Witnessing Fallujah's Suffering

Fallujah, Iraq -- Fallujah is a bit like southern California. Situated on the edge of Iraq's western desert, it has been transformed into an agricultural town with the help of extensive irrigation.

The town is marginally better off than the dirt-poor villages that surround it. It has wide streets and squat, sand-colored buildings, and a majority of its people are farmers. It is also Ground Zero for the escalating war between the U.S. military and the "insurgents."

I was in Fallujah during the recent "ceasefire" -- the brief lull in the bloody battle secured by Iraqi leaders who are trying to negotiate a truce. This is what I saw and heard.

Since the "ceasefire," large-scale bombing has become infrequent. The Americans are still using heavy artillery but mainly relying on snipers.

When the assault on Fallujah began, the power plant was the first to be bombed. Electricity is now provided by generators and usually reserved for places with important functions, such as the four hospitals still operational in Fallujah. Among these, one is a minor emergency clinic, while another is a car repair garage.

The situation was frantic and chaotic at the clinic, and I found it difficult to find someone to translate all that I witnessed. I depended for much of my information on Makki al-Nazzal, a lifelong Fallujah resident who works for the humanitarian NGO, Intersos. He had been pressed into service as the manager of the clinic since all the doctors were working around the clock with minimal sleep.

A gentle, urbane man who speaks fluent English, Al-Nazzal is beside himself with fury at the actions of the U.S. military. (When I asked him if it was all right to use his full name, he said, "It's ok. It's all ok now. Let the bastards do what they want.") He talks of coalition snipers targeting ambulances, being hit, of them killing women and children. Describing the horror that the siege of Fallujah has become, he says, "I have been a fool for 47 years. I used to believe in European and American civilization."

I had heard such claims of U.S. brutality before arriving in Fallujah, but these are the bits of evidence I saw for myself.

An ambulance with two neat, precise bullet-holes in the windshield on the driver's side, pointing down at an angle that indicated they would have most likely hit the driver's chest (the snipers were on rooftops, and are trained to aim for the chest). I also saw a second ambulance, again with a single, neat bullet-hole in the windshield.

These were deliberate shots designed to kill the drivers. There is no way to explain them away as panicked, indiscriminate spraying of fire. The ambulances also have flashing red, blue or green lights and sirens blaring. In the pitch-dark of blacked-out city streets there is no way to mistaken them for some other kind of vehicle.

As for killing women and children, I saw perhaps a dozen wounded brought in during the four hours that I was at that small clinic. Among them was a young 18-year-old girl, shot in the head. She was experiencing seizures and foaming at the mouth when they brought her in; doctors did not expect her to survive the night.

Another likely terminal case was a young boy with massive internal bleeding. I also saw a man with extensive burns on his upper body and shredded thighs, with wounds that could have been from a cluster bomb. But there was no way to verify the cause of his suffering in what resembled a scene from a madhouse: wailing relatives, shouts of "Allahu Akbar" (God is great), and angry railing at the Americans.

It's very difficult to find out exactly what is happening in a town reeling from the brunt of a military offensive. It is, however, crystal-clear that the assertions of the Bush administration that the mujaheddin are a small isolated group, repudiated by the majority of Fallujah's population, are laughably untrue.