[Intl-tobacco] An Iraqi Factory Reflects U.S. Recovery Effort

[Robert Weissman]

An Iraqi Factory Reflects U.S. Recovery Effort
New York Times
 February 15, 2004

 Edward Wong

 Aghdad, Iraq - The five-story headquarters of one of the biggest cigarette
 factories in the Middle East rises on the northeastern edge of this city's
 largest slum, towering above dirt fields filled with donkey carts and
 children playing soccer and puddles reeking of urine. American marines
 wrested it from snipers last April. Then the Second Armored Calvary Regiment
 moved in, and Army soldiers now stare from watchtowers at the concrete
 houses of the sprawling neighborhood known as Sadr City.

 The factory is on the front line of the American military's battle to win
 the trust of possibly the most hostile - and certainly the poorest -
area of
 Baghdad. Many of this neighborhood's 2.2 million inhabitants follow the
 decrees of a fiery anti-American Shiite cleric named Moktada al-Sadr. His
 militia, known as the Mahdi Army, has ambushed and killed American troops.

 The way the American military sees it, part of dousing the flames has
 involved reopening the cigarette factory and trying to get it running
 smoothly again. That means giving 850 Iraqi workers access to half the base,
 which the 1,000 soldiers here call Camp Marlboro. It seemed a simple task
 at first. The factory began production again last October, churning out 300
 to 400 cases of Sumer brand cigarettes a day, or up to 2,500 cigarettes per
 minute. But with problems ranging from labor strife to faulty
machinery, the
 project mirrors the complexities of governing Iraq.

 "One of our weapons is our culture," Maj. George Sarabia, a spokesman for
 the Second Armored Calvary Regiment, said as he walked across the factory
 floor one morning. "Part of the reason why we won the cold war is
because of
 the military. But one of the reasons is because of the Beatles and
 bluejeans." Never mind that the Beatles were British. The point, Major
 Sarabia said, is that teaching the laborers Western work habits and putting
 money in their pockets will help bring stability. "These are things that
 aren't in the book," Major Sarabia said as clumps of processed tobacco
 rolled along conveyor belts. "You don't learn this in the Army. We're trying
 to teach economics, the work ethic, the American way of doing things."

 Those words no doubt echo sentiments expressed by other officers during
 other imperial ages, in other dust-choked parts of the world. As with many
 colonial projects, though, the task these warriors-turned-administrators
 describe is easier said than done. The factory has sat idle in recent weeks
 while the workers have gone on strike in a wage dispute. Furthermore,
 members of Saddam Hussein's Baath Party still hold jobs here, annoying some
 workers, and the factory is operating well below capacity because spare
 parts were looted.

 Mr. Sadr's supporters remain skeptical of the American presence. "Some
 people consider the people who work in the factory to be spies for the
 Americans," Sheik Amir al-Husseini, a representative for Mr. Sadr, said as
 he sat in an office crowded with local men beseeching him for financial
 help. "The jobs in the factory don't solve the problem of unemployment. The
 Americans haven't provided new jobs." The number of jobs at the factory has
 actually increased by 50 from before the invasion, said Ali Hussein Salman,
 the factory manager.

 Two British companies built the factory decades ago, then handed it to
 Saddam Hussein in 1988, who ran it as a government enterprise. Last April,
 after dealing with snipers on its rooftops, the marines decided to occupy
 the building because of the vantage point it held over Sadr City. A month
 later, the Ministry of Industry suggested letting the government restart
 cigarette production at the factory. The Coalition Provisional
Authority had
 listed the factory as one of 50 businesses crucial to generating
revenue for
 Iraq, said Command Sgt. Maj. Charles Waters, a burly career soldier from
 Kentucky who maintains security at the factory. He moved American soldiers
 out of factory buildings, had a wall built between the factory and the rest
 of the compound, and set up a separate entrance for Iraqi workers.

 When the factory reopened in October, most workers came back. Sergeant Major
 Waters told the managers to stop paying those who did not show up. Many of
 the absentees returned. The factory hummed with life. Decrepit machines
 pumped out steam and sprayed perfume onto processed tobacco. Bales of dried
 raw tobacco sat in a corner of the building, alongside boxes of "virgin
 blend" tobacco from India and Vietnam. Mr. Salman, who had worked as an
 engineer here for 12 years, was assigned to oversee the plant. Unlike the
 former Baath Party managers, he did not appear to be feared or disliked by
 the workers. The employees had complaints, though.

 "If someone is sick, how can he be treated?" one worker asked Mr.
Salman as
 he walked across the floor one morning. Then the workers decided to strike
 because they had not been paid since late December, and because of what they
 called wage disparities among government workers. Many government employees
 around the country have filed similar grievances in the last month.

 The strike brought the factory to a standstill. But it also reflected a
 degree of freedom that did not exist before. Mr. Hussein disbanded
unions in
 1987 and quashed any attempts at strikes. Sergeant Major Waters said that
 negotiations were progressing and that workers should be back soon. He
 helped organize a new union here, and on the day of the union
elections, he
 rounded up four Baathists at the factory and held them for several
hours of
 "interrogation" so they would not intimidate workers during the balloting.

 The fact that some Baath Party members remain on the payroll bothers him.
 "The concern is when we decide to pull out, they'll come back into
power and
 run the factory the way they used to do - with corruption," he said. Mr.
 Salman, the manager, said five top Baathists were immediately fired after
 the Coalition Provisional Authority enacted a law last May allowing such
 purges. Twelve remain, he said, because the law does not allow for automatic
 dismissal of lower-level Baathists.

 The most urgent need, though, is for spare parts. Looters stripped the
 factory during the fall of Baghdad last April. In optimal conditions, the
 factory can produce up to 2,000 cases of cigarettes per day, five to six
 times its output now. Vendors all over Iraq buy the cases for $40 each,
 which means the factory can pull in an additional $64,000 a day for the
 government if it ever gets to full capacity. "Our mission over here is to
 establish a foundation the Iraqi people can build upon," Sergeant Major
 Waters said. "I believe in my heart of hearts that this factory is part of
 it."