BAGHDAD, 3 June 2003 — To the troops of Bravo Company, moving through a corner of this weary capital, their morning patrol represents a benign presence. The American soldiers are here to help the locals, then go home.
“Everybody likes us,’’ Spec. Stephen Harris, a 21-year-old from Lafayette, La., said as the patrol moved through streets drenched in sun. He thinks the people want the US troops to stay. “Oh, yeah,’’ he said, taking a slug from his canteen. His assessment of the neighborhood: “I’d say 95 percent friendly.’’
To Mohammed Abdullah, standing on the sidewalk as the 10-man patrol passed his gated house, their presence is, as he terms it, “despicable.’’ In a white dishdasha, a long Arab robe, the 34-year-old winced as the soldiers moved along his street, nine carrying automatic weapons slung across their chests, the tenth a medic.
“We’re against the occupation, we refuse the occupation — not 100 percent, but 1,000 percent,’’ he said. “They’re walking over my heart. I feel like they’re crushing my heart.’’
Hundreds of US Army patrols were conducted in Baghdad on Sunday. On one, two reporters followed the route of soldiers from Bravo Company of a battalion in the Army’s 1st Armored Division. One reporter walked with the patrol, observing the soldiers and interviewing them, while the second trailed behind, measuring Iraqis’ reactions. Together, the two views convey a sense of life in Baghdad at a delicate moment when the shape of the US military occupation is still emerging — and so is the tone of the Iraqi response to it.
Some residents welcomed the troops, not least for providing security that was missing after President Saddam Hussein’s government fell April 9. But many expressed ambivalence, or outright anger. The hostility ran especially deep among Sunni Muslims who make up the neighborhood’s majority. Along the streets patrolled by the soldiers, their suspicions ranged from the fate of Iraq’s oil to a perceived invasion of their privacy.
To the Americans, this is “Sector 37 North,’’ frequently marked as “hostile’’ on US military maps of Baghdad. It is known for being a stronghold of Baath Party loyalists. Last week, on the airport highway that marks the southern boundary of the sector, a US soldier died and three were wounded when their Humvee struck a mine.
But soldiers on the patrol said they did not feel particularly threatened. “Basically, people are pretty friendly,’’ Lt. Paul Clark, a Bravo Company officer from Baltimore said.
To residents, this is Yarmuk, a west Baghdad neighborhood of middle-class professionals, living in two-story adobe-style houses. Its sentiments are still colored by its origins in the 1960s as a development to house military officers.
“When I see Americans, I feel like I’m looking at another country,’’ said Zuheir Mahdi, 44, standing on a sidewalk enlivened by palm trees and red bougainvillea. “If the Americans want things to improve, things will improve. It’s up to the Americans. They’re the government.’’
At about 10:20 a.m., it was 98 degrees when the patrol moved out through the concertina wire that protects their outpost and past two Bradley Fighting Vehicles parked out front.
The patrol was configured so that one “fire team’’ of four soldiers was in front, and another in the back. In the middle, leading the patrol, was Staff Sgt. Nathaniel Haumschild, 26, of Stillwater, Minn., accompanied by the medic.
Just to their left was a mosque known for anti-American sermons. Capt. Gerd Schroeder, commander of Bravo Company, said that when he sent an interpreter to listen to last Friday’s sermon, the theme of the day was, “if you’re not killing the Americans and the Jew pigs, you’re not a true Muslim.’’
The patrol turned right. Spec. Seneca Ratledge, the medic — a talkative soldier from Riceville, Tenn., who said his Cherokee grandmother gave him his first name — greeted the schoolchildren on the street. “What’s up, playas?’’
Haumschild’s evaluation: “Maybe 10 percent are hostile. About 50 percent friendly. About 40 percent are indifferent.’’
Residents gave different numbers — at best, 50-50, and at worst, a significant majority holding hostile views. Sentiments often broke down along the religious cleavages that mark Iraq. Shiite residents hailed the Americans for ending the rule of Saddam, which was particularly brutal toward their sect. They suspect the Baath Party lingers, ready to re-emerge.
