I've been home for four days, and already I am off again – to Texas. The alarm wakes me at 4:00 am today, and I get up to catch my 7:00 flight to Dallas. Traffic is dense on the highway, but I make it to the airport just in time to realize that my flight leaves from terminal three.
Terminal three is the very place where I said goodbye to my husband as he left for Iraq some five months ago. Military families are allowed to enter through security to say their goodbyes. It’s a kind gesture, but really just delays the inevitable. Five months ago, I sat in a chair next to my husband, staring at the gate where I would watch him walk away. I could not find tears, but my heart beat against my chest, my pulse thrumming in my ears, my stomach sick with fear of what might happen to my husband in Iraq; dreading a year without my love. I wanted to be strong and brave, to be a supportive wife, so the tears flowed only after the last kiss goodbye. I sobbed as I walked away. I now know that my husband did too. We tried to be strong for each other. We still do.
Today as I stand in the place where we said goodbye, my stomach turns and I feel like I’ll be sick, the emotion of that day filling me again. I make it through security just fine; no tears come. I've learned to keep those at bay by now, in public anyway.
I'm doing just fine keeping the tears under wraps until I see them: a man in uniform bending forward in his chair under the weight of this heavy day, and a woman, her hand on his head, and then his neck, her head leaned close to his. She’s wearing dark sunglasses and I know exactly why. I remember so well the pain of those last moments, the fear. I remember the sense that my husband and I were beginning something that goes against all natural instinct, but that joins me with millions of women in history who have sent their lovers to war. I somehow found strength in this, and still do. I wait until the uniformed man boards the flight, and then catch the woman as she walks away. Nothing I say will take away her heartache. My throat feels like I swallowed a golf ball as I say to the woman that I’ve been where she is. That first day is the hardest. It gets less painful, but it never gets easy.
Having just been in Iraq, I believe with all of me that we cannot leave there. But I ache with the pain that us being there causes for people who never asked for war. And though I hope and believe that the sacrifices being made will birth at least some semblance of peace and freedom for families in Iraq, I can't help but hate the very fact of war and what it does to our families.
There is a selfish part of me that says we should end it now. Bring our men home. Bring my husband home to me. We take care of our own. Let them sort it out. This is their problem. Not mine; not ours. Part of me wants more than anything for this to end no matter what the cost to the Iraqi people. But there is another part of me that believes that good must fight against evil, that strong must protect weak, and that our honor is worth more than my happiness.
22.10.07
11.10.07
Marine Brotherhood
I saw something today that taught me volumes about the brotherhood of Marines. As I stood in line to grill my sandwich, I watched a young corporal preparing two meals to-go. There was nothing really special about the meals, except this. It was obvious to me that this Marine was carefully selecting different things for each tray. One was for him. The other was for his buddy who stood guard at the gate. He carefully selected meat and cheese, meticulously grilled and wrapped them, then chose sides. I was moved by the obvious care with which the Marine made lunch for his buddy. But the bond between these Marines goes far beyond chow time.
The International Zone has its own Marines who stand guard to keep the area safe. There are about 50 of them, and they live in the basement of the Presidential Palace. I sat down with a few of them, a team of four, to get a taste of what it means to be one of them. And I learned this: the Marine Corp is a family.
The men I spoke with are all between age 19 and 23, and all single, though the one from Rhode Island has a girlfriend. When the topic of girlfriends rises, the other three give him a hard time, something he’s obviously accustomed to by now. I can tell these four guys are close. They are all part of a group of five who are on the same guard schedule. When I indicate my assumption that this must be why they are so close, one of them replies, “Ma’am, if anyone of the 50 Marines down here walked into a dark room, I could sniff and tell you who it is.” These men don’t just share a job; they are brothers.
There was something about these four that reminded me of that bad joke that John Kerry tried to cover up a few months ago – the one about young people who don’t study hard enough ending up in Iraq. Let me say this. I have never met more impressive, intelligent, respectful, honorable, funny, handsome men in my life. These young men are the best America has to offer. They are not washouts, dropouts, or losers. And, while their peers are back home beer-bonging at a frat party, these young men are on the rise as leaders. They keep their living quarters cleaner than my grandmother’s house and they bear the burden of ensuring safekeeping of the people who live in the Green Zone. These men make me proud to be an American.
