The bomb was meant to kill American soldiers but, once again, it hit Iraqis. Aimed at two passing Humvees, the explosion last month on a traffic median ripped into a passing bus in eastern Baghdad, killing three riders. Haider Kassim, 11, crawled from the carnage, his leg shredded by shrapnel. But he refused care until his mother and aunt, each with more serious wounds, were treated.
Iraqis are increasingly the victims in this new stage of war here, which continues even with the capture of former Iraqi president Saddam Hussein. The emotions it is unearthing are not simple. Haider's father, Aziz, 43, proud of his boy's bravery, praised, too, the Americans for liberating Iraq from Saddam. But, he said, his family would never have been hurt if the Americans stayed home -- and even if he knew who set that bomb, he would not tell the Americans.
"I don't want to cooperate with the Americans," he said in al-Kindi hospital, where his son, wife and sister were recuperating from the blast. "They are occupiers."
Iraqis do not seem to blame America directly for an insurgency that has killed and maimed fellow Iraqis, either intentionally or by exploding bombs where innocents get hurt. But interviews with these new victims, their families and those who care for them seem to confirm worries by some US officials that the tactics of the insurgents are eroding confidence in the American mission here, even though the people carrying out the attacks are largely loyalists to Saddam and loathed by most Iraqis.
"My people are killing my people; It makes me very angry," said Dr. Rend Abdullah, a clinical pharmacist who has assisted in operations of scores of Iraqis hurt in recent attacks.
"Peace in this country is the duty of the Americans now. America should make it safe. They have a responsibility for us now," Abdullah said.
This dynamic -- anger at the US for the actions of others -- is no surprise to the American military, which says the insurgents have turned to the easier target of Iraqis because security around US soldiers has been increased. The insurgents have assassinated politicians and police officers as "collaborators"; sniped at Iraqis driving trucks for the military and set off bombs on crowded city streets.
"Their aim is to intimidate the population, to create fear and uncertainty, and to create a fear among the people that drives them away from the coalition," Brigadier General Mark Kimmitt said in a recent news conference describing the rise in attacks on Iraqi targets.
Kimmitt said strongly that the insurgents' tactics "will not succeed." And there are signs of greater cooperation among Iraqis in passing along information, borne of anger at attacks that hurt and kill Iraqis, according to a senior military official here.
"This just doesn't play well with a lot of people," the official said.
Still, for now, there seem to be clear limits to such cooperation, whether the reasons are fear of being seen in contact with Americans, anger like Aziz's at the occupation and the chaos it has brought or, in some cases, outright sympathy with the insurgents.
"It's not been a huge groundswell" of cooperation, the official conceded.
There are no official statistics on the number of Iraqis killed and wounded by Iraqis but, in the weeks before a recent lull in all attacks, such attacks doubled: During the holy month of Ramadan, which fell mostly in November, there were 74 attacks on civilians and 82 attacks on Iraqi security forces, Kimmitt said. The military did not respond to requests for more recent data.
Because the insurgents often use car bombs -- powerful and indiscriminate -- the toll of casualties is huge: In August, almost 100 Iraqis were killed and another 150 wounded when a car bomb exploded outside the Imam Ali Mosque in Najaf. On Oct. 27, at least 34 people, nearly all Iraqis, were killed and another 200 injured when bombs were detonated at the International Committee of the Red Cross and at four police stations in Baghdad. In the last big attack, on Nov. 22, at least 15 Iraqis were killed and more than 50 wounded in two suicide bombings at police stations in Khan Bani Saad and Baquba, north of Baghdad.
Numbers and headlines are one thing. The reality -- the lives that go on no matter how badly scarred -- is something else.
In the Shaab neighborhood of Baghdad, it has fallen on a 5-year-old boy, Mehdi Ibrahim Muhammad, 30, to guide his father by the hand around their small house, fetching his slippers and pointing the way to the toilet. Muhammad, a police officer, was blinded in the Oct. 27 attacks, which destroyed the local police station as he prepared to stay on for a double shift.
"There was an explosion, an extraordinary explosion," he remembered. "I thought someone lifted me -- and the chair and the table -- into the air and slammed me back down. There were some civilians working with me and I knew they were dead."
Wedged into a picture frame in his house are seven photographs of the officer before the bombing, posing with big smiles with the American military police officers who served at his station. An eighth photo shows Mehdi with an American flag wrapped around him.
Now, the blind man said, he is bitter that his old friends have not helped him more after his injury. He said he had one examination at the US military hospital, but was turned away for a second visit. His family sees his lack of care as a broken promise, one of too many, they say, the Americans made to Iraqis.
"I will be the first fedayeen to fight the Americans," said his brother Ahmed, referring to the Saddam loyalists believed to be a major force behind the resistance. "They are a lying people. They do not keep their word."
Ibrahim himself is more conflicted: "That they are liberators, there is no question," he said. "But about the promises -- they are false promises."
"I worked with the Americans," he said. "I was close to them. We were good friends. I never thought they would let me down. I thought Americans were somehow better."
In the town of Khan Bani Saad, the sorrow is the same, though the anger is directed elsewhere -- in the direction most likely to help the US forces here if, as American officials say they expect, attacks on Iraqis continue.
"If I knew who these people were -- even one of them -- I would drink their blood so they couldn't hurt anyone else," said Nasir Abdul Rahman, 36, a former army sergeant who recently opened a shop across from the police station.
He was referring to the people who, three weeks ago, dispatched a white Chevrolet Caprice to the police station, as he was opening shop, dragging the cigarettes and drinks out to the sidewalk. His oldest child, Ibtihal, 10, stayed home from her fourth-grade classes because she was sick. He said he caught a glimpse inside the car, of a man with a long beard.
He turned his back, and the car exploded. He was blasted in the back and thigh with shrapnel. Ibtihal began screaming, "Daddy, come to me!" He scooped her up and ran to the hospital, but she died in his arms.
"I saw my daughter die in front of me," he said. "It was very hard for me. She was very beautiful. She had beautiful hair. It was very long."
Unlike some others, he said he is not angry with the Americans and said, in fact, he felt US troops should not leave Iraq until they defeat the insurgency.
"America is a great power -- they cannot let these people win," he said. "Iraqis want peace. They do not want these terrorists."
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