BAGHDAD, Iraq -- The neighborhood was ordered onto the street. Militiamen with machine guns stood guard on surrounding rooftops. Commandos brought out the young man, hands bound behind him. His parents gasped.

Quietly, the crowd began to chant Allahu akbar -- God is great. It was all they could say as a militiaman pulled out a box cutter and sliced off part of Firaz Adnan's tongue. His crime: He had cursed Saddam Hussein's son Uday and his family.

It was March 5 -- two weeks before the start of the war.

"There was no justice. There was no law," the 23-year-old Adnan mumbled Friday, his voice slurred by his deformed tongue.

Since American troops drove Hussein's government from power, Iraq has been in the midst of a chaotic, violent and confused transformation. But for many, the most monumental change has already come: For the first time in many people's lives, they are free to speak their minds.

"In the past we couldn't talk about anything. Now we can talk about everything," said Raad Abdul Hamid, a 36-year-old taxi driver.

Hamid sat on a plastic chair in front of a lawyer's office, basking in the sun and chatting with a few friends. The old friends can talk all day. Suddenly, their discussions are fascinating.

"The regime was fascist!" proclaimed one, Abdul Razak Abbas, 50.

"I didn't know you thought that," said Abdul Muteleb Mohammed, 42. Then he corrected himself: "Everyone thought that. They just didn't say it in public."

The group even felt free enough to criticize those who made their discussion possible -- the American and British troops in the midst.

"The Americans came as liberators, but we have seen no liberation," Hamid said. "We will be free when the Americans leave."

The transformation of a society of silence into a culture of chatter has been so sudden that some people haven't registered it. As a journalist interviewed some teenagers about newfound freedoms, their mother hissed from the house: "Just tell him everything is normal."

Her fear is understandable. Only a month ago, as Adnan and thousands more can attest, speaking openly was a crime punishable with jail, torture or death.

People knew government spies could be anywhere.

"Even the man who sells cigarettes in the street could be secret police, even a taxi driver," said Thamer Arhaim, 27, a taxi driver.

As that fear dims and Iraqis open up to one another, many say they are forging deep friendships with people they have known all their lives -- but never really spoke to.

Zaki Ghazi, a 46-year-old accountant, kept his views to himself. He hated Hussein's government with a passion, but he didn't dare tell anyone.

"I was afraid of my neighbor. Some people were afraid of their own son or wife," he said. "Many times, wives put their husbands in jail."

Last week Ghazi paid a few visits to his neighbors and gingerly explored their political views. He was shocked to hear they felt the same.

"I talked to them and I agreed with them," he said with a laugh. "They say now what I thought before."