Najaf's residents feel trapped between U.S., Iraqi insurgents

NAJAF, Iraq -- For nearly three weeks, Amer al-Jamali hasn't been able to go to work. He cannot visit his father, find medication for his diabetic children or even sleep on his roof to escape the city's suffocating heat made worse by power outages.

The fighting between a Shiite militia and U.S. and Iraqi forces has scarred this holy city, killed scores of civilians, driven many families and pilgrims away, and choked the city's economy.

"We're simple people. We just want to be able to go to work and come back home," said al-Jamali, a mechanic. "I don't know to whom I should complain. I just complain to God."

Al-Jamali spoke over the crackle of gunfire that has become a grim yet common soundtrack to many conversations here. Streets in Najaf are dotted with other reminders of the violence: Knocked down power poles. Carcasses of charred cars. Pockmarked doors and crumbling walls.

Al-Jamali lives in the Old City, hundreds of yards from the Imam Ali Shrine compound where Mahdi Army militiamen loyal to rebel cleric Muqtada al-Sadr have been holed up for weeks. Most of his neighbors fled their homes and moved in with relatives or friends in quieter areas or even left the city. Al-Jamali has nowhere else to go.

The fighting has confined his wife and two daughters to their home. The clashes have gutted some stores and forced others to close, so now al-Jamali cannot find any open pharmacies to buy medicine for his sick children. Food prices have shot up. He and his family exist on a diet of bread, eggplant and potatoes.

When the rattle of gunfire and thuds of explosions echo through the city, al-Jamali's 12-year-old son, Mohammed, covers his ears with his hands. The fighting has made it too dangerous to sleep outside. And al-Jamali's whole neighborhood has been swathed in darkness since the latest bout of violence broke out Aug. 5.

"The Old City has become an off-limits area. No one can go in," al-Jamali said. "We fear we would get killed."

Many civilians have been caught in the crossfire. Mortar rounds launched by inexperienced Mahdi Army fighters sometimes go astray, hitting homes. U.S. troops and warplanes firing at fighters in residential areas have also killed civilians.

Taher Mohammed, 35, said a fire that erupted in the first days of the clashes destroyed his electrical appliances store along with many others. He hadn't even finished paying for the merchandise that was lost, he said.

"If the situation continues, I have no idea how I am going to get by," he lamented.

Like many here, Mohammed and al-Jamali have been reduced to borrowing money from relatives to put food on the table.

After Saddam Hussein's ouster last year, Najaf emerged as a hub for spirituality and a seat for the newfound power of the country's Shiite majority. Pilgrims poured into the city to visit the shrine, one of the most sacred Shiite sites. They flocked to the city's vast cemetery, where many seek a burial spot so their bodies can be close to the remains of Imam Ali, cousin and son-in-law of Islam's 7th-century Prophet Muhammad.

Now the violence -- a resurgence of an al-Sadr uprising in the spring that was dormant for about two months following a series of truces -- has stalled Najaf's burgeoning spiritual renaissance and turned the cemetery into a bloody battlefield, preventing families from visiting their dead.

So far, both peace negotiations and tough talk from government officials threatening to raid the compound have failed to bring peace to this troubled city. On Tuesday, officials again warned that a raid was imminent.

To some, previous fighting across the country has helped make a hero of al-Sadr, who has deftly turned disaffection over lack of jobs and infrastructure into renewed anger toward the Americans. But as the violence dragged on, many here just got sick of it.

Some blame the militants for hijacking their city and bringing violence so close to the revered shrine. Others accuse the Americans of provoking the militiamen and of indiscriminately using excessive force.

Many are just tired of the fighting and want their lives back.

"We want this crisis to end by any means so that we could go back to work and to safety ," said Jassim al-Ramahi, 45. "We have suffered a lot."