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Recent
Stories
April
15, 2003
Uzma
Aslam Khan
The Unbearably Grim
Aftermath of War: What America Says Does Not Go
Robert
Jensen
Self-Determination
in Iraq? Then the US Must Leave
Dr.
Susan Block
The Rape of
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Ron Jacobs
Aiming at
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Robert
Fisk
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Col. Dan Smith
Post-War Iraq:
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Ali
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Steve
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War Web Log
4/15
April
14, 2003
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Bush's War Without
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The Iraq Gravy
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John
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The Iraq
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Perry
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April
12 / 13, 2003
Carol
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Meet the New
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John
Brown
"They Got It Down":
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Kathy and Bill
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Final
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Wallace Gagne
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Chairman of the
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April
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Now
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Oh
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Uri
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The Night
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The Telltale
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Robert Jensen
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Geoffrey Neale
Ashcroft's War on
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Jeffrey St. Clair
Last Tango in
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Rumors of
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Joseph Heller
Nately's Old
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Website of the Day
The Third
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April
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David
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Richard Lichtman
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M. Shahid Alam
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Todd
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John
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War and
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Steve
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April
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Alexander Cockburn
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A Drowning in
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Uri
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Joanne
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Civilian Deaths
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Bush Takes His
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Mary
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Canada and
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Colin Powell's
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John
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David
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Vijay
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There Are No More
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The Deadly
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A Crooked Mirror:
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Anthony Gancarski
Colin Powell
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War, Debts and
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Now That Iraqis
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From Baghdad
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Anton
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Cluster Bombs on
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Alison Weir
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April 16,
2003
Embedded
Photographer:
"I Saw Marines Kill Civilians"
by MICHEL GUERRIN
for Le Monde
Translated for CounterPunch by NORMAN
MADARASZ
Laurent Van der Stockt, a photographer working for the Gamma
agency and under contract for the New York Times Magazine, followed
the advance of the 3/4 Marines (3rd battalion, 4th regiment) for three
weeks, up to the taking of Baghdad on April 9. He was accompanied by
New York Times Magazine editor, Peter Maas. Born in Belgium in
1964, Laurent Van der Stockt mainly works in conflict zones: the first
Gulf War, Yugoslavia, Afghanistan, Chechnya, Africa and the Occupied
Territories. This is his eyewitness account of the Marines' march to
Baghdad:
"Everything began at the Kuwait/Iraq border. I
forced my way into the country and arrived at Safwan. American soldiers
had seized the opportunity to tear up portraits of Saddam Hussein on the
main street. They were doing this right in front of the local inhabitants,
whose elation quickly vanished. The soldiers obviously didn't imagine that
it was up to the Iraqis to be doing this, or that it was humiliating for
them. These were the same soldiers who would topple down Saddam's statue
in Baghdad three weeks later...
I understood that the Marines' general strategy was
to not waste any time. In the cities they crossed, the Marines had to make
a show of force. Then they would resume their advance by going as fast as
possible up by the east through the desert, and avoid any contact with the
population. It takes an effort to picture what an army looks like as it
advances through the sands. It's an anthill. It's more than a city on the
march. It's a world whose extremities are never seen. It's a cutting edge,
mechanical version of Julius Caesar's army.
During the first few days, with colleagues from the
New York Times and Newsweek, I tried to follow the convoys
in a SUV by playing hide-and-seek. We were spending a lot of time then
with the 1 500 Marines of the 3/4, commanded by Colonel Bryan P. McCoy.
His troops gave us water, gas and food. In exchange for their tolerance,
we respected the rules to not pass the convoy and to camp at such and such
a place. We were just barely tolerated. The colonel could see that the
'few jokers were behaving well'. He knew we had experienced more wars than
his own troops.
For McCoy, we were obviously interesting right from
the start. We were the ones who could tell his story. Trust settled in
between us. He let us drive at the head of the convoy. The Marines are
generally less privileged than the army. They're trained to do the dirty
work, the less honorary jobs. They have the oldest tanks, and the least
up-to-date M16 rifles. They themselves translate 'USMC' (United States
Marine Corps) by United States Misgodded Children, i.e. the US' forgotten
children, forgotten by God.
Their motto is 'Search and Kill'. The 'Kilo' unit is
nicknamed 'Killer Kilo'. The words 'Carnivore' or 'Blind Killer' are
painted on their tanks. McCoy could snap with a 'Shame on You' a
smile flashing across his face to the sniper who had just finished
telling him: 'I've got eight, Sir, but only five'. Literally meaning: I've
shot eight, but only five of them are dead.
