Bound by Bridge, 2 Baghdad Enclaves Drift Far Apart

BAGHDAD — Al Imams Bridge spans the Tigris River between two of the oldest communities in Baghdad — one Sunni, the other Shiite — and on Ramadan evenings it can seem as if the mosques near either bank are calling to each other as their muezzins sing prayers.

But the two neighborhoods, the Sunni Adhamiya and the Shiite Kadhimiya, once inextricably joined in the imagination of Baghdad residents, are drifting further and further apart.

To walk through each as they break the daily fast during Ramadan is to glimpse the diverging realities of Baghdad: a vibrant and expanding Shiite way of life, and a subdued and dwindling Sunni one.

“Now we have two Ramadans,” said Yassin Daoud, 35, a Sunni boat operator who works at an amusement park in Adhamiya on the banks of the river. He made his living taking pleasure cruisers to Al Imams Bridge and back, but no one has asked for a ride yet this year.

The two neighborhoods are each anchored by a renowned mosque and shrine nearly as old as Islam itself: Abu Hanifa on the Sunni side, which began to be built in the late 700s, and Imam Kadhim on the Shiite side. Both areas still share some of the character of old Baghdad: the crafts shops, leather workmen and cobblers, halal butchers and gold workers.

Although the ebb and flow between the two was once as natural as the Tigris’s tides, the past 11 years have taken a deep toll, eroding both the routes that people walked from one community to the other and the trust they once had.

Ali al-Nashmi, a professor of history at Mustansiriya University in Baghdad, who grew up in Adhamiya, dates the period of sectarian division to the overthrow of Saddam Hussein by the American-led coalition in 2003, with the most recent chapter coming after the fall of Mosul to Sunni militants in June.

“The Shia people used to walk through Adhamiya to Imam Kadhim,” said Mr. Nashmi, thinking back to his youth. “But then the sectarian troubles started after 2003 and they were attacked in Adhamiya and they stopped coming that way.”

As the Shiites vanished from Adhamiya’s streets, many young Sunnis there, and elsewhere, angered by the sudden loss of Sunni hegemony with Hussein’s exit, joined the insurgency and either were killed or imprisoned or fled. And there were fewer and smaller families to take Mr. Daoud’s boat or lay out their evening meals on the carefully tended grass of the amusement park where his small craft were tethered on the banks of the Tigris.

Now almost every table is empty at the Adhamiya park, where hundreds of families every year for more than three decades had spread out their iftar dinners to break the Ramadan fast. Not a single child is on the swan ride; the Ferris wheel seats are empty; the bumper cars clatter round, but no children are in them.

Mustapha al-Qaisi, a Sunni taxi driver, brought his family with trepidation to the park, and only because it was a tradition they could not quite bear to give up.

“The difference between now and 2006 was that before, we were targeted by militias, but now we are targeted by militias backed by the government,” he said.

“I am afraid all the time now that I will be targeted because of my identity,” he said, meaning that a militia checkpoint would recognize that his tribal name was Sunni and abduct or even kill him.

If he has a problem with his taxi or an altercation with a customer, he no longer dares to go to the police station to complain, because with his Sunni name, he is fearful the police might detain him.

When he saw a foreigner at the park, the first thing he thought was that they might be with a refugee agency.

“Are you with the International Organization for Migration?” he asked. “Is it possible to help us get out of Iraq?”

Across the river lies a different world. In Kadhimiya, where nearly everyone is Shiite, Ramadan feels like a monthlong street party. Even during the hours of fasting in the heat of the day, when temperatures often reach 115 degrees, people are hard at work preparing for the meal that breaks the fast. They stir vast vats of rice in communal kitchens, shred lamb into small pieces to mix with it, chop tomatoes and cucumbers for salad and slice wheelbarrows of watermelon.

At dusk on Kadhimiya’s outskirts, the main entrance is closed for safety because the neighborhood has been attacked so many times. (Just last Tuesday, a suicide bomber detonated his explosives-packed car near the gate, killing 33 people and wounding more than 60.)

Accordingly, the road follows a back route. It winds through urban palm groves and crosses an irrigation canal where boys are swimming, whooping as they plunge into the water and splash each other.

When visitors reach the long pedestrian street that leads to the shrine, paces quicken with eagerness to get through the line of friskers who check for bombs and weapons and stroll on to the long esplanade ahead. This shimmering, glimmering main street leads to the Imam Kadhim shrine, its gates outlined in gaudy, jubilant green and white neon.

“It’s very good this year,” said Shahad Hamed Harbi al Khafaji, 70, smiling broadly and showing a mostly toothless mouth as he sat on the edge of one of the many long carpets that serve as picnic mats for the iftar meal.

“There are very many people; it’s very beautiful here. We are just asking the American people to come and kill ISIS, take them away from us,” he said, referring to the Islamic State in Iraq and Syria, the Sunni militant group that has taken over large areas of northern and western Iraq.

Now Shiite militias help protect the road from his family’s village in Diyala Province to the highway, and the family came to the shrine to celebrate Ramadan.

“We all feel safe to come,” he said, nodding at his five daughters and their children.

A few yards away, the Sadr Foundation, founded by the family of the Shiite cleric Moktada al-Sadr, offered an iftar meal, and some 150 men were digging in. Nearby were families bringing their own simple picnics of homemade yogurt that they ladled into glasses to eat with a basket of dates. Groups of children ran back and forth, tugging at their mothers to buy the balloons and tufts of cotton candy that hawkers sell. Those same mothers threw on the special black abbayas used for prayers in Shiite shrines, handed their cellphones to their eldest sons, and slipped away for a few minutes at the Imam Kadhim shrine.

Ruminating on all this, Mr. Nashmi sees a deepening divide that will not easily be halted, much less reversed. “It will get worse: the Sunnis will leave Baghdad and the Shias will leave the north, the Christians are almost gone and we will face really a separated country,” he said.

“We cannot find any solution now, and I am very sad.”

He continued: “The world lost Iraq, but we must fight, you and me and all the friends, to do something, something mysterious and very far off. We must teach history in the primary school and show our kids Iraq’s great civilization.”