When word came down the chain of command that Third Platoon was taking an evening patrol to Salam's house, a handful of soldiers knew they'd be skipping the Army dinner about to be served.

I'd seen Salam once before, during my first few minutes with Bravo Battery as I was introduced around the headquarters' main office. Salam sat in front of a computer wearing a collared shirt and khakis.   He turned halfway around to wave, gave a genuine smile, then turned back to his business.

The business, it turned out, was getting paid by the U.S. Army.

Salam is the founder and leader of his neighborhood's Sons of Iraq, a type of local policing force usually organized by prominent members of a community. Rank-and-file members generally receive $300-per-month directly from the U.S. military.  Sons of Iraq units are showing up all over country, which the American commanders say has lead to a significant reduction in violence throughout areas of conflict. 

Despite these success stories, there are critics at all levels who doubt the long-term effectiveness of such units.  Speaking to a Los Angeles Times reporter in May, a U.S. Army platoon leader characterized the Sons of Iraq leader in his own area of operations:

"Most of them kind of operate like dons in their areas," said 2nd Lt. Forrest Pierce, a platoon leader with the 3rd Squadron, 7th Cavalry Regiment. They shake down local businessmen for protection money, seize rivals for links to the insurgency and are always angling for more men, more territory and more power.

Soldiers in Bravo Battery's third platoon, however, seem to trust their own local Sons of Iraq head.  

"I think he's a pretty good guy with good intentions," said Private First Class Anthony Spears.  "He's just trying to help out his neighborhood."

As the sun began to set over Baghdad, Third Platoon mounted their armored humvees and set out for the 10 minute drive to Salam 's house, a nondescript white-faced building in the Riyadh section of Karadah. 

That night, as during other recent nights all over the city, the mood was quiet and relaxed as residents mingled outside their homes and businesses.  The humvees arrived at a small Sons of Iraq checkpoint, and to the left stood Salam in front of his home ready to great the soldiers.  He motioned us inside.

"They know the way already," he said, pointing to one of the soldiers.  

We passed through an entranceway which, I'd learn later, bore the marks of an unsuccessful bomb attack against Salam carried out earlier this year.

A Sons of Iraq checkpoint in Karadah. Photo: David Botti

As a visitor to this near-weekly meeting of Salam and Third Platoon's soldiers, it was difficult to gage the dynamic among them.  Four soldiers, along with their Iraqi interpreter, settled into the room as if it were their own.  They pulled off flak jackets and helmets and flopped onto the empty couches.  They treated Salam as they might a favorite uncle, and he in turn offered cigarettes, Pepsi, and Jordanian energy drinks.

Sergeant Jeffery Breen started teasing Salam's son, Hassan.  Another sergeant lay down on a couch and propped himself up on an elbow.  On the television a music video satellite channel played.

There was, primarily of course, the business of policing Riyadh that needed attending to. Acting-platoon leader Staff Sergeant Eddie Ruiz sat across from his host and began discussing the neighborhood.  

Salam was not shy about asking for what he needed in the way of neighborhood improvements.  Later in the night, as we walked along Riyadh's main streets, Salam pointed to crumbling cement at the edge of the road, in places just barely recognizable as a sidewalk.

"You see the sidewalk?" he said to Ruiz as they continued to walk.

"We put in paperwork on it–should be all set," Ruiz replied.

After the soldiers settled in to await dinner, Salam told of how he took the job of organizing his own Sons of Iraq.   Earlier this year, he volunteered after others in the neighborhood refused to become involved for fear retribution by the Jaysh al-Mahdi, or JAM, Muqtada al-Sadr's militia unit.  

Men from around Riyadh came to Salam's home to give their height, weight, and fill out paperwork for membership into the Son of Iraq. He stressed that he either knew each man, or was able to ask after him to ensure there was no infiltration by the nearby militias.

In general, the Sons of Iraq are associated with Sunnis, but Salam refused to answer the question of whether he was a Sunni or Shiite.

"I hate this question," he said.  "First of all, I am human.  And people respect me because I refuse to answer this question.  All of the time people try to ask this, and try to know this, and I say to them 'you, shut up.'"  (In this instance Salam smiled and let my own version of the question slide because I was a newcomer.)

Salam speaks with the soldiers before dinner. Photo: David Botti

The Sons of Iraq checkpoint built directly in front of Salam's home is one of five positioned throughout key areas of the Riyadh neighborhood.  Most consist of a single cement barrier, a few coils of razor wire, and some sort of covering.  According to Salam, he's only able to supply weapons to about 20 percent of his force–though he said he can count on neighborhood residents to join any potential fight with their own personal weapons.  

The eventual plan is for members of the Sons of Iraq to transition into Iraqi security forces, using the Sons of Iraq itself as an initial training ground. Still, there are skeptics who doubt this reintegration can properly take effect.  Matt Sherman, a recent civilian adviser to the U.S. Army in Baghdad, wrote in a New York Times op-ed last April:

The [Iraqi] government doesn't have the bureaucratic efficiency to handle such a large influx of people easily. Aside from those problems, we'd need to come up with a way of deciding which men are qualified for security duty — a screening method to marginalize hard-liners and co-opt less ideologically driven members.

One possible "next stop" for Sons of Iraq members is membership into Iraq's National Police force.  These two groups are already operating in the same neighborhoods with checkpoints often less than a few blocks distance from each other.

During the night Salam, who is technically under their jurisdiction, offered two perspectives on the National Police. One the hand he couldn't prevent the National Police from entering his neighborhood.  After all, he said, they are representatives of the government.  

On the other hand, he spoke candidly about his opinions on the nature of the force.  He perceived their attitude as lazy and unprofessional.

"I try to keep a good relationship and distance between us and the National Police," Salam said.  "So, the cooperation is good sometimes.  But I try to keep distance between us because I'm afraid my Sons of Iraq will go with them and maybe adopt the same behavior.  They don't have any loyalty for their country or their duty."

If Salam's word sound harsh, they are nothing out of the ordinary here in Karadah.  Each security force from the Iraqi Police, to the National Police, to the Sons of Iraq has expressed some kind of bitterness towards each other.

As we began eating, the talk once again turned away from politics and back to the friendly banter that seemed to come naturally among the men.  

"When I'm done with the Army, I'm gonna come back and join up with these guys," said Sergeant Breen as he sat next to Salam.

Salam smiled and shook Breen's shoulder.  "He'll be my first sergeant and I'll be the colonel."

Salam's sons watch as SGT Ruiz finishes dinner. Photo: David Botti

After clearing their plates of kabob, croquets, bread, and watermelon, the soldiers began packing up doggy bags for the majority of Third Platoon still waiting outside with the humvees.  

A short patrol began with Salam walking alongside the soldiers.  He chain smoked, walked with a casual stride, and shook hands with nearly every resident he comes across.  If he were campaigning for political office, the votes were almost assured to come pouring in.

He then showed me where a dual bomb attacked killed nearly 40 people and wounded dozens more in 2006.  One of the damaged buildings has just reopened as a shop.  Another remained vacant and in disrepair.  Judging by the amount of activity and general goodwill on this stretch of the neighborhood's main street, it was hard to imagine a bomb so destructive ever went off here.  

Salam was confident the relative calm that's come over Baghdad would remain for the near future – but, as to whether militias out to do the city harm were gone for good was a different matter.

"They're still here," he said.  "They're hiding.  They're waiting and watching."

The entranceway to Salam's house still bears marks of a bomb blast. Photo: David Botti