did not dare entrust him to a hospital) being fed with antibiotics and broth.
After another week or so passed, Hamdani went to Baghdad to see if there was any remnant of the high command to which he should report. He found his former colleagues and friends too scared to sleep in their own houses. There were Americans looking for the deck of playing cards, Chalabiâs militia in their American uniforms, Kurdish Peshmerga in baggy pantaloons requisitioning ministerial houses, the Badr Brigade guarding bridges. Thousands of Shia were on the roads walking to theshrine of Kerbala for the anniversary of the death of the martyr Hussein, performing a pilgrimage so long forbidden. They walked past burned government buildings still picked over by looters and the wreckage of his tank units on the south highway and Hamdani could see very clearly that everything was going to be different now.
Hamdani stayed for a few days at his motherâs house and found an army medic he knew to go to Diala and take care of Ahmed because they were worried about gangrene. He was afraid at first to return to his own house and kept moving every few nights in case he was recognized, but after a few weeks Hamdani was tired of hiding and so with the help of some neighbors he managed to evict a family of squatters who had taken over his house and moved back in.
On the street he saw the faces of thieves and murderers and so he shut himself indoors and lapsed into depression. By the beginning of June, the American net was closing, his name was on the blacklist of the 200 most wanted. Helicopters seemed to hover exactly over his house, Humvee patrols seemed more frequent. His wife begged him to turn himself in, but he was reluctant. Eventually he was put in touch with a Mukhabarat officer exile, who said he had been under his command in 1983 together with Qusay and Uday (Hamdani couldnât remember him) and that he was now working with the Americans and could arrange for him to turn himself in safely.
So he surrendered himself to the Americans and agreed to co-operate. He was treated well and allowed to go home every night and sleep in his own bed. Once his house was stormed by American troops at night, he and his wife and daughters were bundled into the garden illuminated by the bright helicopter light above and handcuffed before he could explain that therehad obviously been a mix-up and that he had already turned himself in. For several months, he went every day to be debriefed. He told them he would answer every question and that he would answer them truthfully. In his interrogations he was interviewed by different officers, historians, analysts and intelligence. Some focused on WMD and their whereabouts, others wanted him to explain the structure of the Iraqi army, others had more strategic questions about the relationship between Saddam Hussein and the Republican Guard and how decisions were made. The Americans, he acknowledged, treated him well and with courtesy. Hamdani could not resist a self-serving comment on the increasingly cordial atmosphere of these discussions. âEven in custody I told the Americans that they would lose. They hated me at first for saying this but now the new staff is coming to Amman to talk to me.â
Â
I N MANY WAYS Hamdani conformed to the way most generals and senior commanders reflected on the past twenty-five years of their combat careers. Iran was an enemy that deserved to be attacked. Gas was (regrettably) used for reasons of expediency, the Anfal campaigns were more of the order of counter-insurgency measures than genocide, the invasion of Kuwait was a monumental blunder of Saddamâs hubris, the uprising that followed was Iranian backed, the nineties were years of corruption and stagnation and they had come to hate Saddam and his destruction of the army and the country in its wake. Yes, but.
Culpability. Moral Responsibility.
After several days of conversation, after the whole history had been
After another week or so passed, Hamdani went to Baghdad to see if there was any remnant of the high command to which he should report. He found his former colleagues and friends too scared to sleep in their own houses. There were Americans looking for the deck of playing cards, Chalabiâs militia in their American uniforms, Kurdish Peshmerga in baggy pantaloons requisitioning ministerial houses, the Badr Brigade guarding bridges. Thousands of Shia were on the roads walking to theshrine of Kerbala for the anniversary of the death of the martyr Hussein, performing a pilgrimage so long forbidden. They walked past burned government buildings still picked over by looters and the wreckage of his tank units on the south highway and Hamdani could see very clearly that everything was going to be different now.
Hamdani stayed for a few days at his motherâs house and found an army medic he knew to go to Diala and take care of Ahmed because they were worried about gangrene. He was afraid at first to return to his own house and kept moving every few nights in case he was recognized, but after a few weeks Hamdani was tired of hiding and so with the help of some neighbors he managed to evict a family of squatters who had taken over his house and moved back in.
On the street he saw the faces of thieves and murderers and so he shut himself indoors and lapsed into depression. By the beginning of June, the American net was closing, his name was on the blacklist of the 200 most wanted. Helicopters seemed to hover exactly over his house, Humvee patrols seemed more frequent. His wife begged him to turn himself in, but he was reluctant. Eventually he was put in touch with a Mukhabarat officer exile, who said he had been under his command in 1983 together with Qusay and Uday (Hamdani couldnât remember him) and that he was now working with the Americans and could arrange for him to turn himself in safely.
So he surrendered himself to the Americans and agreed to co-operate. He was treated well and allowed to go home every night and sleep in his own bed. Once his house was stormed by American troops at night, he and his wife and daughters were bundled into the garden illuminated by the bright helicopter light above and handcuffed before he could explain that therehad obviously been a mix-up and that he had already turned himself in. For several months, he went every day to be debriefed. He told them he would answer every question and that he would answer them truthfully. In his interrogations he was interviewed by different officers, historians, analysts and intelligence. Some focused on WMD and their whereabouts, others wanted him to explain the structure of the Iraqi army, others had more strategic questions about the relationship between Saddam Hussein and the Republican Guard and how decisions were made. The Americans, he acknowledged, treated him well and with courtesy. Hamdani could not resist a self-serving comment on the increasingly cordial atmosphere of these discussions. âEven in custody I told the Americans that they would lose. They hated me at first for saying this but now the new staff is coming to Amman to talk to me.â
Â
I N MANY WAYS Hamdani conformed to the way most generals and senior commanders reflected on the past twenty-five years of their combat careers. Iran was an enemy that deserved to be attacked. Gas was (regrettably) used for reasons of expediency, the Anfal campaigns were more of the order of counter-insurgency measures than genocide, the invasion of Kuwait was a monumental blunder of Saddamâs hubris, the uprising that followed was Iranian backed, the nineties were years of corruption and stagnation and they had come to hate Saddam and his destruction of the army and the country in its wake. Yes, but.
Culpability. Moral Responsibility.
After several days of conversation, after the whole history had been
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