an = informant had=20 fingered him as an insurgent sympathizer and former=20 member of the Fedayeen Saddam, a militia loyal to=20 Hussein.

Majid was surprised by the accusation. Iraq's = insurgents=20 are usually puritanical Islamic extremists who live for jihad, = rural Sunni=20 Arabs who feel wronged by the status quo or hardened former = members of=20 Hussein's Sunni-dominated security apparatus. Majid is a = hard-drinking and=20 urbane Shiite with a degree in hotel and restaurant management = from Italy=20 and a fondness for Elvis Presley.

After eight days in = detention,=20 Majid, who still has his prison tags, was released without being = charged.=20 But the stress of the arrest, he said, got to his 38-year-old = wife, Shamaa=20 Fadhel, who was diabetic. A few days after his release, she died = of=20 complications related to diabetes and a weak heart.

In = mid-January,=20 came more trouble. An earnest-looking man in his 20s with a neatly = trimmed=20 beard showed up at his club. Majid said he was ordered to appear = the next=20 day at the offices of the Supreme Council for Islamic Revolution = of Iraq,=20 or SCIRI, the nation's largest Shiite political movement. =

Majid=20 felt intimidated. Not only do prominent members of the government = belong=20 to the party, the Badr Brigade, a paramilitary force, has ties to = the=20 organization. Majid showed up at the headquarters on time at 11=20 a.m.

After he was frisked, Majid was hustled into a dimly = lighted=20 room inside the heavily guarded compound. His interrogator, Majid = said,=20 was a humorless man in a gray suit and collarless white=20 shirt.

Majid said the official declined to give his name or = his=20 hand when Majid extended his. "He didn't even invite me to sit = down,"=20 Majid recalled. "It was as if I was entering an intelligence = office."=20

The man proceeded to give Majid a lecture on morality. "He = said,=20 'What you are doing is against Shiism, against religion. How can = you sell=20 liquor?' " Majid recalled.

Majid said he made a vigorous = defense.=20 "I told him, 'This is my living, this is how I eat. If you stop me = from=20 throwing parties how will I live?' "

The official demanded = that=20 Majid sign a document promising to cease operating the nightclub. = "I=20 signed the paper," he recalled. "Otherwise maybe they would kill = me."=20

But on the drive home Majid came up with a plan to buy = time.=20 Through a friend, he contacted eight SCIRI bigwigs and invited = them to his=20 club the following weekend. He stocked up on whiskey and invited = some=20 pretty girls. The eight men showed up and were treated to a night = of=20 booze, folk music and more discreet entertainment. He didn't hear = from=20 SCIRI again, said Majid, who is known as Abu Nour to his friends.=20

But last month, someone =97 either the authorities or = Islamist=20 activists =97 got to the owner of the building, Abbas Assem Flaya, = and told=20 him he must evict Majid. Flaya terminated the lease.

"What = can I=20 do?" said Flaya, as workers packed up the restaurant equipment. = "Abu Nour=20 and I are friends. But all I own is this building. I'm afraid = they'll blow=20 it up."

Fans of the club are depressed.

Abdul Razzaq = sees=20 the closure as part of an oppressive religious crackdown sweeping = the=20 country. A couple of weeks ago he was run out of Basra because he = and a=20 buddy were sharing a can of beer in their hotel room during a = business=20 trip.

"A guy married in Baghdad used to go to Basra for = his=20 honeymoon," he said. "Closing such places down, that's a new thing = for=20 Iraq."

Westerners in Iraq have also noted the growth of = violence=20 and intolerance directed against those involved in the spirits = business=20 and wonder whether it's the start of a trend toward street-level = religious=20 extremism.

David Patel, a Stanford University scholar who = lived in=20 Basra for many months, said militants had shot and killed a man = who sold=20 him whiskey. "I don't think this sort of thing will be officially=20 institutionalized in terms of 'promotion of virtue and prevention = of vice'=20 squads" such as those in Afghanistan and Saudi Arabia, he said. = But the=20 willingness of the authorities to stop this kind of violence and=20 intimidation is very much up in the air, Patel said.

Majid, = for his=20 part, remains positive. He has urged his old staff to stay hopeful = and=20 available. He's searching for another space for the club and says = he's=20 already got new investors lined up.

It's just a matter of = time, he=20 said, before he brings back the magic. "I will reopen Hadira = Shalal the=20 same as before and even better. I must bring night life back to = Baghdad."=20