Irrigation canals crisscross Hawija, but the water level is controlled by the Dukan Dam in the semiautonomous ethnic Kurdish region to the north.
Many of the mostly Sunni Arab farmers in Hawija were convinced that the Kurdish regional authority in Irbil was deliberately holding back water until U.S. officers brought them photographs showing that the dam's reserves had dropped by 10 billion gallons.
U.S. officials say it is a problem of conflicting priorities. The Kurdish region uses the dam to generate electricity. So it stores water in the spring, when it is most needed by farmers, to build reserves for the hot summer, when demand for power peaks.
"We talked to everyone in the government in Baghdad, Irbil and Kirkuk about this problem, but no one is listening to us," said the chairman of the Hawija district council, who asked to be identified by a traditional nickname, Abu Saddam. "The people in the north of Iraq . . . don't care about the farmers in Iraq."
Sunni militants preyed on such disaffection to gain a foothold in Hawija, a strategic crossroads between the oil-rich provincial capital, Kirkuk, and the refinery town of Baiji. And U.S. officers worry that mounting frustration could again become a catalyst for violence.
"It's the most secure it's been, but at some point the newness and novelty of that wears off, and people start expecting something else," said Maj. Brian Tuson of the Army's 1st Battalion, 87th Infantry Regiment. "If they perceive the government to be unresponsive to what they see as reasonable demands, that could backslide."
Hawija's canals filled for the first time this season on the day that Ahmed began harvesting a paltry and stunted winter wheat crop.
He has a well, which provided enough water to plant half his 37-acre field. But that won't be sufficient to support the 45 people who live off the farm. So Ahmed also works as a neighborhood guard, part of a U.S. military program that has helped drive militants out of some of Iraq's most violent places.
"We couldn't farm before because we were scared all the time," said Ahmed, a hefty man in a worn brown tracksuit and dark sunglasses. "Now, I can work all night, if I want to. We have all the freedom, but there is no water, no fertilizer, nothing."
Ahmed's neighbor, who didn't have a well, wasn't able to plant a thing this year. His field is a dry and cracked wasteland studded with weeds.
