At the crack of dawn on October 17, 2016, death came screaming from the sky, faster than the speed of sound. The deathly calm of the night over Mosul was broken with artillery shells as over a million coalition troops amassed on the frontlines of the second-largest Iraqi city after Baghdad, the western bastion of the Islamic State (IS). Six months later, the forces have recaptured the government complex, airport and military base in east Mosul, claiming control over 60 per cent of the city. This battle is crucial for the defeat of the militant group in Syria’s Raqqa, the so-called IS capital.
The total collapse of public services and infrastructure in Mosul could revive the old social and political tensions, leading to new crises
The massive offensive to retake western Mosul came on February 19, after Iraq’s Prime Minister Haider al-Abadi ordered the combined offensive by Kurdish Peshmerga (40,000 troops), predominantly Arab Iraqi Army, Sunni militia and Shia militia forces (54,000 troops) and Christian Assyrian Militia (5,000 troops) to retake Mosul from the IS’ clutch. The IS controls territories in western Iraq, Syria, Libya and Afghanistan. The target is the IS militia, who unleashed a pogrom in 2014 to wipe out anyone who stood in their way to the creation of an Islamic caliphate. It took the allied forces six months to siege Mosul across the Tigris river.
The Iraqi army is rumbling towards Mosul’s Great Mosque of al-Nuri, where IS leader Abu Bakr al-Baghdadi proclaimed the creation of a “caliphate” in July 2014. The battle to retake the Old City of Mosul—with its densely populated quarters and narrow alleys—is hard, especially with the Iraqi forces trying to minimise civilian casualties. The IS strategy is to use civilians as human shields against airstrikes, which has caused a heavy death toll of people trying to flee the area. The war will help rebuild the confidence of Iraqis in the country’s northwest. However, other conflicts might arise in the disputed zones held by Arabs and Kurds, areas predominantly inhabited by other religious minorities—namely Sinjar and Nineveh Plains—as well as Kirkuk, which is under the Kurdish control.
The massive destruction in Mosul might leave many people unwilling to go back, as it happened with thousands who took the treacherous journey to Europe, and those residing in other Iraqi cities who do not feel secure in Mosul. The total collapse of public services and infrastructure could revive old social and political problems, leading to new crises. According to United Nations High Commission for Refugees, 254,880 Iraqis are internally displaced from Mosul and surrounding areas after military operations to retake the city started, swelling their ranks to almost three million since January 2014, when the IS onslaught began. Iraq’s Ministry of Migration and Displacement estimates that 150,000 individuals have been displaced as a result of the fresh offensive on Mosul that began on February 19.
“People are fleeing west Mosul to the liberated outskirts, namely Hamam Alil village,” says 26-year-old Saad Hussein, an English language graduate in eastern Mosul. “First, they stay in camps before their names are checked at checkpoints. Then they go to the liberated eastern part. This takes a long and exhausting journey on foot. The elderly find the journey unbearable.” During the painstaking walkathon, there is a possibility of bombardment by IS or booby-trapped cars blowing up. “The army is taking some of the displaced people in their vehicles. They stay in camps for a couple of days, where water and basic food are provided,” Hussein says. However, many families are still apart and worried whether they will ever reunite as the battles to retake the western part of the city become fiercer and approach the old neighbourhoods.
“My married cousin lives in eastern Mosul, but her parents and brother are in old Mosul in the western part,” says Ghada Rasool, an academic and novelist from Mosul, who fled to Baghdad in 2014. “Their situation is terrible. They have been without water and electricity for three weeks and they cannot step out of their homes,” says Rasool. “Everyday, my cousin calls her family and cries. My uncle asks her to hear the voice of his one-and-ahalf year old grandson, who still can’t speak.” IS members created large openings in walls separating neighbouring homes in west Mosul to facilitate movement of its cadres. “My uncle’s house is now open to three other homes,” rues Rasool.
A house belonging to an IS member in the district was hit by an airstrike in which two neighbouring homes were damaged and many civilians were wounded, adds Rasool. “Mortar shells and aircraft are bombarding the city,” she says. “My younger cousin told me recently she felt they had been buried alive. My uncle, who is in the liberated part, says he is ready to die but he longs to see his grandson.” Rasool’s other uncle, whose house is in the western part, went out one morning and was shot by an Iraqi Federal Police sniper.
“He was a civilian and never carried a weapon in his life,” she says. “We don’t know why he was shot. People took him to hospital first on a motorcycle and then by boat as all roads were completely destroyed,” she recalls. The same evening, the last standing bridge in the city, the Old Bridge, was bombarded, so her uncle got stuck in the western part. “His daughters are in the liberated eastern part and he is in the house of my other uncle. They cry all day, longing to reunite with their families,” says Rasool. Life in western Mosul is miserable. Many wounded bleed to death, who could have been treated easily in normal times. Pregnant women face hard times as well, claims Rasool. For most Mosulis who survived the atrocities of the IS, nothing can be worse than what they experienced under the militant group’s savage rule since 2014.
And the extent of destruction is intimidating for those who cling on to the bombed-out city. After 30 months in the shadow of the IS’ guns, Ali Al-Fayyadh could not bear it anymore. It was difficult for the 27-year-old to leave Mosul, but after the operation to retake the western part, where he lives, was launched on February 19, he packed whatever he could. What separated him from his freedom was the Tigris river, and Al-Fayyadh decided to risk crossing it to the liberated eastern side. A smuggler’s boat was his only hope. “I fled the western part in a boat across the Tigris,” he says over the phone. “At 5 am, I met a smuggler who brought food and cigarettes from the eastern to the western part of Mosul under the supervision of the army. We agreed to cross the river.”
