Accused of collaborating with the occupying forces while trying to secure law and order, the Iraqi police find themselves between a rock and a hard place in the new Iraq. Karim El-Gawhary writes from Baghdad Police Chief Ali Hassan is standing at the entrance to the Interior Ministry in Baghdad. "Attacks [on us] are part of our daily bread," he says, "but on the other hand, they give me a sense of empowerment because, after all, I am an Iraqi." Hassan's seemingly bizarre statement highlights an integrity and on-the-job endurance coupled with the now common enmity towards the occupation. It evokes the days when Iraqis silently suffered the rule of former President Saddam Hussein, privately hoping for change. But how do members of the Iraqi police force cope with 'fear' when in one week alone five Iraqi police stations were attacked and dozens of Iraqi policemen were killed? A trip to the car park opposite the police station, a mere 100 metres from where Police Chief Hassan is standing, serves as a reality check. A policeman is posted in the street directing traffic, feverishly blowing his whistle, waving his Kalashnikov and banging on the bonnets of the passing cars in an effort to get them to move along more quickly. A car packed with explosives has been found in the car park, he shouts. Some time later, however, it is discovered to be a false alarm. Captain Hazem Saleh Abed, officer in charge of a station in northern Baghdad, waits patiently for sunset to break his fast. He seems relaxed. The police have a dangerous job, he comments, "but when I started this job 13 years ago I wasn't interested in sitting behind a desk shuffling papers." More than 60 Iraqi police officers work in this station, serving an area with a population of 125,000 people. Hazem's visitors are searched before being allowed through the barbed wire fence, then weave past several concrete blocks placed at intervals on the path and bypass an American jeep with machine guns deployed before finally entering the station house, which is used by both the American military police and the Iraqi police force. Returning home on that fateful day when three police stations in Baghdad had been blown up by suicide bombers, Hazem's family had pleaded with him to resign his post. "My fate is in the hands of God," he said, explaining his decision to stay on. "During the war I was worried about my family and my children. Now, though I'm the target, I can cope better with this situation," he continued. He is a target for the resistance because many Iraqi people believe the police are collaborating with the American occupiers. "We're not a political party," says Hazem. "We are here to provide law and order. The Americans help us apprehend criminals, which is something a lot of people fail to understand." While he is speaking, the door opens and an American military officer enters. The interview must be concluded, we are told, because Iraqi police officers are not permitted to speak to journalists without the express permission of the US commander. "We are here to provide protection for the Iraqi police force," explains the American, and asks the Iraqi officer to leave the room. A few moments later, however, permission has been obtained, and the interview may continue. "Perhaps they are afraid I'll say the wrong thing," continues Captain Hazem, whose Iraqi pride has very obviously been hurt. The Americans stationed in the other half of the station used to have absolute authority here, he explained. "Once it was Saddam Hussein, now it is the Americans who tell us what to say." But a lot has been done to improve the profile of the local police force. Officers used to wear armbands emblazoned with a large "IP". These have been replaced with new armbands bearing a large Iraqi flag, the words "Iraqi Police" in Arabic and a small "IP" logo in one corner. Which force commands the most respect, the American or the Iraqi police? "The American, of course," answers Captain Hazem immediately. They have larger weapons and are not afraid to use them, he explained. "The Iraqi police, on the other hand, have to be more careful whom they confront; you never know when somebody's family will turn up to exact revenge." Captain Hazem and his colleagues at the station even have success stories to report. Two days previously they were called out to investigate a car theft. Fifteen minutes later they had found the car and arrested the thief, he recounted proudly. When he first started this job in the "new" Iraq in May only 10 per cent of all reported cases were solved. Now, according to Hazem, this figure is closer to 70 per cent. Seven cases of child kidnappings were reported, in five of which the children were released. However, Hazem admits that people with money do not usually contact the police if their child has been abducted. They simply pay the ransom money and say nothing. There is another knock on the door. This time, however, it is not an American officer with more instructions, but an Iraqi colleague reminding Hazem it is time for iftar -- the breaking of the fast at sunset during the holy month of Ramadan. And outside, just beyond the US jeeps and the numerous barbed wire fences, an Iraqi translator employed by the Americans leans against a concrete block. Is it not a bit daunting out here? A bit, he admits, adding that up to now the suicide bombers, with their cars packed with explosives, have only appeared in the morning. "Luckily," he says, "my shift starts in the afternoon."