And while the four I met utter not a word of complaint (aside from the fact that they need more beef jerky), they are making sacrifices. I try to get them to talk about these sacrifices, and they really won’t have it. They talk about their fellow Marines who are fighting in more dangerous areas, under fire daily. They feel guilty because they are in a relatively safe place. But they know their time will come. Today they protect their fellow Americans – the people who live and work at the Embassy in Baghdad. But they look forward to that day when they can take their turn protecting Iraqis from the bloodshed that has driven a stake into the heart of Iraq. It is a timeless honor to sacrifice for our countrymen, but I wonder how many of us are so eager to live a life of sacrifice for people not our own, for people of a foreign land.
When I direct the conversation to thoughts of home, I get a reaction I’m not expecting. Talk of family is usually the one thing that gets people talking about sacrifice. Missing home and loved ones is maybe the hardest part of the tour of duty. These four love their families, and they talk about the things they look forward to about home: BBQ on the beach, sleeping late and letting mom wait on them, the food (this came from the Italian boy, of course), and girls. But they all agree on something that shocks me.
When they go home on leave, they can’t wait to get back to their brothers. When they are home, they call back to the unit, missing their fellow Marines. My small mind fails to comprehend how a group of young men can bond so seamlessly – more tightly than many siblings. These men would die for each other in a heartbeat. I pray not one of them is forced to make such a noble choice. But I have no doubt each one of them would happily lay down his life for his friend. These men are Marines. They are family.
The International Zone has its own Marines who stand guard to keep the area safe. There are about 50 of them, and they live in the basement of the Presidential Palace. I sat down with a few of them, a team of four, to get a taste of what it means to be one of them. And I learned this: the Marine Corp is a family.
The men I spoke with are all between age 19 and 23, and all single, though the one from Rhode Island has a girlfriend. When the topic of girlfriends rises, the other three give him a hard time, something he’s obviously accustomed to by now. I can tell these four guys are close. They are all part of a group of five who are on the same guard schedule. When I indicate my assumption that this must be why they are so close, one of them replies, “Ma’am, if anyone of the 50 Marines down here walked into a dark room, I could sniff and tell you who it is.” These men don’t just share a job; they are brothers.
There was something about these four that reminded me of that bad joke that John Kerry tried to cover up a few months ago – the one about young people who don’t study hard enough ending up in Iraq. Let me say this. I have never met more impressive, intelligent, respectful, honorable, funny, handsome men in my life. These young men are the best America has to offer. They are not washouts, dropouts, or losers. And, while their peers are back home beer-bonging at a frat party, these young men are on the rise as leaders. They keep their living quarters cleaner than my grandmother’s house and they bear the burden of ensuring safekeeping of the people who live in the Green Zone. These men make me proud to be an American.
And while the four I met utter not a word of complaint (aside from the fact that they need more beef jerky), they are making sacrifices. I try to get them to talk about these sacrifices, and they really won’t have it. They talk about their fellow Marines who are fighting in more dangerous areas, under fire daily. They feel guilty because they are in a relatively safe place. But they know their time will come. Today they protect their fellow Americans – the people who live and work at the Embassy in Baghdad. But they look forward to that day when they can take their turn protecting Iraqis from the bloodshed that has driven a stake into the heart of Iraq. It is a timeless honor to sacrifice for our countrymen, but I wonder how many of us are so eager to live a life of sacrifice for people not our own, for people of a foreign land.
When I direct the conversation to thoughts of home, I get a reaction I’m not expecting. Talk of family is usually the one thing that gets people talking about sacrifice. Missing home and loved ones is maybe the hardest part of the tour of duty. These four love their families, and they talk about the things they look forward to about home: BBQ on the beach, sleeping late and letting mom wait on them, the food (this came from the Italian boy, of course), and girls. But they all agree on something that shocks me.
When they go home on leave, they can’t wait to get back to their brothers. When they are home, they call back to the unit, missing their fellow Marines. My small mind fails to comprehend how a group of young men can bond so seamlessly – more tightly than many siblings. These men would die for each other in a heartbeat. I pray not one of them is forced to make such a noble choice. But I have no doubt each one of them would happily lay down his life for his friend. These men are Marines. They are family.