The situation in western Mosul is miserable. Many people die due to bleeding, a minor issue in normal times. The situation of pregnant women is even more critical.
The trip was a deadly adventure as the IS killed anyone who tried to flee. Iraqi forces met Al-Fayyadh on the other side of the Tigris. “A soldier said ‘I am your servant’ to show his respect,” gushes Al-Fayyadh. “I was shocked to hear that. They checked my ID and asked if I have somebody there, so I went to my sister’s house.” But the end was tragic for the boat owner. He was arrested by the IS the next day and executed for helping another family to escape. They killed the family as well. As Al-Fayyadh had left his parents and young siblings behind, he was concerned about them. “The situation is an unimaginable tragedy,” he says.
“There was shortage of food and fuel. Electricity was cut off five days after the operation to retake the western part was launched. Coalition airstrikes hit the power and water plants. A rocket left a 10-metre deep and six-metre wide crater. The damage to buildings is extensive.” Upon leaving the city, Al-Fayyadh could not recognise his locality because of the massive devastation. The IS had arrested him home was bombed as IS forced my family to leave and used the roof for their snipers, which attracted an airstrike. My father’s leg was wounded, and they went to our neighbour’s house,” recalls Al-Fayyadh. On March 6, Al-Fayyadh got a short phone call from his family saying they had been liberated. Under the IS rule, everything is expensive. “A bottle of oil sells for around 25,000 Iraqi Dinars (`1,500) compared to 1,500 Dinars before. A kilo of sugar comes for 15,000 Iraqi Dinars (`840). Everything is sold secretly as IS members confiscate everything. Nowadays, they check homes to take the food they find.
A few days ago, my aunt—who is in a non-liberated area—told me they buried their food in the garden to avoid being taken by IS members,” says Al-Fayyadh. In Mosul’s Al-Dawwasa neighbourhood, an old area with narrow alleys, the IS forced people to leave their homes and made them human shields. “They put up at least four families in each house. Both areas are liberated now, but the destruction is unbelievable,” he explains. Al-Fayyadh has been reunited with his family in east Mosul. Newly-graduated physician Aqeel Khaleel’s story is similar to al-Fayyadh’s. Khaleel, 26, fled Mosul when the IS overran the city in June 2014. He was a fourth-grade medical student then, and was forced to stay in Kirkuk, the oil-rich Iraqi city, to continue his studies. His family was stranded in Mosul after they returned to safeguard their house.
“My family was liberated after spending two-and-a-half years under IS rule,” says Khaleel. “After liberation, they left for Baghdad to live in my brother’s home.” Two weeks later on February 18, Khaleel took a vacation from the hospital he works to go to Baghdad with his heart beating feverishly—to meet his family for the first time since 2014. “As I took my luggage from the taxi, I thought how my family members would look like. I thought I had forgotten their appearances,” he says with a wry smile. “I did not knock on the door. I just waited frozen outside, trying to listen to their voices. I heard my mother asking my sister to bring her a cup of tea. I was like a statue of ice.”
THE ISLAMIC STATE’S STRATEGY IS to use civilians as human shields against airstrikes in the hope that the potential heavy toll will act as a deterrent for the Iraqi and allied forces
As he reached out to open the door, his mother opened it. “She cried my name and hugged me,” he recalls. “I felt as though my chest was a fire, on which a piece of ice had fallen.” Khaleel greeted his parents and siblings with tears. “They kept asking me how I had managed to live away from them. I was in shock and they were weeping. Even our moments of happiness had turned into tears. I went outside to smoke a cigarette and think of the cause of all this suffering,” he says. Khaleel spent two years in Kirkuk to finish his fifth and sixth grades in the faculty of medicine, an alternative centre for his institute in Mosul.
“In the sixth grade, I was working to cover my expenses while studying. My family was not able to send me money,” he says. “I was in touch with them via telephone and Internet, till it was disconnected. They were going secretly to the remotest area from where they could call me for 10 minutes.” Later, the IS forbade telephone calls and started to execute those who were caught trying to contact somebody outside Mosul. “This was carried out increasingly as the Iraqi forces came closer to Mosul,” says Khaleel. “That made our situation worse.” Khaleel had lost all hope. However, after starting to work as a doctor in Ammara in southern Iraq and realising people’s need in emergency departments, he “realised how important my work is”. The collapse of the IS in Iraq seems inevitable and soon, but it will leave a heavy burden on the country and the world.
The group has lost many of its fighters but has recruited thousands of new jihadis from Iraq and from across the world, apart from indoctrinating youths and children over the past three years. This constitutes a huge security problem for Iraq and the countries from which foreign fighters have come to join IS ranks. The final defeat of the IS in Iraq is conditional to its collapse in Syria. There are fears of IS members being among the displaced people. Iraq’s security forces do not have the means to identify all IS cadres. Once the war is over, there is need for an ideological battle to defeat the terrorist dogma promoted by the IS. This has to be a global effort, as the threat itself is global. Till the time the IS and its brutality is crushed, bombs will rain, blood will flow with tears of anguish, and innocent children, men, women and the old and infirm, will pray for divine intervention