Mideast Civil War Stories
By Doug Tunnell
Special to washingtonpost.com
Monday, March 27, 2006; 12:00 AM
As more Iraqis die in the current wave of sectarian violence, Americans have begun to wrestle with the vocabulary of civil war. Is Iraq "hurtling toward" one, is it "on the verge" or has the Iraqi civil war already begun?
A few observations from a veteran of one Middle East civil war might be helpful. First, a civil war is not a volcano. It does not erupt. No flags drop at the starting line. No balloon goes up. Civil war doesn't break out, so much as germinate. It is an evil seed, buried deep within the minds of those who prosecute it.
Civil war is the most personal kind of combat. Most of its victims die in their own homes or the streets of their own neighborhood. Many die at the hands of neighbors, some of whom may once have been considered friends.
Sometimes the only signs of this kind of war are the bodies, bound and blindfolded, that turn up once curfew is lifted. This week, Iraqis discovered victims of execution style killings buried in a shallow grave in Baghdad. Others, who appeared to have been strangled with a rope or wire, were simply dumped into the street, much like the 18 Iraqis discovered by American troops in a Sunni neighborhood last week. All faced their executioners up close.
Imagine a high school shooting spree, only 100 as bad, that continues for years with the enthusiastic support of the international arms market.
That was Lebanon.
There are as many varying accounts as to where, when and why the Lebanese civil war began as there are survivors of it.
Some insist that fifteen years of violence started with an argument between a Palestinian and a Maronite Christian over a pinball machine in a sidewalk café.
Others cite the massacre of a busload of Palestinians coming home from work through a Maronite neighborhood in east Beirut.
To this day there are those who argue that Lebanon's war was not a civil war at all but rather an international conflict played out by proxy in the streets of a fragile, religiously diverse Arab state.
If the Lebanese model holds, we may still see some prolonged periods of relative calm in Iraq. But as another veteran of Beirut, New York Times correspondent John Kifner wrote not long ago, civil wars have a particular "rhythm." That rhythm makes them very different from other kinds of war, and even more difficult comprehend:
A provocation -- like the bombing of Samarra's Shiite mosque on February 22 -- is followed by an outburst of sectarian killing. Stunned by its own brutality, the populace withdraws for a time into a period of self-examination, denial and shocked disbelief. Politicians seek to break the gridlock with renewed urgency. But the respite offers provocateurs and militiamen time to regroup and rearm. They further infiltrate the police, the military and the security services. In the absence of strong central authority, neighborhoods take the law into their own hands and brace for the next attack. The violence spirals upward. Each reprisal is even more horrendous than the last.
All these steps have been described in reports from Iraq in the last month, including a proclivity for denial.
Apparently unwilling to accept the fact of a near total collapse of social order, many Lebanese chose to call their conflict "the troubles," instead of war, for years after it began.
There seems to be no universally accepted definition of a civil war.But then, civil war is in no way universal. It is brutally specific, horribly individual.
Don't look for armored columns breaking through the berm. A civil war doesn't start on a battlefield. It starts in hearts and minds.
Doug Tunnell, a former CBS News correspondent, covered the Lebanese civil war for five years.