In Baghdad, blood
for the innocent
By Robert Fisk in the
Baghdad suburb of Shu'ale
30 March 2003
The piece of metal is only
a foot high, but the numbers on it hold the clue to the latest atrocity
At least 62 civilians had
died by yesterday afternoon, and the coding on that hunk of metal contains
the identity of the culprit. The Americans and British were doing their
best yesterday to suggest that an Iraqi anti-aircraft missile destroyed
those dozens of lives, adding that they were "still investigating"
the carnage. But the coding is in Western style, not in Arabic. And
many of the survivors heard the plane.
In the Al-Noor hospital yesterday
morning, there were appalling scenes of pain and suffering. A two-year-old
girl, Saida Jaffar, swaddled in bandages, a tube into her nose, another
into her stomach. All I could see of her was her forehead, two small
eyes and a chin. Beside her, blood and flies covered a heap of old bandages
and swabs. Not far away, lying on a dirty bed, was three-year-old Mohamed
Amaid, his face, stomach, hands and feet all tied tightly in bandages.
A great black mass of congealed blood lay at the bottom of his bed.
This is a hospital without
computers, with only the most primitive of X-ray machines. But the missile
was guided by computers and that vital shard of fuselage was computer-coded.
It can be easily verified and checked by the Americans if they
choose to do so. It reads: 30003-704ASB 7492. The letter "B"
is scratched and could be an "H". This is believed to be the
serial number. It is followed by a further code which arms manufacturers
usually refer to as the weapon's "Lot" number. It reads: MFR
The piece of metal bearing
the codings was retrieved only minutes after the missile exploded on
Friday evening, by an old man whose home is only 100 yards from the
6ft crater. Even the Iraqi authorities do not know that it exists. The
missile sprayed hunks of metal through the crowds mainly women
and children and through the cheap brick walls of local homes,
amputating limbs and heads. Three brothers, the eldest 21 and the youngest
12, for example, were cut down inside the living room of their brick
hut on the main road opposite the market. Two doors away, two sisters
were killed in an identical manner. "We have never seen anything
like these wounds before," Dr Ahmed, an anaesthetist at the Al-Noor
hospital told me later. "These people have been punctured by dozens
of bits of metal." He was right. One old man I visited in a hospital
ward had 24 holes in the back of his legs and buttocks, some as big
as pound coins. An X-ray photograph handed to me by one of his doctors
clearly showed at least 35 slivers of metal still embedded in his body
Like the Sha'ab highway massacre
on Thursday when at least 21 Iraqi civilians were killed or burned
to death by two missiles fired by an American jet Shu'ale is
a poor, Shia Muslim neighbourhood of single-storey corrugated iron and
cement food stores and two-room brick homes. These are the very people
whom Messrs Bush and Blair expected to rise in insurrection against
Saddam. But the anger in the slums was directed at the Americans and
British yesterday, by old women and bereaved fathers and brothers who
spoke without hesitation and without the presence of the otherwise
ubiquitous government "minders".
"This is a crime,"
a woman muttered at me angrily. "Yes, I know they say they are
targeting the military. But can you see soldiers here? Can you see missiles?"
The answer has to be in the negative. A few journalists did report seeing
a Scud missile on a transporter near the Sha'ab area on Thursday and
there were anti-aircraft guns around Shu'ale. At one point yesterday
morning, I heard an American jet race over the scene of the massacre
and just caught sight of a ground-to-air missile that was vainly chasing
it, its contrail soaring over the slum houses in the dark blue sky.
An anti-aircraft battery manufactured circa 1942 also
began firing into the air a few blocks away. But even if the Iraqis
do position or move their munitions close to the suburbs, does that
justify the Americans firing into those packed civilian neighbourhoods,
into areas which they know contain crowded main roads and markets
and during the hours of daylight?
Last week's attack on the
Sha'ab highway was carried out on a main road at midday during a sandstorm
when dozens of civilians are bound to be killed, whatever the
pilot thought he was aiming at. "I had five sons and now I have
only two and how do I know that even they will survive?"
a bespectacled middle-aged man said in the bare concrete back room of
his home yesterday. "One of my boys was hit in the kidneys and
heart. His chest was full of shrapnel; it came right through the windows.
Now all I can say is that I am sad that I am alive." A neighbour
interrupted to say that he saw the plane with his own eyes. "I
saw the side of the aircraft and I noticed it changed course after it
fired the missile."
Plane-spotting has become
an all-embracing part of life in Baghdad. And to the reader who thoughtfully
asked last week if I could see with my own eyes the American aircraft
over the city, I have to say that in at least 65 raids by aircraft,
I have not despite my tiger-like eyes actually seen one
plane. I hear them, especially at night, but they are flying at supersonic
speed; during the day, they are usually above the clouds of black smoke
that wash over the city. I have, just once, spotted a cruise missile
the cruise or Tomahawk rockets fly at only around 400mph
and I saw it passing down a boulevard towards the Tigris river. But
the grey smoke that shoots out of the city like the fingers of a dead
hand is unmistakeable, along with the concussion of sound. And
when they can be found the computer codings on the bomb fragments
reveal their own story. As the codes on the Shu'ale missile surely must.
All morning yesterday, the
Americans were at it again, blasting away at targets on the perimeter
of Baghdad where the outer defences of the city are being dug
by Iraqi troops and in the centre. An air-fired rocket exploded
on the roof of the Iraqi Ministry of Information, destroying a clutch
of satellite dishes. One office building from which I was watching the
bombardment literally swayed for several seconds during one long raid.
Even in the Al-Noor hospital, the walls were shaking yesterday as the
survivors of the market slaughter struggled for survival.
Hussein Mnati is 52 and just
stared at me his face pitted with metal fragments as bombs
blasted the city. A 20-year-old man was sitting up in the next bed,
the blood-soaked stump of his left arm plastered over with bandages.
Only 12 hours ago, he had a left arm, a left hand, fingers. Now he blankly
recorded his memories. "I was in the market and I didn't feel anything,"
he told me. "The rocket came and I was to the right of it and then
an ambulance took me to hospital."
Whether or not his amputation
was dulled by painkillers, he wanted to talk. When I asked him his name,
he sat upright in bed and shouted at me: "My name is Saddam Hussein