For Iraq's Sunnis, Conflict Closes In

As Mahmoud spoke, Abdul Wahad, 26, nodded in agreement. Dressed in a blue and orange Puma tracksuit jacket, he said he no longer hangs out on the streets. He has stopped pursuing his degree in economics because he's worried about getting killed.

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"We don't trust the checkpoints," he said.

Added Khalid Mahmoud, "After the Sadr City bombings, none of us have left Tobji."

Ten days ago, three Sunnis were kidnapped, including the brother of the mosque's custodian. He still hasn't been found. On Sunday, Khudir Mahmoud sent a woman to the morgue to inquire whether his body had turned up. He was too afraid to go by himself because the Health Ministry is controlled by Shiites loyal to Sadr. The custodian now plans to quit and move his family to Samarra.

'I Am Like a Prisoner'

On the day Sadr City was attacked, a Shiite friend a few blocks away phoned Farouk to warn that Shiite militiamen were rumored to be roaming Tobji in search of Sunni men. He invited Farouk to stay at his house. Farouk and his two grown sons gratefully accepted. His wife and five smaller children stayed behind. The next day, Farouk and his sons returned. He loaded his AK-47 and kept it in his bedroom.

The day after a three-day curfew was lifted, Farouk went to work, switching taxis in case he was being followed. He was stopped at a checkpoint, he said. A Shiite policeman asked whether he was a Sunni or Shiite. Farouk replied that he was Iraqi, then flashed his government identification card. "You son of dogs," the policeman said but waved him through.

For the next three days, Farouk stayed inside his house. "I can't even walk to the main street," he said Nov. 30. "At 6 p.m., I lock my door and stay inside."

At night, the family slept together in the living room while Farouk kept watch for a possible attack. One night, a sound on the roof sent him rushing up with his gun. It was water dropping into a tank. "I am like a prisoner," he said.

In the living room that day, Farouk was expressing anger at the United States for invading Iraq, for disenfranchising the Sunnis. Listening in was his nephew, Ihab Bashir, 30. Farouk framed his plight in political terms, blaming the Shiite-led government for settling scores from the past. "There is no democracy," Farouk said, shaking his head in dismay.

Farouk's 10-year-old son, Omar, entered the living room. Thin with an angular face, he wore jeans and a yellow shirt. When asked his name, he replied in a voice not much louder than a whisper: "Amar."

Amar is a common Shiite name. Farouk had instructed him to lie about his name to strangers. Why didn't he use his real name?

"Because of those people, the Mahdi Army," Omar said.