From the swirl of political drama in Baghdad on Monday night one stark fact emerged -- the new constitution will not settle the question of what is Iraq.
Regardless of whether a draft was agreed before the midnight deadline, or parliament extended the timetable to give negotiators another few weeks, the document will mark another stage, not the end, of the answer to that question.
The country is too fluid, and too much is at stake, for the losers to accept the draft as the final word. Even those who think they emerge as winners from the marathon talks are likely to view the constitution as one more round in an ongoing contest.
Is Iraq a strong, centralized state keen to revive its role as an Arab champion? Is it another Yugoslavia, a cauldron of ethnic and religious tensions destined for civil war? Is it a Western-oriented democracy heralding reform in the Middle East? Is it a failed experiment on the road to autocracy and theocracy?
The draft constitution cannot answer these questions because Iraqis themselves are unable to. What it does give is a snapshot of the current balance of power between Kurds, Shias and Arab Sunnis.
They agree on many things. Iraq is to be a parliamentary democracy in which the prime minister is the most powerful figure in government, deferring nominally to the ceremonial president. The judiciary is to be independent of the executive and legislature.
The country is to be named simply the Republic of Iraq, Kurds having dropped their insistence on Federal in the title, Shias their insistence on Islamic and Sunnis their insistence on Arab.
Given Iraq's history, consensus on these points is remarkable. Carved from the ruins of the Ottoman empire by the British after the World War I, it was never an obvious entity from the start. Kurds in the north loathed the Arabs, and the feeling was mutual, while the Shias and Sunni Arabs were sectarian rivals.
Former president Saddam Hussein's 23-year rule consolidated the Sunnis, about one-fifth of the population, as overlords, and deepened divisions, not least by murderous persecution of Kurds and Shias. The US-led invasion dissolved his regime and the country's dictatorial glue yet two years later leaders of the three main groups have agreed the architecture of a parliamentary democracy, a feat some analysts thought impossible.
But Monday's 11th hour haggling exposed deep faultlines on the fundamental issues of federalism and the role of Islam. Paradoxically Kurds took a backseat in the federal dispute. The no-fly zone imposed by the US and Britain over the north after the 1991 Gulf war gave them time and space to create a semi-autonomous state. Retaining that status was a fait accompli.
Instead Kurds focused on extending their region to include the oil-rich city of Kirkuk, also claimed by Arabs and Turkomans. The potential spark to civil war, leaked versions of the draft showed negotiators could not agree so they fudged and deferred a decision.
Kirkuk is widely seen as a stepping stone to Kurdish secession and potential civil war. Arguably it was wise to kick for touch at this point but an explosive issue integral to Iraq's future will continue to fester.
Similarly, powerful Shias want autonomy for the south, an oil-rich fiefdom which would leave Sunnis marooned in the center with little but sand, insurgents and the fear that the country will disintegrate.
Again, leaked versions of the drafts suggest this issue will be fudged to appease Sunnis. Religious conservatives, including Prime Minister Ibrahim al-Jaafari, said the draft will make Islam a source of law, rather than the sole source, and respect the rights of women and religious minorities.
Not good enough, say liberals and moderates, who predict the real battle between secular and religious Iraq will begin after a constitution is in place when Muslim clerics and tribes try to exploit an opening to substitute civil law with Shariah. The nature of Iraq will be ultimately determined on the ground, not on a piece of paper.
BAGHDAD VOICES
A witness to revolts, revolutions and invasions, Talib Ashur, an 83-year-old Baghdad fruit seller, considers himself a good judge of historic events.
He remembers the drone of British warplanes during the suppression of Rashi Ali's uprising in 1941, the overthrow of Abdel-Karim Qasim in 1963 and former president Saddam Hussein's takeover in 1979.
The attempt to draft a new constitution, however, has not registered on Ashur's scale of momentousness.
"It will change nothing. I don't believe in politics anymore. It is all promises and lies," he said.
Three US Humvees trundled past his stall on Karrada Dakhil street, followed by two police pick-ups with blaring sirens.
Regardless of any new constitution, the insecurity and impoverishment will continue, Ashur said. The former civil servant said his pension has not been paid for a year. He no longer has regular electricity or clean water and two brothers have been killed in the violence.
What difference to him will it make if a piece of paper is signed in Baghdad's Green Zone, a fortified complex a few miles away, which could have been a parallel universe, with its diplomats and politicians locked in textual wrangling?
Like many Iraqis, Ashur's patience has run out. A Shia, he cheered Saddam's fall in 2003 and voted for the Shia coalition which swept the election in January. But the violence and the erosion of essential services has sapped his trust.
Not all Iraqis feel alienated. True, they have not set foot in the Green Zone and are not sure what sort of constitution will emerge from it, but they are in no doubt that history is being made.
"I care very much about what is happening. It will decide our destiny," said Nazar Jawad, 28, a carpenter.
He has tracked the negotiations on television. His main concern is that US meddling will taint the draft.
"I don't trust them. They want things to collapse," he said.
His friend Amir Jabar, 35, a Shia taxi driver, hopes for a constitution acceptable to Iraq's main sectarian and ethnic groups which would lead to a stable government and end the insurgency.
Only then will his wish come true: an end to the capital's no-go areas, bandit country where bombs, shootings and kidnappings have made it impossible to work. As he spoke word came through of a suicide bombing.
Jabar shrugged. Security would not happen overnight, but he was willing to wait.
"I've no choice," he said.
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