The Booze Is Back in Baghdad

Elias Khalaf's cracked grin may have saved his life. The portly, balding liquor-store owner was kidnapped five months ago by fundamentalists who held him prisoner in a brick factory for five days until he convinced them he couldn't raise the ransom they demanded. "If I had any money," he asked his jailers, "don't you think I'd fix my teeth?" As soon as he was released, he shut down his shop in Baghdad—the last of nine liquor stores he'd once owned throughout Iraq, from Mosul in the north to the southern Shiite religious heartland.

Khalaf is now thinking of starting up again. He stands and watches the steady stream of customers into and out of Jaguar, a liquor shop owned by a friend of his near the Green Zone. The floor-to-ceiling shelves are kept stocked with Johnnie Walker, Chivas Regal and a mysterious clear liquid in bottles plastered with the Hertz logo. Until a few months ago, buyers often had the storekeeper disguise their purchases, pouring their whisky into soft-drink bottles before venturing back to the street. Now the trade is brisk and wide open. It's fueling Khalaf's dreams of getting back in the business, maybe even opening a casino—one of those dimly lit rooms where Iraqi men sip drinks while playing cards or backgammon.

Iraqis aren't merely boozing it up. Men are shaving their beards; women are wearing jeans and taking off their headscarves; couples are holding hands in public. Musicians and DJs feel safe to take more gigs at weddings and parties. In the grassy riverside parks alongside Baghdad's Abi Nawas Street, young couples sit close on the new sod. Amin Hussein, 21, flips and spins, showing off some moves from the Brazilian martial arts he was forbidden from teaching in his neighborhood until a few months ago. ("This is an Islamic country," militia enforcers warned him.) Hussein, a fan of rapper Snoop Dogg, says he's hopeful about the future: "Now the liberals are stronger." Other entertainers have their own devotees—"Shakira good!" declares 19-year-old Mohammed Mizo, who says he gets heckled less for his spiky hair.

So far, most of the inhibition shedding is confined to a few urban areas—Iraq hasn't suddenly morphed into Dubai. But to Iraqis old enough to remember, the changed atmosphere brings to mind a way of life that seemed gone forever after five years of war. Baghdad has been a place of wine and song as far back as the "Thousand and One Nights." In the early 1900s the city was celebrated for its eclectic culture and was home to a vibrant mix of Jews, Christians and Muslims. Even under Saddam Hussein's dictatorship, state channels regularly ran Hollywood movies with Arabic subtitles. Hotels throbbed with pop bands and DJs, and Sinatra songs floated above the Tigris from parties on the water's edge. In his last years the beleaguered Saddam tried to co-opt the Islamists, adding the words "God Is Great" to the Iraqi flag in a nod to their rising strength throughout the Middle East. But even then the oppressed Shiites were prohibited from holding religious processions, and Sunni extremists were held in check by the secret police.

Saddam's removal unleashed a storm of violent religious intolerance, but government offensives have, for now, slowed the militias. Alaa Gati, 28, resumed work as a barber four months ago. He closed his Baghdad shop in late 2006 after a stranger phoned and warned: "Our swords are sharper than your razors." Several of his colleagues had already been killed. But once again he has a steady procession of customers who want their chins shaved smooth, no matter what the fundamentalists say. Umm Hiba, a hairdresser in the upscale Mansour district, closed her salon in March 2006 after a group of gunmen stopped by and threatened to demolish the place. This January she finally felt safe enough to reopen, and since then she says business keeps getting better. Women want to look beautiful again, she says.

Iraqi politicians are cautiously adjusting to the shifting mood. In Basra, still dominated by Shiite religious parties, provincial leaders have abandoned an effort to ban alcohol. Booze salesmen in Baghdad say bureaucrats have made it easier to renew liquor licenses, and new bars have been allowed to open. Iraqis blame the government for rampant corruption and the lack of electricity and water—and that means they blame the religious parties that are in charge. "This has led the Iraqi people to lose their trust in these parties," says Khalaf al-Ulayyan, a secular-leaning Sunni parliamentarian. "And to lose their trust in religion as well."