US forces in Iraq watch Samarra become rebel den

By Ned Parker

The Iraqi police who work at the JCC usually come from surrounding towns. They change into civilian clothes when they leave the base fearing they will be attacked

It is not clear who rules the restive Iraqi city of Samarra these days. The city council told the Americans six weeks ago it did not want US troops entering their community.

Since then the 1st Infantry Division has mostly stayed on its base a few kilometres (miles) outside the northern city and watched insurgents dominate Samarra with the threat of bloodshed. "I’m not sure who controls the city at this point," says Lieutenant Colonel Kirk Allen, commander of the 1st Battalion-26th Infantry.

"The city council is not able to govern. They understand the coalition is here to help, but they have limited support from the citizens. They are intimidated and threatened not to work with the coalition forces," Allen says.

The Americans say they are stuck in an untenable position - they have in reality handed the city over to their "enemy" but to reenter they risk enraging residents and trampling on Iraqq’s sovereignty.

"It’s a Catch 22," says Lieutenant Sean Rose, the battalion’s liaison with the Iraqi police.

Mistrust remains high. A US officer training Iraqi national guard said the division no longer recruited members from inside Samarra. "Samarra is owned and operated by the Fedayeen, the ones who support us are not willing to do so openly," says US Lieutenant Jacob White.

Rebels have launched three major attacks in Samarra since US troops stopped patrolling the city in June. Notably, insurgents blew up the homes of four pro-US figures on July 1 and a suicide car bomber, dressed in a police uniform, levelled Samarra’s national guard headquarters on July 8. "We’re trying to build trust between our people and Samarra. They are not abiding," Allen says.

Despite his best intentions, relations with the city leaders have not improved. The US military and the city council have had just two meetings since June 1, both outside Samarra, as the local politicians refuse to welcome them inside the troubled community.

"We haven’t been able to do our job of rebuilding Samarra because they asked us to stay out," Allen complains.

What little information exists on Samarra’s insurgency is gleaned from informants or the surveillance footage filmed by unmanned drones that fly over the city. "Right now we don’t know what we’re up against," Rose says. When the military asks the local police for help, they often hit a dead end.

If Rose radios the Samarra police station and tells them the military’s unmanned drone has filmed men with guns in the street, the police will say that nothing is happening. "It’s obvious the police are afraid to do anything. They are stuck between a rock and a hard place."

Rose works out of the military’s Joint Coordination Centre (JCC) room, where he sits with two Iraqi policemen who are supposed to radio the police in Samarra. Instead, the JCC reveals the huge gap between the sides as the police and Rose can go for hours doing nothing as the police radio stays silent.

The Iraqi police who work at the JCC usually come from surrounding towns. They change into civilian clothes when they leave the base fearing they will be attacked. At least four of them have already quit the job. "People believe anyone who works for the coalition is a collaborator," one policeman says, who begs his name not be used.

No one can blame them for their worries. In June, two Samarra policemen were gunned down in the street. One died immediately, but the second was taken to the hospital where insurgents tracked him down and killed him, says Captain Tarl Karoleski, a civil affairs officer.

The military has also received reports of insurgents setting up checkpoints in the city, Karoleski says. The insurgents have also demanded the city council give them control of reconstruction projects and all contracting, but so far have been rebuffed, he adds.

The military fears the insurgents are now trying to intimidate Dr Hatem Ahmed Abbas, the cleric at Samarra’s gold-domed Imam Ali al-Hadi mosque, a revered shrine. In the last two weeks, Abbas’ car has been stolen and his brother’s car blown up, Koralski says. "You feel like your hands are tied.... anyone perceived to work with the coalition is targeted," Koralski says. (afp)

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