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COPYRIGHT 2004 All rights reserved. Reproduced by permission of The Condé Nast Publications Inc.
George Packer on the beginning of Iraqi sovereignty
The New Yorker's complete coverage of the conflict in Iraq
On May 11th, the day after the United States marines withdrew from the streets of Falluja, about five hundred clerics, tribal leaders, businessmen, and military and police officers gathered in the dusty courtyard in front of the wide stone stairs that lead to the entrance of Rahma Hospital. The hospital is under construction, and during the Americans' siege of the city, which lasted for most of April, it served as a storehouse for weapons, medical and food supplies, and sandbags. A rough lectern had been placed halfway up the stairs, and was flanked by flags and banners inscribed with phrases extolling the martyrs of the siege. The dignitaries sat in white plastic chairs under a big tent that shaded them from the midday sun, clapping politely and drinking from cans of soda and bottles of water, while poets read work they had prepared for the occasion. Several of the poets were from other cities in Iraq, including Najaf, and a recurrent theme that afternoon was the bond between Sunnis and Shiites. Falluja is one of the most religiously conservative towns in the "Sunni triangle," but the recent confluence of the Shiite uprising led by Moqtada al-Sadr and the siege of Falluja by the marines had created a curious alliance that transcended religious differences. A local poet recited a poem called "The Falluja Tragedy." His accent made his words barely intelligible, at least to me, but I could make out these phrases: "Falluja is a tall date palm. She never accepts anybody touching her dates. She will shoot arrows into the eyes of those who try to taste her. This is Falluja, your bride, O Euphrates! She will never fall in love with anyone but you. . . . Americans dug in the ground and pulled out the roots of the date palm."
A young boy from Najaf wearing a pressed white shirt tucked neatly into bluejeans walked up to the lectern, and the microphone was lowered to accommodate him. The boy raised his right arm, pointing his index finger at the sky. "I came to praise the heroes of Falluja!" he shouted. His poem ended with calls to God--"Ya Allah! Ya allah!"--that he screamed out. Then he began to sob, and he was led away, wiping his tears. The men in the front row of plastic chairs embraced and kissed him, and he returned to the lectern and recited another poem. This time, he brandished a Kalashnikov that was as long as he was tall.
The most distinguished guest in the tent was Sheikh Dhafer al-Obeidi, a man in his late thirties with narrow eyes and a thick black beard. He sat regally in the front row, wearing a white scarf and a translucent gold-rimmed cape that he had draped over his shoulders. Falluja's most powerful cleric, Sheikh Abdullah al-Janabi, had recently given Sheikh Dhafer day-to-day authority over the city. Sheikh Dhafer was the last speaker. He described the event as "the wedding day for Falluja." Muslims had not felt such joy, he said, since Saladin liberated Jerusalem in the twelfth century.
The Marines' farewell visit to Falluja the previous day had been billed as a joint patrol with a new Iraqi security force, the Falluja Brigade. It was a hasty affair, lasting only about half an hour, and something of an anticlimax to Operation Vigilant Resolve, the attack on the city launched on April 5th by the First Marine Expeditionary Force after the killing and mutilation of four Blackwater security guards. Hospital officials in Falluja say that at least six hundred Iraqis died during the subsequent siege.
The American withdrawal was a controversial experiment in Iraqi autonomy. Falluja was the only city in Iraq that was surrendered to a local military force with strong connections to the previous regime. This was, essentially, a reversal of the policy that had been in effect since the previous April, when U.S. Army troops arrived in Falluja, two weeks after they took Baghdad, thirty-five miles to the east. But Falluja was a far different place now than it had been a year ago. In the first few months after Saddam's government fell, the city had been fairly stable internally. Religious and tribal leaders had appointed their own civil management council before the Americans arrived. Falluja did not suffer from looting, and government buildings were protected. Tight...
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