Nir Rosen - Aftermath

Sheikh Kadhim introduced me to an elderly man in a head scarf whose home had recently been raided by the Americans. “At 11:30 p.m. they raided our house after breaking our doors,” the man said. “They beat the men, women, and my daughters-in-law. We asked them, ‘What do you want?’ but they said nothing. We don’t know what they wanted.”

As Sheikh Kadhim and I walked down the street, we were surrounded by throngs of Mahdi Army men and other residents of Washash desperate to voice their anger. “As you know, we consider the Iraqi army to be our sons and brothers,” Kadhim told me. “Unfortunately the army unit here which is surrounding the area is giving false information about us. They said we are doing many bad things and the neighborhood is unsafe. When the Iraqi army raid houses, they steal the mobile phones and money, attack the elderly people, and falsely accuse people. For example, some of our young guys were accused of planting bombs. After the investigation, they discovered it is not true. Some of them were accused of killing people; they said such and such killed ten or fifteen. After the investigation they released him. So there are false accusations against those innocent people.”

Kadhim and the people of Washash spoke of the Iraqi army unit in charge of their area much the way Sunnis spoke of the Iraqi police. “They are dealing with us in a sectarian way,” Kadhim said. “Most of the prisoners are Shiites, most of the arrests are of Shiites.” The Iraqi police were different, he said. “The Iraqi police can come without weapons and see if anyone would shoot one bullet. We will be responsible for them as the tribal leaders council. . . . The police are peaceful people. If anyone files a complaint they will respond to him properly. We don’t have any problem with the police.” I would soon find out just how close they were with the police.

We passed men wheeling in goods for sale on pushcarts, and at an intersection I found a tractor used as a garbage truck to clean the streets. “Our sons collect trash with this car,” one tribal leader told me. “The Sadrist Current collects the trash,” a man corrected him.

On the corner sat many women in abayas by dozens of colorful jerricans. They were waiting for kerosene that the Mahdi Army was supposed to bring in, but, they claimed, the Iraqi army was besieging their area and preventing the kerosene from coming in. The women had been waiting for four days.

I approached the women hoping one might agree to talk to me on camera and was surprised by how eager they all were. “My dear,” said an elderly woman with tribal tattoos on her chin, “we don’t have electricity, kerosene, or gas, and we are surrounded and we have been insulted. Where should we go? To whom should we complain? We are waiting for a month to get some kerosene, but we got nothing. Only the Mahdi Army used to bring us kerosene, but now the Iraqi army is not allowing them. It is not true that the Mahdi Army are terrorists,” she said. A tribal leader interrupted her. “The Americans are the real terrorists,” he insisted. “They are bringing Al Qaeda and the terrorists to Iraq!”

A younger woman explained to me that “without the Mahdi Army, our women or girls could not go outside. We are under a lot of pressure. They are defending us like they are defending their own sisters.” She and her daughters had been expelled from the majority-Sunni town of Mahmudiya, she told me, after two of her sons were murdered. “The Mahdi Army are the only ones who gave me a shelter, and they are protecting me and my daughters. The terrorists killed my sons with a car bomb. One of them was married, and he left behind four children, and I have twelve people to look after. May God bless the Mahdi Army. Now I feel safe to go to the market. We are going out only with the protection of the Mahdi Army. Anyone who says they are terrorists is lying.”

Another young woman, holding her baby, told me that “the Americans are ruining people’s lives. We don’t have electricity, and we don’t receive our rations. They are raiding the houses every night. What we have done? The Americans and the national guards are raiding our houses every day, and our sons are not sleeping there at night. Tell me, what we have done?”

A thick, muscular Mahdi Army man explained that an Iraqi army captain named Salim was preventing the kerosene truck from entering the neighborhood. Another man insisted Salim was a Sunni and was punishing them for sectarian reasons. I found out later that he was, in fact, a Shiite.

“We haven’t had electricity in Washash for four months,” one man told me. “Sewage floods, and there is no water, no electricity, and we are surrounded. It is like a prison inside Washash. Tell me, what is the difference between here and prison? We are surrounded by a wall that prevents us from going to other neighborhoods. Our sons and daughters can’t go to the schools in the Arabi neighborhood, which is the closest area. Our conditions are very bad, and there are random arrests. The services we have are only through the help of the Sadrists, may God bless them. They are cleaning, they are helping the ones who need some money. They are bringing the kerosene and giving it to families.”

A tribal leader warned, “If it is going to be like this for a long time, the young men will lose their minds. Maybe we will too. We can’t control our sons. It will be very bad. We can’t keep our sons quiet anymore.”

“We receive electricity for half an hour a week,” another tribal leader told me. “What about shops, factories, and workers? What is the reason? They should say it clearly on TV: ‘This neighborhood is a target. We don’t want to give them services; we want to humiliate them.’ The other neighborhoods around us all have electricity. We were bombed by aircraft. More than fourteen houses were destroyed.”

One man who had served in the Iraqi army’s special forces for twenty-three years said the Iraqi army had just raided his home. “They insulted me and my honor!” he shouted at me. “An Iraqi soldier came with an American standing beside him. He said to me that I am the brother of a whore! I have only one AK-47, and he took it. Why did he take it? It was only an AK-47 with thirty bullets. They destroyed my furniture and stole my money. My son has a lung problem and I don’t have money to buy kerosene, and the soldier is calling me the brother of a whore! I spent eight years fighting in the war with Iran, and a soldier came to me yesterday and called me the brother of a whore! If there is security, as Mr. Bush is saying, then American or Iraqi soldiers wouldn’t come at seven o’clock and shoot randomly. We lost many people because of those injuries.”

A tribal leader led me to the rubble of a home the Americans had bombed two months earlier. Seven of his relatives had been killed there, some of them children. “What do they want?” he demanded. “Do they want us to fight? We don’t mind. If you try to strangle a cat, it will scratch you. We are trying to control our sons, and each one of us has seven to eight sons. If the situation continues like this, we will have to make a decision. We are losing our patience.”

They led me through the market, which had once served the neighborhoods around Washash. “We are paying rent and we don’t have work,” one shopkeeper told me. “This wall ruined our life and our business,” another said. “Would you accept to walk in this mud?” a man asked me. “People are holding their sons in order to cross the pools of water on their way to the schools. It’s as if Washash is not on the map. Even the government doesn’t care about it.”

They showed me more shops without customers. “The policy of walls is wrong,” a tribal leader told me. “The Americans think that they are providing security for the people. Even if they achieved that, what is the use of safety if a man is hungry? When they closed the area people lost their living.” We approached the walls that separated Washash from Mansour. “We are like Palestine,” one of my guides said. They showed me the narrow opening between the barriers. Behind it was an Iraqi army checkpoint. A soldier spotted me filming and began to approach. “He won’t dare come in,” one of the men said of the soldier. “We will fuck him.”