Witnessing an Iraqi Meltdown

Feb. 27, 2006 — -- Last Wednesday we woke to the news that the Al Askari shrine in Samarra had been bombed and its magnificent golden dome vanished. The 72,000 pieces of gold that made the dome had scattered to the ground.

The shrine holds the tombs of two important Shiite prophets, but it is in the middle of a predominantly Sunni town. For Iraqis, it meant that only Sunni extremists -- Takfereyeen as they call them here -- could have committed this crime.

The news spread like fire, and with it the anger of Shiites in Basra, Kut, Najaf, Baghdad -- every city in Iraq except those in the Kurdish north. They took to the streets calling for revenge. Militias roamed the streets toting their guns and Kalashnikovs. Sunnis were petrified and knew they would pay a heavy price for the attack done by a handful of extremists. The violence unfolded live on Iraqi TV. It was the 9/11 of the new Iraq, and no one knew what would happen next, but everybody knew things could become bad, really bad.

The entire day was full of news of killings, and by night no one could figure out how many people had died or how many mosques had been attacked. All we knew was that things had deteriorated badly and that a nightmare scenario for Iraq was unfolding.

Fear on Their Faces

Iraq was on the brink of civil war; I felt it in my guts. For the first time ever, I saw the fear on the faces of all the Iraqis who live and work with us in the ABC News bureau. By midafternoon the pressure from their families was too much -- wives and mothers implored them to get back home, and on their way back they stocked up on provisions.

Despite the daily violence and the deadly car bombs, they always said proudly that there would be no civil war in Iraq because Iraqis see no difference between Sunnis and Shiites, who intermarry and have always co-existed in peace. One Iraqi pointed out that his wife is Shiite while he is Sunni.

But this time it was different. The possibility of a civil war had become a reality. Now they discussed whether the country was already in a civil war, or not.

Another of our translators said that people had too much of a hard life to swallow this new humiliation as well. "They are venting three years of frustrations," he said.

'Cowards'

The situation was particularly worrying in Baghdad, and the provinces of Babel, Diyala and Salah el Din. These are mixed areas where Sunnis and Shiites eat together, marry, have children and go to each others' funerals. Now they were entwined in deadly sectarian violence.

For the next day, rumors, confirmations and denials of attacks on mosques, clerics and people were rife. As a news organization, we struggled the whole day to get exact figures, but on the streets a rumor was instantly true and entailed a counterreaction, often bloody.

The jolliest man among our staff had a somber face. "What happened yesterday is not good," he said without looking at me, as if he were distracted by the sadness.

By 10 a.m., news came that a woman from Al Arabiya was kidnapped and then executed on the outskirts of Samarra. Her father's family is from Samarra. She was the only reporter who got close to Samarra and reported live from the outskirts the entire day. She had family there, she felt protected. But gunmen came after her and killed her.

"Cowards," the jolly staffer said when he heard the news. "How can they kill a woman? Her father was Sunni and her mother Shiite. Why did they kill her?"

By Friday the government imposed a curfew, which meant Iraqis in the mixed areas could not attend Friday prayers, the most important prayer of the week for Muslims and for many the only prayer of the week. The fear was that fiery sermons would further ignite the rhetoric of men already calling for revenge. Mass gatherings are also a prime target, and under the circumstances, no one could afford another attack that hit at the core of people's belief.

With no cars allowed on the roads, as well as a daytime and nighttime curfew, the violence was quelled to some extent, but Baghdad was at a standstill.

Calls for Calm, but an Uncertain Future

Despite the apparent calm, politicians and religious leaders appeared one after another on TV in joint calls for unity, sometimes in the most unlikely partnerships. Pictures of hardline Sunni and Shiite clerics calling on followers to refrain from attacks on mosques and holding hands in joint prayers were proof of just how grave the situation was.

It was the brink of civil war and Iraqis were making every effort not to fall into it. Politicians and local leaders all emphasized that civil war had become a looming reality. They were blunt about it. Defense Minister Saadoun al Dulaimi warned "a civil war was going to be long and bloody." The young anti-American radical cleric Muqtada Al Sadr, who commands militias in every city from Baghdad to the southern border of Iraq, warned that "the war was turning into a war between Muslims" -- and between Iraqis.

By Monday we finally had a chance to sleep, and in the calm, all our Iraqi friends here at the bureau said last week was scary, too scary. We heard all sorts of stories about Sunnis and Shiites fighting: A Shiite guard in the neighborhood said he'd had a fight with his Sunni wife and sent her back to her parents' house. A friend told me on the phone that those who guard his house (Shiite) simply fled, leaving the house open to anyone. His house is in a Sunni neighborhood. Iraqis now look differently at their country.

The one thing everyone had thought for the past three years would never happen because there was no difference between Sunnis and Shiites in Iraq is happening. Now some Sunni and Shiite families have relocated from the mixed areas Iraqis had been so proud of to areas that are exclusively Sunni or Shiite, believing they'll be safer.

On the brink of civil war, Iraqis just realized that they can kill one another. The violence seems to have diminished for now, but not the specter of civil war.

The future has never been so uncertain in Iraq.