U.S. Operation Yields Fury in Central Iraq

The men lined up along both sides of a table, digging their hands into piles of rice and lamb that had been set out for lunch at the funeral for Mehdi Ali Jassim.

Jassim, 53, was a teacher, a father and, now, another wedge in the relationship between U.S. troops and Iraqis.

The locals say the soldiers beat Jassim to death when they swept into this town in a massive operation this week to root out resistance fighters who have been ambushing U.S. troops. The U.S. military says that Jassim died of a heart attack.

It almost doesn’t matter who is right. The anger is palpable in this town of former Baath Party officials and favored citizens of Saddam Hussein’s government.

“The Americans are going into people’s houses and killing them,” Zaid Sami, 33, said as he stood inside a rundown one-table billiard hall where Hussein’s picture still hung on the wall. On the dusty, unpaved streets outside, U.S. troops patrolled in their Humvees and armored vehicles.

The benefits of allegiance to Hussein dot this city of 50,000 people, where many live in large, two-story villas with landscaped gardens and green lawns that are as out of place in this sun-scorched land as palm trees might be in New York. The United States military said Dhuluiya and several other surrounding communities had become refuges for former Hussein loyalists who were attacking Americans across central Iraq.

With fresh attacks coming daily, early Monday the Army launched “Operation Peninsula Strike,” a comprehensive invasion of this Tigris River region about 35 miles north of Baghdad involving more than 4,000 soldiers. They attacked from land and water and air. They came in hard and fast.

“There was no American force here, so this became a sanctuary of sorts,” said Maj. Michael Fenzel of the 173rd Airborne Division, who participated in the Monday invasion of this city and whose forces now patrol it.

But Fenzel said that after storming the community and capturing what they believe to be “valuable” prisoners, the Army is trying to shift its focus to win over Dhuluiya’s people.

“Now we are getting out into the community,” he said, “trying to tell people what we are doing and why we are here.”

Although the use of force succeeded in toppling Hussein, the Army recognizes that it does not offer a viable long-term solution to stabilizing Iraq so that U.S. troops can one day go home. The battle to win acceptance from the local population may prove to be far more difficult than the military operation.

And one reason is Jassim, the dead teacher. He has become a focal point for the anger this community feels after losing its privileged status. Jassim’s funeral was a “who’s who” of the community -- and of the former government. There was a judge, a general, a prominent businessman and the leader of the local tribe.

“The old regime, the old state, we were officials in that state,” said Sheik Hussein Ali Saleh al Legi, leader of the Jabbor tribe and its 15,000 members. “Are we all to be treated as criminals?”

The sheik is an influential man in his community. His family has held the position of tribal leader since the early 1900s. And he insists, at least publicly, that there were no resistance forces in their community.

“It’s just a pretext,” he said. “They are coming here to kill us. They have come to kill, and they have killed.”

Legi’s home has a large green front lawn where he pitched a tent and set up more than 100 chairs for the mourners who had gathered to commemorate Jassim. The men cried as they hugged one another. Then their anger spilled out, instantly and without coaxing.

The words could have been spoken in Fallouja, another stronghold for Sunni Muslims west of Baghdad that benefited under Hussein’s rule. They complained that everything in postwar Iraq is bad, that there is no electricity, no running water and no security. They complained that the Americans had promised liberation, and served up only occupation.

And they denied any culpability, either for the state of their country or the actions of the U.S. forces. They denied that they were shooting at the soldiers, or that they condoned shooting at the soldiers, or that they harbored people who shot at the soldiers.

Then they promised that if the soldiers don’t leave, they will shoot at them.

“The people have to resist. They have to fight for their honor, for their dignity,” said Qahton Aid, 46. “They promised to establish an interim government. If this promise is not fulfilled, it means that even a child who can carry a weapon will fight them. Even women.”

The road that leads into this town crosses the Tigris River, and there are checkpoints on both sides. The anger at the Americans begins there, at the gateway to the community.

Staff Sgt. Dillard Johnson has been in Iraq since the earliest days of the war. He and his soldiers from the Army’s 7th Cavalry fought all the way to Baghdad. Instead of heading home, as expected, they were sent here to find and kill Hussein supporters.

That is what they have done.

“We killed a few guys the other day,” Johnson said. “They were going to ambush us; the captain said, ‘Kill them,’ and we did.” But now, instead of being home in Florida, where his son is scheduled to have surgery soon, he is on a bridge checking cars and residents for weapons. His assessment of Iraqis is this: “If you ask these people nicely to do something, they won’t do it until you yell at them. The way the culture here is, they don’t have any social skills.”

On the other side of the river, the 173rd Airborne was blocking the road. Every car that had waited in line to cross Johnson’s checkpoint was now stopped on the bridge. Hazim Ibrahim was holding his 2-year-old nephew, Mohammed, in his outstretched arms. The child was the size of a 1-year-old and obviously ill.

“My baby is sick,” Ibrahim said to a soldier standing guard at the bridge. “He is going to die.”

The soldier radioed ahead: “I’ve got a guy here with a baby that is sick.”

“I am sorry, but we have to hold him,” came the reply.

The soldier was distraught. Ibrahim was distraught too. Finally the soldier arranged for the car to pass, but it had to leave five of its passengers behind. Only the driver, the father and the baby could go.

“If I don’t see the car go back to the hospital, I am going to go back and arrest them,” the soldier said before they drove off.

About an hour later, one of the passengers walked into town and told everyone he could about how the soldiers had made him walk. He didn’t mention the bit about the baby. The rumor spread, and the anger grew.