GUBA, Iraq—A convoy of strangers rumbled into this quiet Sunni village on a riverbed north of Baghdad, their armored vehicles enveloping the town in a cloud of dust. Peeking out from mud brick homes, suspicious residents tried to get a glimpse at the intruders.
It was their governor—a man this poor farming village had never seen in his nearly three years in office.
Under protection of U.S. soldiers, Gov. Raad Rashid al-Tamimi—a Shiite—sat atop a child's desk in a dilapidated schoolhouse early last week and goaded a dozen of Guba's tribal elders to join a reconciliation effort that has so far enticed 19 of the province's 26 major tribes.
A day later, a suicide bomber ravaged another such reconciliation meeting in al-Tamimi's hometown of Baqouba, killing at least 15 people and lightly wounding the 52-year-old governor, who was believed to be the target. Two U.S. soldiers were wounded in the bombing.
Such is the ebb and flow of reconciliation and violence in Diyala province, a battered landscape of warring tribes, fertile valleys and pockets of al-Qaida fighters. The sectarian and tribal chasms are wide here, and elected officials—who are mostly Shiite—cannot safely travel the province's sectarian patchwork.
"The governor wouldn't come here alone, and I wouldn't let him. This has been a very dangerous place," said Col. David Sutherland, the top U.S. commander in Diyala, who escorted al-Tamimi on his weekend tour along with about 20 U.S. soldiers.
Despite threats on his life, American forces have stepped up pressure on al-Tamimi to bring together tribal leaders, after a series of military offensives launched earlier this summer sought to clear the province of al-Qaida in Iraq militants.
The U.S. blames the terrorist group for exacerbating tribal fights in the province, where dozens of U.S. soldiers have died in a bid to pacify tribal conflict and chase out or kill foreign fighters linked with al-Qaida.
Thousands of U.S. and Iraqi forces stormed the provincial capital of Baqouba in June, targeting suspected militant cells and sending civilians into hiding for weeks during the fighting. Three months later, traffic floods the downtown area, where bags of fresh bread are piled high outside newly reopened food markets. Construction workers stack cement blocks to repair a house pockmarked with bullets.
U.S. military officials say they want to capitalize on these signs of progress, by engaging tribal leaders who were too scared to come forward before.
Monday's brazen bombing, which bore the hallmarks of al-Qaida in Iraq, was just one of several attacks apparently calculated to thwart those efforts. Among the dead were Baqouba's police chief, Brig. Gen. Ali Dalyan, and the Diyala provincial operations chief, Brig. Gen. Najib al-Taie. The province stretches north and east of Baghdad to the Iranian border.
Still, nearly one million of Diyala's 1.6 million residents are followers of sheiks who have signed a U.S.-sponsored reconciliation agreement in recent months, U.S. military officials said.
But policing the pledge is difficult, and U.S. officials acknowledge that some sheiks may renounce violence in front of U.S. commanders, but succumb to sectarian pressure afterward.
In the reconciliation agreement, leaders swear on the Quran to support the elected Iraqi government and to refuse to allow al-Qaida and other militant groups safe haven in their tribes. Thirteen of the 19 tribes involved are Sunni; six are Shiite.
The effort is loosely modeled on an alliance of Sunni tribes which banded together last year to fight al-Qaida in Anbar province. The leader of that group, Sheik Abdul-Sattar Abu Risha, was killed in a bombing Sept. 13.
In Diyala, the challenge is not only to get Sunnis to deny al-Qaida refuge in their ranks. It is also to unite Sunni and Shiite factions that have fought generations-long battles that were made worse by the U.S.-led war and influx of foreign fighters.
"Reconciliation here has to penetrate tribe, sect, family and geography," said Sutherland, who is from Toledo, Ohio. "These are the fault lines, and they're much more complex here."
Among the villages al-Tamimi visited last Sunday were the Shiite enclave of Abu Sayda and neighboring Mukisha, a Sunni area. Sheiks from both villages have pledged their support for provincial reconciliation, but town elders continue to bicker over access to shared roads and irrigation canals.
"For some of these village elders, it has nothing to do with al-Qaida. In some places, they're not fighting al-Qaida—they've been fighting each other, tribe versus tribe," al-Tamimi said after huddling with officials in both villages.
In Mukisha, he sat under a lemon tree with Sunni townspeople, as curious bystanders slowly filled the courtyard. Listening to the governor, men in white Muslim robes circulated a ghastly photo of a 5-year-old boy, partly decapitated in an al-Qaida attack.
"Why are we divided? We have lived here for generations, but some people have taken advantages of our differences," al-Tamimi told them.
He wore a crisp Western-style suit, with a tie showing above his bulletproof vest. He quickly removed a camouflage helmet upon entering a tribal leader's sparse home.
The governor's tribe, al-Tamimi, has both Sunni and Shiite members. His brother, Sheik Mazin Rashid al-Tamimi, has spearheaded reconciliation efforts in the province.
"When something happens to you or your country, you can see the character of a man," Mazin said. "If you're not brothers in religion, you can still be brothers in cooperation," the 56-year-old Shiite said, flanked by U.S. soldiers.