Stay up to date with notifications from The Independent

Notifications can be managed in browser preferences.

Looters strip bare the luxurious lair of 'Chemical Ali'

Paul Harris Near Basra
Friday 04 April 2003 00:00 BST
Comments

In a level landscape of mud fields and flat-topped farmhouses, the palace of Chemical Ali stands out for miles. Its crenellated tower of yellowish stone rises above a stand of green date palms. It is a symbol of dominance and power. Or at least it used to be. Because Ali doesn't live here any more.

Only the name of Saddam Hussein strikes as much terror into the hearts of Iraqis as Ali Hassan al-Majid. After organising the gassing of Kurds in the late 1980s, he became better known as Chemical Ali. He is President Saddam's cousin and a right-hand man, a man who has killed many and helped terrorise a nation.

But the needs of the looters of his mansion on the outskirts of Basra have overcome their fear. His palace has been comprehensively robbed. Even the light switches have been ripped out. The window panes have gone. The air-conditioning units have disappeared. There is not a scrap of furniture left.

Hassan stood with his battered American Chevrolet car in the heat. Its boot was bulging with timber and glass from the palace. He chuckled as he saw the squad of British soldiers approach. "Ali Chemical! Ali Chemical!" he said, pointing at the palace above. His three young sons milled around. Now Hassan and his like own this land. Here, at last, the long arm of Ali Chemical cannot reach them.

The palace offers an extraordinary insight into the murderous Ali. All around stretch the plains of southern Mesopotamia, dotted with the shabby homes of poor tomato farmers who scratch a living from the drained marshes.

But not Ali's house. The long elegant drive to his palace passes two military checkpoints, curves into a compound surrounded by high, wire fencing and sandy berms and ends at a two-storey building with a high tower on one corner. Flower beds with exotic plants and shrubs lie in the shade of trees gently blowing in a soft breeze. It is an oasis of luxury in a land of dire need. But it is the swimming pool that really reveals the level of luxury Ali enjoyed in this land of poverty. Water is in desperately short supply around Basra and it is brackish and often undrinkable. But Ali's cavernous swimming pool ranks with the best in Beverly Hills. It must be 20ft deep, surrounded by a patio of coloured tiles. The pool is empty now. In the 14 days since Ali fled it has dried and begun to fill with dust.

Much of the glass on the palace floors appears to come from shattered chandeliers. The doorway is choked with broken wood that once formed an elaborate and beautiful portico. There is a spiralling central staircase that heads up to a huge roof terrace. From the top of the corner tower the view seems to stretch for ever. Ali must have stood here many times, looking on a land where everyone's life depended on his whim.

But he is now a wanted man. The Americans want to try him for crimes against humanity. His name is for ever linked with the village of Halabja. There, he ordered the killing of 5,000 Kurdish innocents with nerve gas and mustard gas. To the name of Halabja should be added other villages, Guptapa, Bota and Karadagh. All felt the horror of Ali's chemicals in the military operation called Al-Anfal.

Yet the Shia of southern Iraq had their own version of Al-Anfal after their failed 1991 rebellion. Ali co-ordinated the crushing of their revolt, levelling rebel villages with tanks, even crushing the graves of holy Shia saints. At his command, dozens of Shia clerics were hanged from the rafters of their mosques. A month ago Ali was made commander of the south. To make his mark, he shot dead an opposition supporter on the streets of Basra.

Despite the looting, there are still signs of Ali in the palace. A huge painting of President Saddam in a white suit lies in the car park. Behind Saddam's right shoulder, the figure of Ali looms wearing a green military uniform. His gaze is stern and cold. Ali's personal notepaper also lies scattered, fluttering in gusts of wind. His name and rank are embossed in flowing Arabic on the bottom of the sheafs of expensive foolscap. Along the top is a line from the Koran that reads: "Your victory is from God. No one will defeat you."

Last week, the Americans moved through this area in their advance to Baghdad. One squadron camped in Ali's front room. They left their mark in the form of graffiti on the wall. "602 TACP invaded here on 27-3-03" reads one message.

Next to it, a US soldier has rendered a picture of Homer Simpson in thick marker pen on the wall. "Excuse me mate do you know where the Iraqi army is?" Homer asks the figure of an Iraqi soldier carrying a rocket launcher. "Don't ask me mate. I am just a humble fisherman," the soldier replies, looking the other way. Ali's reign of terror has ended in an American joke daubed on his own walls. He may be gone now, but the ruins are still haunted by the ghost of his crimes.

This is a pooled dispatch from a reporter on 'The Observer'

Join our commenting forum

Join thought-provoking conversations, follow other Independent readers and see their replies

Comments

Thank you for registering

Please refresh the page or navigate to another page on the site to be automatically logged inPlease refresh your browser to be logged in