The Bodies of Mosul
By Robin Wright
By Robin Wright
I drove into Mosul in a battered Nissan pickup truck in
mid-March. Iraq’s second-largest city, once a thriving manufacturing and
commercial center, is now a wreckage of destroyed factories, shops, and homes.
Huge craters from bombs dropped by the U.S.-led coalition obstructed major
intersections. The craters, designed to slow ISIS suicide drivers targeting the
Iraqi Army, have since filled with filmy, stagnant water; they were treacherous
to circumvent. Roads were lined with rubble from five months of war—chunks of
concrete, twisted electricity poles and downed wires, shards of window glass.
Almost every block of East Mosul was littered with charred cars. ISIS seized
them from residents, setting them alight to emit black smoke and hide their
movements from coalition warplanes.
There were still many bodies on the streets, even though isis
was forced out many weeks ago. I spent an afternoon in Hay al-Tameem, or
“Neighborhood of Nationalization,” a district where isis ran a bomb factory and
confiscated homes for leaders and senior fighters. Signs in black spray paint
identified houses as “Property of the Islamic State.”
“There were a lot of Russian isis fighters here,” Ahmed
Sobhay, who lived across the street from the bomb factory, told me. Thousands
flocked to the Islamic State from the Russian Republic of Chechnya, but Sobhay
never dared to ask for their home towns. isis fighters sporadically held a gun
to his head to demand his coöperation; once, they put a gun to the head of his
six-year-old son, Ammer, to ask if his father was secretly smoking. Sobhay said
he pulled his children out of school and didn’t let his wife or daughter go out
in public for fear they would be carried off by ISIS.
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