Looking for the New Baghdad

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I had been skeptical about the military's claim that its troops were being treated as friends and confidants in once hostile neighborhoods--it sounded too much like the promises of Iraqis' greeting coalition forces with sweets and songs after the fall of Saddam Hussein. But colleagues recently embedded with U.S. troops in Baghdad tell stories of soldiers being received with smiles and waves, even cups of tea. Driving through the city, I watch Iraqis react when an American convoy rumbles past: not many smiles and waves, but there's certainly much less scowling and cursing. Inevitably, though, the success of the surge is creating a culture of dependence on American troops. Madeeha Hasan Odhaib, a neighborhood councilor who works with displaced and homeless Iraqis, tells me about the aftermath of a recent suicide bombing. When the Iraqi security forces arrived on the scene, the families of the victims snubbed them. "They said, 'We'll wait to talk to the Americans, because they are the ones really in charge here,'" says Odhaib. The families figured they'd have a better chance of getting compensation from the U.S. than from the Iraqi bureaucracy.

But for many Baghdadis, there is now a new anxiety: What happens when the Americans go? "If Petraeus leaves, or if he sends home 50,000 soldiers, will the peace survive? I don't think so," says Mithal Alussi, a secular member of parliament with a reputation for straight talking. For all the changes I see and hear, what remains unchanged from a year ago is the mood. My friends and colleagues all warn me against reading too much into the signs of progress. They point out that this is not the first time things have seemed to get a little better, only to turn bad again. They remind me of dashed hopes after the two general elections in 2005, after the death of al-Qaeda in Iraq leader Abu Mousab al-Zarqawi and after any number of unkept promises by al-Maliki.

Many believe the surge has reached the limits of its possibilities. The statistics of violence have been climbing since the start of the year, and there are indications that the Shi'ite death squads are back on the hunt: after a gap of several months, mutilated bodies of Sunnis are again turning up in garbage dumps. The government suppresses death-toll and crime statistics, but that only fuels rumors of new sectarian atrocities. Hammadi, a Sunni, believes Shi'ite "agents" have been casing out Saydiyah, identifying residents who, like him, routinely venture out of the safety cordon provided by the local Sahwa. "Once we're outside, they can grab us easily," he says. He has forbidden Shada and the kids from straying more than 100 yds. (90 m) from home--denting her business, which depended on her being able to deliver bread door to door.

If Sunnis worry about the return of the death squads, Shi'ites complain that the Sahwa are turning into criminal gangs protected by their U.S. paymasters. And there are fears that the former insurgents will grow more lawless as the government drags its feet on inducting some Sahwa fighters into the uniformed forces. "It is naive to think they will all become lawful citizens," says al-Dabbagh, the government spokesman.

With so much tension under the surface, it's hardly surprising that many Baghdadis are bracing for a turn for the worse. Odhaib says she senses an unease everywhere. "I just know it ... something terrible is about to happen." In the Green Zone, Alussi feels it too: "In a minute, in a second ... just like that, we can fall into hell again."

My second week back, we almost did.

Return of the Rogues First came a daily barrage of mortar and rocket attacks on the Green Zone. In previous years, the rockets were usually fired from the west by Sunni insurgents. Now they come from the eastern part of the city, where the Mahdi Army is strongest. But U.S. officials seem reluctant to blame the Mahdi Army directly, probably because that would risk ending the cease-fire with al-Sadr's militia. So the finger is pointed at unspecified "rogue elements" operating outside al-Sadr's control and supposedly with the help of Iranian agents. In Sadr City, such claims are greeted with hoots of derision. "We fire the rockets, and the Americans cannot find us," a Mahdi Army fighter named Fattah tells me. "There will be more attacks--you'll see."

While the Americans were coddling al-Sadr, al-Maliki abruptly decided to confront him. The Prime Minister has been casting around for a military victory he could claim for his government rather than the U.S. military. On March 24, he made a surprise trip to the southern city of Basra and announced he was personally going to supervise an assault on the Mahdi Army, which vies with two other Shi'ite militias for supremacy there. It was the largest Iraqi military exercise since the fall of Saddam, involving 30,000 soldiers and policemen. The U.S. military, keen to showcase the growing competence of the Iraqi forces, allowed them to take the lead. Big mistake. The operation was a shambles. After a day's intense fighting, Iraqi commanders acknowledged that they had underestimated the strength of the Mahdi Army. With superior knowledge of Basra's backstreets and alleyways, the militia was able to outflank al-Maliki's forces. On March 26, the Prime Minister announced he was giving the militias 72 hours to disarm. Before the deadline expired, government representatives began negotiating a cease-fire with al-Sadr. Al-Maliki was left looking toothless and foolish; al-Sadr, stronger, more dangerous than ever.

For Sunnis, al-Sadr's continued clout is a warning and a provocation. In the district of Adhamiyah, a Sahwa fighter named Mahmoud (like his Mahdi Army counterpart, he gave only his first name) tells me there can be no reconciliation between the sects "as long as Muqtada is alive." Then he makes a grim prediction: "Right now, the Americans want us to fight against al-Qaeda, and that's fine. But we know the real fight will be in the future, with the Mahdi Army. We are getting ready for it." Fattah, in Sadr City, is preparing for the same fight. "The Americans protect the [Sahwa] for the moment, but we know who they are; we have lists," he says. "When the time comes, we will know what to do with them."

The Baghdadis caught between these extremes know that the only thing standing in the way of another sectarian conflagration is the U.S. military. This may explain why every Iraqi who offers me a view on American politics seems to be praying for a McCain victory. A 100-year American military presence, of which McCain once spoke, may seem a bit much; I suspect most Iraqis would be happy with five.