5.10.07
Poor Man's Bidet
It hit me this morning in the bathroom. Ever since I began my travels in this part of the world, I have been baffled by the amount of water that is on the floor of every public restroom I have entered. I mean, we all see water on the floor occasionally, but this is a lot of water, like someone sprayed water all over the stall...every stall. It just didn't make sense to me. Of course, now I feel silly for not putting it together sooner.
In well-appointed palace restrooms and in homes of the wealthy, a bidet sits next to the toilet for use in cleaning after using said toilet. I believe the Arabs are keen on these fountain thrones because, in their tradition, the way we Westerners...well, you know...after we use the toilet, is unclean. I can follow this reasoning, and maybe they do have a point. But I'm not sure they've found a better solution just yet.
Get this. In less well appointed public restrooms here in the Middle East, kitchen sink sprayers have been installed next to the toilet. For weeks now, I have been thinking...hoping...that maybe, just maybe, the purpose of the sink sprayers is to clean the toilet. Or maybe they are to help flush...you know...because the water pressure isn't that great sometimes. I've actually wondered that, and once, when I couldn't find the flush lever, I almost picked up the sprayer to assist in the flush process. Oh my!
But this morning, as I tried to hold the hem of my pants out of the water as I, well...you know, I caught a glimpse of the white sprayer snaking from the wall by a dirty slinky hose. And the truth hit me. I had an "AHA!" moment. Is it possible that I knew all along, but could not allow myself to believe it? In any case, I have finally allowed my conscious brain to come to the conclusion that these kitchen sink sprayers are not as closely related to toilet cleaners are they are to toilet paper. And now I know how the floors get wet.
In well-appointed palace restrooms and in homes of the wealthy, a bidet sits next to the toilet for use in cleaning after using said toilet. I believe the Arabs are keen on these fountain thrones because, in their tradition, the way we Westerners...well, you know...after we use the toilet, is unclean. I can follow this reasoning, and maybe they do have a point. But I'm not sure they've found a better solution just yet.
Get this. In less well appointed public restrooms here in the Middle East, kitchen sink sprayers have been installed next to the toilet. For weeks now, I have been thinking...hoping...that maybe, just maybe, the purpose of the sink sprayers is to clean the toilet. Or maybe they are to help flush...you know...because the water pressure isn't that great sometimes. I've actually wondered that, and once, when I couldn't find the flush lever, I almost picked up the sprayer to assist in the flush process. Oh my!
But this morning, as I tried to hold the hem of my pants out of the water as I, well...you know, I caught a glimpse of the white sprayer snaking from the wall by a dirty slinky hose. And the truth hit me. I had an "AHA!" moment. Is it possible that I knew all along, but could not allow myself to believe it? In any case, I have finally allowed my conscious brain to come to the conclusion that these kitchen sink sprayers are not as closely related to toilet cleaners are they are to toilet paper. And now I know how the floors get wet.
2.10.07
Ramadan
It is Ramadan this month. For those of you who are unfamiliar with this tradition, Ramadan is one month every year when Muslims fast during daylight hours. Lucky me, they also expect everyone else to fast, or at least appear to be fasting. In reality, I've met several Muslims who do that very thing: they take on the appearance of fasting in public, but eat in private.
I usually need to eat more than three meals a day and I’m practically famous for my ever-present glass (or bottle) of ice cold water. I’m always eating or drinking something. So this Ramadan thing is definitely a shock to my system.
Since I am not Muslim, I obviously do not observe Ramadan. But I’ve not been eating or drinking in public out of respect for those who are fasting from sun-up to sundown. I also have heard that one can be harassed by angry Ramadan observers if one eats in their presence. So, I’ve been doing it out of respect, and to prevent harassment. Prior to today, I’ve been sneaking sips of my water while I’m in a cab. That all stopped today when I learned the real reason I should be refraining from eat, drink, and chew (gum that is). This act of respect that I’ve been committing has actually been keeping me out of jail. Apparently it isn't just disrespectful to eat or drink in public while others observe Ramadan. It's an actual crime in this country to eat, drink, or chew gum in public during Ramadan. Punishment is jail until Ramadan is over, which is not that far away now. I got pretty thirsty today - it was hot outside and I had to walk a fair distance before hailing my cab. And then my cab driver decided to have an altercation with another driver while I sat and watched them scream at one another in Arabic for who know what reason - both of their faces getting redder by the second, fists moving more with each word. I’m guessing they were both a wee bit cranky with hunger and thirst. I’d be crabby too. The driver then got out of the cab and told me to wait while he ran across the square to who knows where. I think he said something about police, so instead of waiting to see what was about to transpire, I chose to hail another cab while he ran away, which involved more walking. The second cab driver was much more civilized. I learned on my trip that he spoke seven languages. SEVEN! And he drives a cab. So back to the whole Ramadan jail thing. I’m beginning to think jail might not be so bad - as long as I can have some ice cold water.
