Page 2 of 2 The new Fallujah up close and ugly By Dahr Jamail
Sunni ones as well. Hundreds of thousands of them were displaced from homes in
Baghdad alone.
At his Informed Comment blog, Juan Cole reports that Sunnis may now make up as
little as 10%-15% of the population of the capital. No wonder their tribal
leaders, outnumbered and outgunned on all sides, felt the need for some help
and, with options limited, found it by reaching out to the most powerful
military on the planet. With their finances, livelihoods and even lives
threatened, they resorted to a classic tactic of the beleaguered, summed up in
the saying, "The enemy of my enemy is my friend."
The result today? Sheik Aifan is a millionaire many times over.
And his dreams are fittingly no longer those of a local smuggler. He wants to
"make Anbar the next Dubai", he told two of my colleagues and I as we powered
down the battered streets of Fallujah in reference to the glittering city that
has grown out of the desert in the United Arab Emirates.
His house is a fittingly massive, heavily guarded mansion complete with its own
checkpoint near the street, two guard towers, and even two heavy machine guns
emplaced near the door to his office. A bevy of guards surround him at all
times and live in the mansion full-time for his protection.
During our first visit to his home, my companions and I ended up spending the
night, since we had not completed our interviews by the time the sun began to
set. It was just days ahead of the recent provincial elections in which the
list of Awakening members of which he was a part would take second place. As we
munched on delicious kebabs, he proudly discussed his own campaign that he
hoped would land him high in the city council. "I'm running," he insisted,
"because if I don't, the bad people will keep their seats. We can't change
things if we don't run."
With most Sunni groups boycotting the 2005 election, the Iraqi Islamic Party
(IIP), a heavily religious group, took control of the seats of power in
Fallujah. While I was with Aifan, he was visibly anxious and angered by rumors
that the IIP was attempting to pressure voters and rig the elections. "We will
fight with any means necessary if they win by fraud," he said adamantly - and,
as I would soon find out, he was already taking the fight to the IIP.
John Gotti in Iraq
As the night grew late, Aifan suddenly decided that we should accompany him on
a quick visit to the provincial capital, Ramadi. He wanted to consult with a
compatriot, Sheik Abu Risha, in order to file a joint letter of complaint about
the alleged fraud the IIP was conducting in the run-up to the elections. It was
interesting to note that, only two years and a few months after the Awakening
Movement was formed, the two sheiks feared a Sunni electoral party far more
than al-Qaeda-in-Iraq.
En route he proudly showed off the BMW's extras, including its two-inch thick
bulletproof windows (so useful if you fear assassination), the handy flip-out
whisky compartment that held Johnny Walker and some sodas, and a
top-of-the-line music system. As he drove, his cell phone in one hand and a
walkie-talkie beside him a constant link to his security guards in SUVs which
had us sandwiched front and back, he continued to talk enthusiastically with
us. Riding in the front, I couldn't help but be exceedingly aware of the pistol
that rested conveniently near him on the seat. In the back on the floor were a
shotgun and an AK-47 assault rifle.
Abu Risha's compound in Ramadi was even larger than Sheik Aifan's mansion - and
even more heavily guarded. We arrived to find an election official already
waiting to take Aifan's written complaint on the rigging charges. The chief of
police for the province was in attendance too, a sign of the power and
influence of these two men who share a bond of power and money. (Abu Risha even
owns a camel farm.)
Once the visit was concluded, we headed back for Fallujah and had a late night
snack at Sheik Aifan's place before settling in for a night's sleep as his
guest. His daughter, a shy girl of perhaps seven years of age, sat beside him
as we ate. At one point, he suddenly peeled a crisp US $100 bill off a wad of
bills that would have stunned any movie mafia boss, smiled benevolently, and
added that she shouldn't let her mother know about the gift.
The sheik, of course, had $100 bills to spare, as millions of dollars for
so-called construction projects have been funneled his way. It's how he pays
the roughly 900 men that he estimates make up his private militia. For all of
this he can thank the US military, which delivers regular installments of money
- shrink-wrapped bricks of those $100 bills - because post-invasion Iraq
remains largely a cash-only economy.
Before our journey to Ramadi, a patrol of US Marines had paid Sheik Aifan a
visit. As the soldiers climbed the stairs to his meeting room, they took clips
of ammunition away from the sheik's security team, and kept them until they
left his compound. It was a gentle reminder of who still has the final say in
this part of Iraq and of just how far the trust extends between these partners
of necessity.
Sheikh Aifan offered a warm greeting to the marine commander, and the two men
sat down to talk. Each was visibly distracted, anxiously looking around. Sheik
Aifan toyed anxiously with his prayer beads, wiggling his legs like a nervous
schoolchild, while telling his guest how well everything was going. The meeting
was repeatedly interrupted by cell phone calls for the sheik who, at one point,
left briefly to welcome another visitor.
After the meeting, platters of food were brought in and everyone feasted. As
they were leaving, I asked one of the marines if meetings like these happened
regularly. "This is our job," he replied. "We visit sheiks. And this guy is
like John Gotti." (Gotti, labeled the "Teflon Don", ran the Gambino crime
family in New York City before being jailed.)
I wasn't eager to stay the night, but the alternatives - at least the safe ones
- were nil. Though in luxurious circumstances, we caught something of the
newest Iraqi dilemma: we had "security" of a sort, but no freedom.
Outside the gates of Sheik Aifan's well-guarded compound, generators hummed in
the night providing electricity in a land where, if you can't pay for a
generator of your own or share one with your neighbor, you are in trouble. In
Fallujah, like Baghdad, four hours of electricity delivered from the national
grid is considered a good day. Generally, a self-imposed curfew kept the
streets relatively traffic free after total darkness settled in.
The city in which Sheik Aifan lives, of course, still lies in rubble, its
people largely in a state of existential endurance. The Awakening groups have
earned the respect of many Iraqis by providing "security", but at what price?
Reconstruction has yet to really begin in Sunni areas and the movement, sheiks
and all, only works as long as the US continues funneling "reconstruction
funds" to tribal leaders. What happens when that stops, as it surely must with
time? Will the people of Fallujah be better served? Or has this process merely
laid the groundwork for future bloodshed?
Dahr Jamail, an independent journalist, has been covering the Middle East
for more than five years and is the author of Beyond the Green Zone: Dispatches
from an Unembedded Journalist in Occupied Iraq. To visit his website, click here.
(Note of thanks: Bhashwati Sengupta, Richard Rowley, Jacqueline Soohen and
David Enders contributed research to this article.)
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