| Page 3 of 5 < > |
A Grisly Problem, Grateful Iraqis and a Grim Outlook
An Iraqi who thought he would have to leave his modest home, next to an old factory that U.S. troops want to use as an outpost, turned thankful when told that he and his family could stay.
(By David Finkel -- The Washington Post)
TOOLBOX
   Resize
COMMENT
 Discussion Policy
 CLOSE
Comments that include profanity or personal attacks or other inappropriate comments or material will be removed from the site. Additionally, entries that are unsigned or contain "signatures" by someone other than the actual author will be removed. Finally, we will take steps to block users who violate any of our posting standards, terms of use or privacy policies or any other policies governing this site. Please review the full rules governing commentaries and discussions. You are fully responsible for the content that you post.
Who's Blogging  |
"The Army has systems for this -- if it were our body," Cummings said. "If it were a U.S. soldier, sure. We would be there in a heartbeat."
"We could drop down there and get it out ourselves," Jager said. "But--"
"But what soldier am I going to ask to go in there to do that?" Cummings said.
They continued to stare.
"Lye and bleach," Cummings said again, back to that, and then he and Jager went on a tour of the rest of the factory as Jager explained that the factory had been abandoned three years ago, that the owner -- a Sunni -- was apparently murdered, that the owner's brother told them by phone that he had tried to come to the factory four times from his home in west Baghdad and had been stopped and beaten each time, that "we know the militia has used this as a base of operations," that there are "reports that they used this for torture and murder," and that neighbors have told his soldiers about "the screams and the sounds of people being beaten."
This is where the dining facility would be, he now told Cummings. This is where the soldiers would sleep.
They stepped outside the front gate, onto the street. Surrounded by soldiers and engineers, they walked down the street to plot a route for concrete blast walls that would be brought in by truck to encircle the factory. They turned a corner to keep plotting the route, and that was when Cummings saw a mud-brick hovel practically attached to the factory wall like a barnacle, and a shirtless man outside the shack who struggled to cover himself as the soldiers came through his gate.
Through an interpreter, Cummings began to explain why they were there, that U.S. soldiers would soon be moving into the spaghetti factory, that a wall was going to be built.
I will leave, the man interrupted, shaking.
"No," Cummings said, asking the interpreter to explain again what he had said.
I will leave, the man said again, explaining that he and his family had come to this little bit of land because they had been uprooted, that they had been here two years, that they meant no harm, that they had nowhere else to go, and then, at last hearing the interpreter, he said, I don't have to leave?
"No," Cummings said.
