For Kurds In N. Iraq, A Familiar Foreboding

In the late 1980s, Hussein's government evicted Amar and her family and took them to a desert camp. Several of Amar's relatives were executed, she said, their bodies never found -- victims of the Anfal campaign, in which Iraqi authorities systematically killed tens of thousands of Kurds. She later moved to Zakho and didn't return to her village until two months ago, when the regional government built her family a small purple house.

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"We were so happy. I felt that our life before Anfal would come back," Amar said. "Now we are afraid that the Turks will come here and deprive us of this gift."

About 1 a.m. Oct. 21, shells began to rain around Kashan. Sayran Hussein, 40, grabbed her children and hid in a nearby canal until dawn, as did scores of other villagers. The next morning all 30 families, including nearly 100 children, fled to Zakho.

Several days later, they heard on a newscast that Turkey's prime minister would visit Washington in November. They returned to their village, reasoning that any invasion would surely wait until after that meeting. Just in case, they left the elderly and the frail in Zakho.

On Sunday, a group of village elders gathered on a porch to discuss the geopolitics that rule their plight. During the Anfal campaign, the entire village -- people living in mud houses and caves -- fled to Turkey, where officials initially blocked U.N. assistance and confined the Kurds to camps.

"Saddam killed us and chased us to Turkey. We came back from Turkey. Now, Turkey is chasing us and trying to kill us," said Abdullah Abdal, 80.

He, like his neighbors, believes that Turkey's motive is to seize control of Iraq's oil -- not tackle the PKK. "There are 25 million Kurds in Turkey. They love the PKK. They should solve their problems inside Turkey," said Abdal. "We have nothing to do with the PKK."

Others expressed admiration for the guerrillas.

"The PKK are also Kurds," said Hadji Abdullah, 53. "Why should we fight and kill them?"

Less than a mile away, large charred patches pock the mountainside, where gray and orange shell fragments lay scattered.

"With artillery and bombs, we can hide. But if they launch an offensive, where can we hide?" said Yusef Ali, as he and his 5-year-old child picked up some bomb fragments.

"Turkey is practicing what Saddam was doing to us. That's why we're afraid," said Fateh Mahmoud, 53, a farmer. Seconds later, he added: "The U.S. has always supported us. Why are they not applying pressure on Turkey to stop these attacks?"

In Deshtetek, Jamil Oraha is worried about the future. "The central government can't protect itself. How can we ask it for help?" Oraha said, shaking his head. "We can't go back to Mosul. We can't go back to Baghdad. The cheapest house in Zakho is $400 a month. Where can we go?"

Michael, Deshtetek's mayor, is worried about history. He sees parallels with Turkish massacres of Armenian Christians in the waning days of the Ottoman Empire.

"We believe what happened in Armenia can happen to us at any moment," Michael said.

From the gates of the church, he gazed up at the Turkish base and flag, his back straight, his silence defiant.

Staff researcher Robert E. Thomason in Washington contributed to this report.