A Sunni family watching yesterday's trial testified to the extraordinary spell still cast by Saddam Hussein, reports Lara Marlowe, in Baghdad.
It is one of the great mysteries of human nature: how and why do people persist in loving a dictator who has brought them to ruin? In a modest villa in a Sunni Muslim district of Baghdad inhabited by former officers of Saddam Hussein's armed forces, Marwa (24), her sister Warda (22), their widowed mother Nadia (51) and visiting cousin Omar (21) watched the opening session of Saddam's trial yesterday.
Photographs of the family's late father, husband and uncle, a brigadier general who died before the 2003 US invasion, decorate the living room walls. Three Korans are stacked on a shelf. The family are low on petrol, but they don't want to miss a minute of their hero's performance, so they leave the generator running all morning, to power the television.
It is nearly 1pm, more than three hours late, when the first grainy images of the Kurdish judge, Rizgar Mohammed Ameen, appear on screen.
"That's Barzan," Omar says. Saddam's half-brother is speaking, but the sound is cut. "This is Taha Yassin Ramadan, the deputy prime minister. . ." Then Saddam Hussein walks into the courtroom, wearing an open-necked white shirt and dark suit. "He's relaxed!" Omar exclaims. "He smiled!" adds Warda.
Saddam stands facing the judge, buttons his jacket, speaks in that unmistakable voice: "Those who fought in God's cause will be victorious. . . I am at the mercy of God, the most powerful." "He's quoting the Holy Koran!" cries Marwa.
To keep in touch with his country, Saddam used to maintain a rotating schedule of visits with carefully screened "ordinary" Iraqis, whom he would then talk about on television. The pretty medical secretary, now 24, obviously pleased him, for she met Saddam 11 times between 2001 and 2003. Her sister Warda, who has just completed a degree in tourism, met him five times.
The family are glued to Saddam's profile on the television screen. The judge interrupts the Koranic recitation: "You are to give your full name to establish your identity to the court."
"You know me," Saddam sneers. "You are an Iraqi and you know who I am. I won't answer to this so-called court. . . Who are you? What are you? I retain my constitutional rights as president of Iraq."
In background briefings, journalists were told that Saddam would not be allowed to speak yesterday, yet he challenged the legitimacy of the court from the outset. Even Iraqis who hate Saddam told me they found Saddam strong, the court weak.
Judge Ameen makes a brief attempt to put Saddam in his place. "You are Saddam Hussein al Majid. . . former president of Iraq," he corrects the defendant.
"I did not say 'former' president," Saddam snaps back, shaking a finger.
This is the show the world was waiting for: an unrepentant Saddam, belittling the men who would bring him to justice.
The mere thought of Saddam still strikes fear into the hearts of many Iraqis - so much so that dozens of appointed witnesses did not show up for the trial yesterday, the ostensible reason for its adjournment until November 28th.
"I've been up and dressed since 2.30 this morning," Saddam complains.
I recall how Iraqis were allowed to doze a few minutes between torture sessions, while my Sunni hosts are outraged at the treatment accorded their leader. "But Iraqis know that I do not get tired," he adds.
The trial takes an even more farcical turn when Saddam's co-defendants complain that guards have removed their Arab headdresses - an insult to a man's dignity. Judge Ameen relents. The headdresses are donned, on camera, and the trial continues.
"He looks strong!" says young Omar. "It makes us so happy," says Marwa. "Like every time," Omar continues, referring to Saddam's three previous post-capture television appearances, in July 2004, June and July 2005. "Except the first time, when they caught him," Omar reflects. "He was drugged," says Marwa. "I don't believe he was really in that hole when they captured him," says her mother, Nadia, before adding: "He is a brave man; they faked that."
Marwa sings a few lines of Al-Hamiya, an Arab nationalist song about shedding blood which became famous during the Palestinian Intifada. She wears stylish western clothes, a black fishnet cardigan over a yellow T-shirt, and rhinestone-studded jeans. Her favourite television programme is Oprah Winfrey. And she adores Saddam Hussein.
"I feel so proud of him," Marwa says. "Saddam Hussein is controlling the scene," pipes in Warda. "As always," says Omar.
The trial is blacked out again. Saddam's closing act of bravado, witnessed by only a few "pool" journalists, will not be shown.
At the end of the three-hour session, guards tried to lead him out by the arms. "Don't touch me! Take your hands off me!" Saddam said. The guards too relented, and allowed him to walk out alone.
Earlier, while we'd waited for the televised pictures, the cousins had shown me their watches - all the rage in Sunni circles. "They cost $100 now in [the Sunni neighbourhood of] Aadamiya," Omar said, showing me the photo of Saddam Hussein on his watch face. Warda arrives with two narrow boxes holding Swiss ladies' watches.
"I would like to give it to you," Marwa says, "but it was given to me by the dearest person in my life." The ladies' watches show the Baathist eagle on the face, and, in Arabic, the words, "made from martyrs' weapons of Saddam's Qadissiya war [ the 1980-88 war against Iraq]."
Omar's mobile phone rings, a friend of his in Falluja. "There's a big demonstration," he tells me enthusiastically. "They're carrying Saddam's picture and wearing Saddam T-shirts. They're burning the police station." Omar has just returned from Amman, where he saw photographs of Saddam Hussein posted all over the marketplace.
"He will be a hero to all Arabs," Marwa predicts.
But much as they love Saddam, the cousins admit he will not return to power. "The trial will not be fair, so history will not be fair to Saddam," says Omar, and Marwa agrees. In the meantime, Iraq's Sunnis nurse their monumental grievance.
And look for a new leader.