I've never seen a war with so few 'returns'. The
Iraqi army was like a ghost. It barely existed. Over the three weeks, I
only saw the adversary fire a few short-range rockets and a few shots. I
saw deserted trenches, a dead Iraqi soldier lying next to a piece of bread
and some old equipment. Nothing that really made you feel that there was a
real confrontation going on, nothing comparable to the massiveness of the
means at the Americans' disposal.
On April 6, we were at the outskirts of Baghdad,
facing a strategic bridge the Americans called 'the Baghdad Highway
Bridge'. Residential zones were now much greater in number. American
snipers got the order to kill anything coming in their direction. That
night a teenager who was crossing the bridge was killed.
On the morning of April 7, the Marines decided to
cross the bridge. A shell fell onto an armored personnel carrier. Two
marines were killed. The crossing took on a tragic aspect. The soldiers
were stressed, febrile. They were shouting. The risk didn't appear to be
that great, so I followed their advance. They were howling, shouting
orders and positions to each other. It sounded like something in-between a
phantasm, mythology and conditioning. The operation was transformed into
crossing the bridge over the River Kwai.
Later, there was some open terrain. The Marines were
advancing and taking up position, hiding behind mounds of earth. They were
still really tense. A small blue van was moving towards the convoy. Three
not-very-accurate warning shots were fired. The shots were supposed to
make the van stop. The van kept on driving, made a U-turn, took shelter
and then returned slowly. The Marines opened fire. All hell broke loose.
They were firing all over the place. You could hear 'Stop firing' being
shouted. The silence that set in was overwhelming. Two men and a woman had
just been riddled with bullets. So this was the enemy, the
threat.
A second vehicle drove up. The same scenario was
repeated. Its passengers were killed on the spot. A grandfather was
walking slowly with a cane on the sidewalk. They killed him too (SEE PHOTO
IN LE MONDE). As with the old man, the Marines fired on a SUV driving
along the river bank that was getting too close to them. Riddled with
bullets, the vehicle rolled over. Two women and a child got out,
miraculously still alive. They sought refuge in the wreckage. A few
seconds later, it flew into bits as a tank lobbed a terse shot into
it.
Marines are conditioned to reach their target at any
cost, by staying alive and facing any type of enemy. They abusively make
use of disproportionate firepower. These hardened troops, followed by tons
of equipment, supported by extraordinary artillery power, protected by
fighter jets and cutting-edge helicopters, were shooting on local
inhabitants who understood absolutely nothing of what was going
on.
With my own eyes I saw about fifteen civilians
killed in two days. I've gone through enough wars to know that it's always
dirty, that civilians are always the first victims. But the way it was
happening here, it was insane.
At the roughest moment, the most humane of the
troops was called Doug. He gave real warning shots. From 800 yards he
could hit a tire and, if that wasn't enough, then the motor. He saved ten
lives in two hours by driving back civilians who were coming towards
us.
Distraught soldiers were saying: 'I ain't prepared
for this, I didn't come here to shoot civilians.' The colonel countered
that the Iraqis were using inhabitants to kill marines, that 'soldiers
were being disguised as civilians, and that ambulances were perpetrating
terrorist attacks.'
I drove away a girl who had had her humerus pierced
by a bullet. Enrico was holding her in his arms. In the rear, the girl's
father was protecting his young son, wounded in the torso and losing
consciousness. The man spoke in gestures to the doctor at the back of the
lines, pleading: "I don't understand, I was walking and holding my
children's hands. Why didn't you shoot in the air? Or at least shoot
me?"
In Baghdad, McCoy sped up the march. He stopped
taking the time to search houses one-by-one. He wanted to get to Paradise
Place as soon as possible. The Marines were not firing on the thickening
population. The course ended with Saddam's statue being toppled. There
were more journalists at the scene than Baghdadis. Its five million
inhabitants stayed at home."
Interviewed by Michel Guerrin for LE MONDE, April 12, 2003.
Translated for CounterPunch by Norman Madarasz
(nmphdiol@yahoo.ca).
Today's
Features
Uzma
Aslam Khan
The Unbearably Grim
Aftermath of War: What America Says Does Not Go
Robert
Jensen
Self-Determination
in Iraq? Then the US Must Leave
Dr.
Susan Block
The Rape of
Iraq
Ron Jacobs
Aiming at
Syria: Stop Them Before They Kill Again
Robert
Fisk
The Final Sacking of
Baghdad
Col. Dan Smith
Post-War Iraq:
Asking the Right Questions
Ali
Abunimah and Hussein Ibish
A Cycle of Chaos
and Confrontation: Misadventures of the NeoCons
Steve
Perry
War Web Log
4/15
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