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Malians tell of executions by soldiers

The Tuareg have been targeted by the Mali military and fellow villagers, witnesses say, because they are suspected of being linked to Islamist militants.

February 09, 2013|By Robyn Dixon, Los Angeles Times
  • Ani Boka Arby watches as the body of her husband, Mohamed Lamine, is unearthed in Timbuktu, Mali. Lamine, an Arab, was last seen being led away at gunpoint by Malian soldiers, who have targeted ethnic minorities suspected of supporting extremists, including Tuareg.
Ani Boka Arby watches as the body of her husband, Mohamed Lamine, is unearthed… (Rukmini Callimachi / Associated…)

SIRIBALA, Mali — Like all the men in his family, Aboubacrine ag Mohamed, a farmer and Islamic teacher, donned a turban at the age of 23.

But these days, it's a dangerous symbol for Tuareg like Mohamed, who have been targeted because they are members of the same tribe as leaders of several violent Islamist militias that took over much of Mali last year.

Mohamed, 36, was at home in Siribala last month under a shade-giving canopy after lunchtime prayers when a loud crowd of fellow villagers approached his gate, accompanied by two Malian army SUVs.

The soldiers, who had heard spiteful rumors that Mohamed was collaborating with the Islamists, got out and shot him dead, along with his uncle Samba Dicko, 72, witnesses said, one of a series of summary executions by the army in recent months.

"All the people accused us, saying we were friends of bad people," said Mohamed's elderly cousin Agaly ag Noa, wearing a traditional indigo turban and a wispy beard.

"You could hear them from my house," said Noa, who had fled to his own house, 100 yards away, just before the SUVs arrived. "I felt such big pain I can't describe it, and the shock is still going on."

As France drove Islamic militants from cities and towns in northern Mali in recent weeks, corpses of noncombatants also started turning up, many of them Tuareg and Fulani herders, traditionally nomadic people who have roamed the region for centuries, oblivious of borders. Some have been killed by soldiers for having no identification papers.

Ethnicity is one of the more volatile elements in a conflict in which myriad tensions swirl. Among the points of friction are the religious divisions between Islamic fundamentalists and more permissive Sufis, long-held grievances among northern tribes against southern elites who have ruled the country, and a Tuareg independence struggle that also involves land in Algeria and Niger.

In Aguelhok, near the Algerian border, insurgents attacked a Malian army base in January 2012, and about 70 soldiers, outgunned and lacking ammunition, surrendered. They were slaughtered by Islamist militants in what Human Rights Watch has called "the single most serious war crime in this conflict," and which could be a motive for the recent killings of Tuareg by troops.

In recent days, Human Rights Watch has reported numerous ethnic reprisal killings by the army, with the danger likely to rise sharply once France withdraws its troops — possibly as early as March — and leaves the Malian military in charge.

The reprisals follow a nine-month reign of terror by the Islamist invaders, who seized Timbuktu and other cities and imposed a harsh form of religious law that included amputation, flogging and stoning for offenses such as theft, alcohol trading, fornication and adultery. The brutality was a shock to Malians.

By the standards of this threadbare Malian village, Mohamed was too successful and well off to be very popular, Noa said. And emotions were running high after an Islamist militia occupied the nearby town of Diabaly in mid-January.

Noa believes that with rumors swirling that Mohamed was associated with the violent militants, villagers denounced his cousin at an army base in the town of Niono, 17 miles to the north. The village mayor told Mohamed that many saw him as a militant.

"He was very upset and afraid, but he had nowhere to go," Noa said.

Drinking sweet, foamy tea with Dicko and Noa that fateful afternoon, Mohamed fretted that he needed to work on his rice farm but couldn't leave the house.

When the military SUVs turned up, a mob of villagers, many of them children, gathered around, shouting, "Rebels in the village!"

Mohamed's younger brother Sidi ag Mohamed, 20, vaulted the back fence and ran, but he continued to watch from a distance. He said he saw the soldiers raise their weapons to shoot Dicko. Afterward, the crowd looted the house, leaving nothing of value.

Two weeks later, Noa squatted in his house, where the cracks in the mud brick walls were as wrinkled and dry as his cheeks. He pulled out a cotton bundle with a confusion of papers, gathered in haste by the family from the mess left at his cousin's home.

"Many of those people were our friends. We'd shared food with them," said another brother of Mohamed, Yaya ag Mohamed Cisse. "That day the only thing people said to us was, 'If you leave your house we'll kill you.' Even now they say it."

The family couldn't bury the bodies. Instead, authorities dumped them into a single grave, they said.

"The way they'd buried them shocked us. We'd never heard of two bodies in one grave," said Noa, his eyes ringed with pouches.

"We heard about the jihadis on the radio, but there's no relationship between us and those people," said Cisse.

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