Conflict Claims IWPR Trainee

Kamal Manahi Anbar
IWPR trainee journalist, killed on March 26, 2006

This is how I will always remember Kamal: Pen in one hand, notebook in the other, furiously scribbling every piece of information that came his way. While new to journalism, Kamal was born a writer.



Kamal Manahi Anbar, an IWPR trainee journalist, was killed on March 26, 2006. He was 28 and had got married six months ago - his wife is three months’ pregnant.



Kamal was working on a story about how the displacement of Iraqi families since the Samarra bombings in February had created volatile housing markets - with, for example, rents in some neighbourhoods spiralling because of demand from families fleeing other parts of the city.



He had recently attended our course on economics reporting and wanted to try to sell the story to IWPR.



Kamal went to al-Mustafa al-Husseiniyah, a mosque and office complex, in Baghdad's Ur neighbourhood to interview Sheikh Safaa al-Timimi. The sheikh, head of Shia cleric Muqtada al-Sadr's political movement in the area, had become an authority on displaced families who sought shelter in Ur, a majority Shia neighbourhood where Kamal lived.




Kamal was working on one of his first assignments as a journalist, and took along two close friends, both IWPR trainees. The three met every day after work and planned to go to dinner after the interview.



As they approached al-Husseiniyah, several American Humvees and other military vehicles carrying Iraqi flags appeared. They began shooting, and the three journalists scattered, running for cover in nearby houses.



About two hours later, at around 8 pm local time, the shooting stopped. Kamal’s friends had sheltered in two separate houses and met on the street but could not find Kamal. One of them, Musadaq Mutar, said the scene following the raid was chaotic: cars were on fire, the smell of blood was in the air and people were flooding into the area. Their mobile phone networks were blocked, as is often the case when incidents occur or military operations take place.



Musadaq said that Kamal had been shot and killed. He was slumped on the ground close to the front gate of a house, with bullet wounds to his face and neck. It appeared that he was trying to open the gate when he was shot.



"When we saw him, we couldn't believe it and started to cry," said Musadaq. "He was my beloved friend and brother.”




Born on October 22, 1978 in Baghdad, Kamal grew up with six brothers and two sisters. They were very poor and his mother, a widow, worked as a cleaner in the al-Mutanabbi high school in Zafaraniya.



Kamal was loved by all of his friends for his positive attitude and calm nature. Friends describe him as generous, forgiving and sociable. He was a devoutly religious Shia Muslim and a poet who enjoyed travelling and music. Kamal was also an avid sportsman and body builder who won medals in three local championships.



He worked as a taxi driver but became fed up with it after nearly being hit by several roadside bombs.



Kamal was impressed with friends who’d become reporters. He applied for a job at the an-Nahar newspaper, a new title in Baghdad, but editors there said he needed more experience. He dreamt about living in a country free of killing, intimidation and kidnapping, and had hoped to some day work for a newspaper in Lebanon - widely regarded as having the best press in the Arab world.



His friends encouraged him to join IWPR in order to be able to work for local outlets. When one of them could not attend the economics journalism course, he recommended Kamal.



Ten minutes after he turned up at IWPR's offices, Kamal sat me down to discuss journalism. He wanted to know what I thought of the Iraqi press and how I thought it could be improved. His huge brown eyes were full of curiosity, and his wide smile disarming.




"He has a good heart," said Emad, one of the trainees from the economics reporting class, which ended eight days before Kamal was killed. "You feel safe when you're talking to him."



Emad and Kamal, both poets from different backgrounds and regions, quickly bonded. Emad literally gave Kamal the shirt off his back when the class ended because Kamal said he liked it. He wore the shirt the day he died.



"You are my brother," Kamal told Emad. "You are my friend."




Kamal sat at the very front of the class and never stopped taking notes, not once. He absorbed every bit of information we discussed, whether story ideas or economics theories.



Kamal was by far the most enthusiastic student I have had, and one of the most enthusiastic journalists I have known. He loved to talk about religion; to ask questions; to listen to our opinions, and our personal histories. In our class photo, Kamal stands at the centre, his arms slung around the shoulders of two other students.



Because they were inexperienced journalists, I spent an afternoon training Kamal and Emad in basic journalism skills. I pretended to be the head of a women's non-governmental organisation and held a mock press conference on the kidnapping of women. I made particularly strong statements, including that mass kidnappings were the result of civil war, which I knew would make great direct quotes. I asked them to write three to four paragraphs.



Kamal wrote a story based on my remarks and proved to have pretty good news judgment. He was bothered by something I said, however. "Why did you say there is civil war? How can you prove it?" he said.



"I can't," I told him. "But I think it's pretty obvious, don't you?"




"No," said Kamal. "We're not there yet."



Tiare Rath is international editor of the Iraqi Crisis Report and an IWPR journalism trainer. IWPR trainee journalist Musadaq Mutar contributed to this report.



If you wish to make donation in support of Kamal's wife and unborn child, please contact Tony Borden, IWPR Executive Director.