I usually need to eat more than three meals a day and I’m practically famous for my ever-present glass (or bottle) of ice cold water. I’m always eating or drinking something. So this Ramadan thing is definitely a shock to my system.
Since I am not Muslim, I obviously do not observe Ramadan. But I’ve not been eating or drinking in public out of respect for those who are fasting from sun-up to sundown. I also have heard that one can be harassed by angry Ramadan observers if one eats in their presence. So, I’ve been doing it out of respect, and to prevent harassment. Prior to today, I’ve been sneaking sips of my water while I’m in a cab. That all stopped today when I learned the real reason I should be refraining from eat, drink, and chew (gum that is). This act of respect that I’ve been committing has actually been keeping me out of jail. Apparently it isn't just disrespectful to eat or drink in public while others observe Ramadan. It's an actual crime in this country to eat, drink, or chew gum in public during Ramadan. Punishment is jail until Ramadan is over, which is not that far away now. I got pretty thirsty today - it was hot outside and I had to walk a fair distance before hailing my cab. And then my cab driver decided to have an altercation with another driver while I sat and watched them scream at one another in Arabic for who know what reason - both of their faces getting redder by the second, fists moving more with each word. I’m guessing they were both a wee bit cranky with hunger and thirst. I’d be crabby too. The driver then got out of the cab and told me to wait while he ran across the square to who knows where. I think he said something about police, so instead of waiting to see what was about to transpire, I chose to hail another cab while he ran away, which involved more walking. The second cab driver was much more civilized. I learned on my trip that he spoke seven languages. SEVEN! And he drives a cab. So back to the whole Ramadan jail thing. I’m beginning to think jail might not be so bad - as long as I can have some ice cold water.
1.10.07
Darkness
I am overwhelmed tonight by the darkness of this place. I have spent the day with new followers of Christ who used to be Muslims. And I am crushed by the weight of the darkness that is Islam. They tell me the lies they believed, the fear in which they lived, and the joy they have now, even when they fear death at the hands of their own families, if they should ever see them again.
Darkness is far worse than war.
Darkness is far worse than war.
Insurgent's Mother
This article speaks for itself:
Khitam Bahir, Iraq, ”I no longer recognise my insurgent son”
BAGHDAD, 27 September 2007 (IRIN) -
Khitam Bahir, aged 51, says she was shocked when her 24-year-old son Mustafa (not his real name) became an insurgent. An engineering student, he left college in October 2006 to join a local fighting group linked to al-Qaeda in Iraq. She has tried in vain to change his mind.
“I no longer recognise my son since he turned into an insurgent. He used to be a very popular, easy-going and modern person but now he has changed completely. He has decided to fight US-troops, even if he is killed.
“I’m desperate because I didn’t raise my son to be a fighter. At home we gave him love and tenderness, good food, education, health care. His siblings always considered him the most lovely person in our family.”
“He left home in November and is living with other fighters but I don’t know where. Sometimes he drops me a line, saying that he is happy and has helped in an attack. It just breaks my heart and makes me cry.”
“My life has changed since he became an insurgent. I never know if he will be alive tomorrow. His brothers and sisters are confused about his decision. He was going to finish college in two years’ time and had great plans to go to Britain to do a PhD, and now when I urge him to go back to university and leave this life, he tells me that he cannot betray God and hangs up the phone.
“I miss my old son, a person who was always smiling and playful. He was going to get married next year but his fiancée ended the relationship after he told her he was going to help insurgents around Anbar Province, and now she is with her family in Jordan.
“Mustafa was encouraged into this life by two of his friends from Ramadi. They were filling his head with Islamic extremism. I hope my son can change his mind and return to his old life.”
as/ar/cb[END] © IRIN. All rights reserved. More humanitarian news and analysis: http://www.irinnews.org
Khitam Bahir, Iraq, ”I no longer recognise my insurgent son”
BAGHDAD, 27 September 2007 (IRIN) -
Khitam Bahir, aged 51, says she was shocked when her 24-year-old son Mustafa (not his real name) became an insurgent. An engineering student, he left college in October 2006 to join a local fighting group linked to al-Qaeda in Iraq. She has tried in vain to change his mind.
