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This is an archive article published on October 18, 2011

An embrace of the US,spun and mixed by Iraqis

With his New York Yankees jersey,baggy jeans embroidered with “USA” down one leg and his casual greeting of “What’s up?”

TIM ARANGO & YASIR GHAZI

With his New York Yankees jersey,baggy jeans embroidered with “USA” down one leg and his casual greeting of “What’s up?”,Ali Jabbar,a rapper and a student in Islamic Studies,seems an alien in his own culture. “I have one dream,” he said. “Travelling to New York City. I don’t know why,but I feel a connection to that city.”

For two countries that have spent so much time together,the traces of an American cultural impact are faint and will grow dimmer still as the US military withdraws. There are no golden arches,Dunkin’ Donuts or Starbucks—although a newly opened cafe is called Facebook Coffee—but there is a hip-hop scene.

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In a stuffy recreation hall that was once a headquarters for a local militia but now serves as their clubhouse, Jabbar and his friends hone their rhymes and their dance moves. The walls are scribbled with graffiti and adorned with posters of Avril Lavigne and Bruce Lee.

Iraq may still be a place defined by Islam,sectarianism,violence and political dysfunction,but in this clubhouse,and at larger gatherings of rappers and dancers in Baghdad’s parks,are vignettes of another sort,defiant gestures of rebellion. “We are living in a tribal society that is very religious,and this is against Islamic traditions,” said Aksan Adel Habeb,28,outfitted in a Los Angeles Lakers jersey and white do-rag. “What we are trying to show the world is that there is something beautiful in Iraq.”

Their rap songs are expressions of disenchantment,of youthful rage at a society that seemingly has no place for their aspirations and a sadness over what has become of their country—the same themes that animate hip-hop anywhere. A translation of the lyrics to one song goes like this: “It’s out of our hands,to live in peace in our lands,every night I pray for the Lord of heaven to heal the wounds of Iraqis,and the black days become happy days.”

They rap in Arabic and English,embrace America’s culture but not necessarily the war,and see no reason to disavow their Islamic identity. “I’m a Muslim,” said Jabbar,20,who has two years left at Sadr Islamic College,a local university. “I don’t have to reject that.”

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They find solace in hip-hop and dancing. “My idea for democracy is for each one to have the right to do what they want to do,and not harm someone else,” said Abdul Jabbar,29. “The main threat is the Islamic parties and militias,” he said,adding that most of Iraq’s leaders “think democracy is imposing what they believe on to others.”

Ali Jabbar is from Sadr City,the poor Shiite neighborhood that is a bastion of support for Moktada al-Sadr,the anti-American cleric. He claims—no doubt accurately—to be “the only rapper in Sadr City.”

Sadr,who communicates with his followers by answering questions online,was recently asked by a 17-year-old rapper named Omar if Islam permitted his passion. Sadr replied,“It is forbidden,” and advised the young man to stop recording rap songs and to “ask God for forgiveness.”

Abdul Jabbar was kidnapped in 2004,grabbed from this club by militiamen. He was tortured,and has the scars to prove it,for his outward embrace of American culture.

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“They told me,‘Why are you doing this?’” he recalled. “ ‘It’s forbidden.’ And they kept beating me.”

It is safer now to do what they do,but not safe. “I am sure something bad will happen to me,” he said,before adding a defiant refrain common among Iraqis inured to torment. “I’m not afraid.”

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