http://www.iht.com/cgi-bin/generic.cgi?template=articleprint.tmplh&ArticleId=516410excerpt:
The comments along the commercial boulevard of Outer Karada echoed those heard throughout the country in recent weeks: that the fighting in Falluja had proven the occupiers to be barbarians; that encircling Najaf to capture a rebel cleric was a step toward violating one of the holiest cities in Shiite Islam; and that the nearly three-week-old uprising - and the American failure to handle it - had essentially turned Iraq back to last summer's lawlessness.
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"The Americans will hit any family. They just don't care. Children used to wave to the American soldiers when their patrols passed by here. Two days ago, the children turned their faces away."
More than anything else, Falluja has become a galvanizing battle, a symbol around which many Iraqis rally their anticolonial sentiments. Some say the fighting there exposes the lie of American justice by showing that the world's sole superpower is ready to avenge the killings and mutilation of four American security contractors by sending Marines to shell and invade a city of 300,000 people.
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People like al-Wakeel and Hussein are the kind of middle-class Iraqis that the Americans are relying on to help them rebuild the country, with livelihoods already rooted in the principles of free-market capitalism. Yet their sense of kinship with Iraqis in Falluja, Najaf and elsewhere runs deeper than any pull toward abstract notions of democracy offered by the Americans - notions that to them appear increasingly hypocritical given the reliance of the occupiers on overwhelming force as a means to an end.
"Four American people were killed in Falluja," said Omar Farouk, 35, the owner of a convenience store next to the electronics shop where Hussein works. "Because of that, 500 people were killed in Falluja. The message of the Americans is that 'we have the power.' Iraqis will never accept that."
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