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Friends in the Mountains.
Northern Iraq is a stable land where people love
America and Americans.
So why doesn't the U.S. military make itself at
home?
Oct. 17, 2005 issue - For a brief spell last year,
small groups of American soldiers fresh off the
battlefields of Fallujah and Samarra got a chance to
rest and relax at the Jiyan Hotel in the highlands
of Iraq.
They could swim laps, play tennis, shoot pool and
generally just chill as they looked out on the
dramatic snow-covered peaks that have always been
the refuge of the Kurds. ("We have no friends but
the mountains" is a well-known Kurdish proverb.)
Kids mobbed the soldiers, asking for candy; adults
began every conversation with "My friend." Indeed,
there are few places anywhere in the world these
days where American troops get a warmer welcome.
When you hear that Iraqis are sick of the U.S.
occupation, remember the Kurds. They love the U.S.A.
They want these American occupiers, and really do
think of them as liberators. Top Kurdish officials
have practically begged the U.S. military to make
itself at home in their land. "I do not ask that
Americans build bases in Kurdistan—I demand it,"
says Abdel Beg Perwani, a Kurdish member of Iraq's
Parliament and deputy head of the defense committee.
It gets better: Kurdistan is the one area of Iraq
that's stable and prosperous. "People feel good,"
says Stafford Clarry, an adviser to the regional
government who previously worked for the United
Nations. "It's just money, money, money." With the
approach of a referendum on Iraq's national
constitution on Oct. 15, bombs were going off to the
south in Baghdad, Taji and Al Hillah, killing scores
of people and wounding hundreds. But the Kurds were
in a festive mood. "It's going to be embarrassing,"
says Clarry of the referendum. In Kurdistan,
"there's probably going to be a 97 percent turnout."
So why are U.S. soldiers rare sights in the Kurdish
north? In part, it's because they're not needed.
Kurdish troops known as peshmerga are responsible
for keeping order, and do. Yet soldiers don't even
go to the Jiyan Hotel anymore for R&R; they go to
Kuwait and Qatar instead. And you might think the
Americans could use a base in a stable area, if only
to focus a little attention there. So what gives?
The answer goes a long way toward explaining the
delicacy of the U.S. position. America can't afford
to accept the offers of its friends in Iraq any more
than it can bow to the demands of its enemies—at
least not yet.
Very quietly, some tentative planning for American
installations in Kurdistan is underway. One site
under consideration is the military zone that houses
Erbil International Airport. According to the
civilian facility's general director, Zaid Zwain, a
"large team" from the American military "came to do
a security assessment" last April. Harry Schute, who
was in charge of an Army civil-affairs unit in
northern Iraq until June last year, says that
Kurdish leaders have also offered basing facilities
at the old Harir air base north of Erbil. "You have
a spot that's - right in the thick of things, but
that spot is secure and the people are friendly,"
says Schute. A senior Coalition official, who would
speak only on condition that he not be further
identified, says the planning is part of Defense
Secretary Donald Rumsfeld's global strategy to build
small, forward bases and to support "islands of
stability" in potentially troubled regions.
The Kurds' proffered hospitality is not altruistic.
They have a long history of being massacred by their
neighbors and betrayed by their friends (including
the United States). Since 1991, however, the
Americans have provided fairly consistent
protection, and the Kurds have developed their
economy and their fledgling democracy. Since the
overthrow of Saddam Hussein in 2003, many have dared
to dream of an even closer alliance that would serve
to protect them further.
That's probably more of a commitment than the United
States wants to make at this point. For starters, it
would further anger and alienate the Shiite and
Sunni Arabs of Iraq, and imperil any hopes of
building an effective national government. Iraq's
neighbors would be equally wary.
Iran wouldn't look kindly on U.S. bases anywhere on
its borders, and already has concerns about unrest
stirred among its Kurds by the satellite TV stations
broadcasting from northern Iraq. Turkey, itself a
close U.S. ally, has opposed every increment in
Iraqi Kurdish autonomy, fearing Kurds in Turkey
would make the same demands.
Iraq's Kurds are not relying solely on the U.S. for
their security.
Since the fall of Saddam, more than $800 million
worth of construction contracts have been given out
to Turkish companies. Yet tens of thousands of
Turkish troops remain positioned near the border,
and Ankara continues to press Washington to do
something about Kurdish rebels operating from
northern Iraq. So far, the U.S. military has shied
away from that. But the United States may have to
act if it wants to get Ankara's blessing to build
bases in Turkey's backyard.
As Kurdistan cultivates its image of tranquillity,
launching a TV ad campaign next month beckoning
investors to "Kurdistan, the Other Iraq,"
the temptation for the American military is bound to
grow. "If you think about a withdrawal strategy, it
would make a lot of sense," says Peter Galbraith, a
former American ambassador who advises the Kurdish
leadership. U.S. forces could still deploy quickly
and effectively from Kurdish areas, but wouldn't be
an in-your-face incitement to resentful Sunni or
Shiite Arabs. And they'd be staying the course,
still inside the country. "If you get out of Iraq
completely," says Galbraith, "you'll never go back."
Until then, it seems, the United States has no
better friends than the Kurds in their mountains.
MSNBC
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