“An American dog is better than Saddam and his gangs,’’ said Alaa Rudeini, as he chatted with a friend, Abdel-Razaq Abbas, along the sidewalk.
Neither paused their conversation as the Americans passed, their neglect perhaps a sign of familiarity. Both praised the greater sense of security. One of their neighbors, Awatif Faraj Salih, whose 8-year-old daughter Rasul was among the children at the nearby Nablus Elementary School, feared what would happen if they departed.
“If the Americans left,’’ she said, a white scarf draped over her head, “massacres would happen in Iraq — between the tribes, between the parties and between the Sunnis and Shiites of course.’’
Life along the route has gradually returned to a natural rhythm. Vendors hawked Pepsis and Miranda orange soda, and rickety stands offered sandals and fruit. To many Sunni residents, what remains unnatural is the occupation. It is a loaded word in Arabic, suggesting Israel’s control of Palestinian lands or Britain’s colonial rule of Iraq after World War I.
“We are a Muslim country,’’ said Ahmed Abdullah, a 70-year-old man dressed in a white kaffiyeh, or headdress. “We don’t anyone to rule us who’s not from our country.’’
At 10:50, the temperature was 99 degrees, and Sgt. Michael Callan, leader of one fire team, walked point. Callan, 30, of Dumfries, Va., is in the Army, he said, “because I’ve always wanted an honorable job.’’
“Little kids tell us a lot,’’ he said, walking at the head of the patrol. “They’re not shy at all. A lot of times they’ll point out UXO (unexploded ordnance) to us — RPGs, mortar rounds, maybe stuff we fired that didn’t go off.’’
Callan stepped carefully around a discarded burlap bag on the street. “Could be mines,’’ he explained.
The children were jubilant, crowding the soldiers and calling out “zain,’’ or “good.’’ One shouted that Saddam was “vile.’’ Others echoed the concerns of their parents, including that the Americans intend to confiscate their guns.
“Why do the Americans take our weapons?’’ Rami Athil, 12, asked a reporter, as the boy ran after the patrol. “Why? Iraqis use weapons to defend themselves, to defend their homes.’’
At 11:03, now 100 degrees, Pfc. Kasey Keeling, of Denton, Texas, walked second in the patrol, carrying the big M-249 squad automatic weapon, a machine gun. Behind his sunglasses, he looked back and forth, up and down.
“I scan the windows, rooftops, heavy brush, looking for anything out of the ordinary,’’ he said. The most alarming indicator of danger? An absence of children. “There are always kids around,’’ he said. “No kids, you start to wonder.’’
There were no children around on 4th Street in Yarmuk, where sentiments were distinctly uneasy. Abdullah, standing with his neighbors, insisted he would fight the Americans. “They said they came to liberate us. Liberate us from what? They came and said they would free us. Free us from what?’’ he asked. “We have traditions, morals and customs. We are Arabs. We’re different from the West.’’
As he watched Keeling and others pass, he called Baghdad a fallen city, a hint of humiliation in his words. It was akin, he said, to the invasion in 1258 of Hulagu, the grandson of Genghis Khan, whose destruction of Baghdad ended its centuries of glory. The Americans, he said, let the National Library burn, permitted looters to ransack the National Museum of Antiquities.
“Baghdad is the mother of Arab culture,’ he said, “and they want to wipe out our culture, absolutely.’’
At 11:30, it was 103 degrees as the patrol arrived at the Rami Institute for Autistic and Slow Learners, a house on a side street with a big lime tree in its walled front yard.
On a green chalkboard, written in English and Arabic, was the message, “This building is protected by US soldiers. We will use deadly force to protect this building.’’
Bravo Company is determined to help the school, in part because it has been attacked. People who don’t like the school, Callan said, “break in, pop shots, terrorize them to get them to leave.’’
The soldiers left their weapons stacked in the yard, under guard. “It scares the kids,’’ he explained.
They also left their grim “game faces’’ outside. In the small school, they knelt and talked gently with the children, encouraging them to respond. Callan put his helmet on one child. He visited all five classrooms. They lingered for more than half an hour.
