The Guardian has some
first independent reports from within Fallujah in the aftermath of the assault, plus
a clip from a film being shown on tonight's Channel 4 News.
Last November, US military forces, backed by British soldiers from the Black Watch, launched their biggest ever assault on the city of Falluja, Operation Phantom Fury.
Over the last two weeks, Ali Fadhil, an Iraqi doctor turned film-maker for Guardianfilms, has succeeded in making it into the city and the surrounding refugee camps. He discovered people had been shot in their beds, rabid dogs were feeding on corpses, and there was little to no water, electricity or sewage. A city of over 300,000 people had been destroyed and its inhabitants were homeless.
With just two weeks until the Iraqi elections, not a single voter in Falluja has received a ballot paper. Far from stabilising the region in preparation for the election, it seems the US military's decision to use the Iraqi National Guard against this Sunni city has fanned the flames of civil war in the entire country.
December 25 2004
By 10am we were inside the city. It was completely devastated, destruction everywhere. It looked like a city of ghosts. Falluja used to be a modern city; now there was nothing. We spent the day going through the rubble that had been the centre of the city; I didn't see a single building that was functioning.
The Americans had put a white tape across the roads to stop people wandering into areas that they still weren't allowed to enter. I remembered the market from before the war, when you couldn't walk through it because of the crowds. Now all the shops were marked with a cross, meaning that they had been searched and secured by the US military. But the bodies, some of them civilians and some of them insurgents, were still rotting inside.
There were dead dogs everywhere in this area, lying in the middle of the streets. Reports of rabies in Falluja had reached Baghdad, but I needed to find a doctor.
Fallujans are suspicious of outsiders, so I found it surprising when Nihida Kadhim, a housewife, beckoned me into her home. She had just arrived back in the city to check out her house; the government had told the people three days earlier that they should start going home. She called me into her living room. On her mirror she pointed to a message that had been written in her lipstick. She couldn't read English. It said: "Fuck Iraq and every Iraqi in it!"
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