“I no longer recognise my son since he turned into an insurgent. He used to be a very popular, easy-going and modern person but now he has changed completely. He has decided to fight US-troops, even if he is killed.
“I’m desperate because I didn’t raise my son to be a fighter. At home we gave him love and tenderness, good food, education, health care. His siblings always considered him the most lovely person in our family.”
“He left home in November and is living with other fighters but I don’t know where. Sometimes he drops me a line, saying that he is happy and has helped in an attack. It just breaks my heart and makes me cry.”
“My life has changed since he became an insurgent. I never know if he will be alive tomorrow. His brothers and sisters are confused about his decision. He was going to finish college in two years’ time and had great plans to go to Britain to do a PhD, and now when I urge him to go back to university and leave this life, he tells me that he cannot betray God and hangs up the phone.
“I miss my old son, a person who was always smiling and playful. He was going to get married next year but his fiancée ended the relationship after he told her he was going to help insurgents around Anbar Province, and now she is with her family in Jordan.
“Mustafa was encouraged into this life by two of his friends from Ramadi. They were filling his head with Islamic extremism. I hope my son can change his mind and return to his old life.”
as/ar/cb[END] © IRIN. All rights reserved. More humanitarian news and analysis: http://www.irinnews.org
24.9.07
Peace is Their Nemesis
Last night as I ate dinner in Baghdad, a suicide bomber walked into a mosque in Baquba and blew himself up. He murdered 28 people and seriously injured 35. There were no Americans present indicating that the man who committed this act of terror was not aiming to kill Americans. The deaths were not collateral damage in a war. They were murders. It seems someone simply wanted to hinder reconciliation and to prolong bloodshed and chaos in Iraq.
The Baquba mosque that became a grave for 28 people was the location of a meeting between the Shiite Mahdi Army militia and the Sunni insurgent group, the Brigades of the 1920 Revolution. They met there to find reconciliation, and for that they were murdered.
This desire to keep Iraq violent, to prevent meetings of peace and reconciliation - this is something that is impossible for my mind to grasp.
These men may hate Americans, but their arch-enemy is peace.
The Baquba mosque that became a grave for 28 people was the location of a meeting between the Shiite Mahdi Army militia and the Sunni insurgent group, the Brigades of the 1920 Revolution. They met there to find reconciliation, and for that they were murdered.
This desire to keep Iraq violent, to prevent meetings of peace and reconciliation - this is something that is impossible for my mind to grasp.
These men may hate Americans, but their arch-enemy is peace.
Sad
Iraq is scary sometimes, but usually just sad. Last night, as I was lying in bed, I heard mortars landing somewhere in the distance, followed by about twenty minutes of return artillery fire**, along with the very familiar sound of an F-16 plugging in the afterburner - probably to get the guys who were firing the mortar rounds.
These are the moments that impact me the most. As we lay in bed listening to the sounds of war I said to N, "I hope no one dies," a silly hope under the circumstances I suppose. He responded, "Someone will." I've talked to a lot of incredible young soldiers and Marines over here, and I can't help but wonder if it will be one of their families on the receiving end of that dreaded phone call that stops life dead in its tracks. Or maybe it will be an insurgent’s family that gets the message that a son has died - just as sad for sure I suppose, though the death of an insurgent means life for women and children who are saved from the bus bomb that dead man might have planted, or the mortar fired on a rival neighborhood, or the suicide vest worn into busy morning market. I’ll take the death of insurgents over innocents.
If there is one thing that this trip has taught me, it is that war is always a complicated, messy, horrific thing, and that the media has made this war much worse, and much more complicated than it needs to
be. The men and women who are serving here have honor and integrity. They have a desire to help the people of Iraq, showing compassion to people who could easily be plotting to kill them. And the truth is that they are helping. I have never seen a group of people so determined to do the right thing, even if it means giving their very life. I am ashamed on behalf of the America that makes these men and women of honor out to be bloodthirsty criminals.
Yesterday I spoke to a young soldier named James who enlisted on the same day as his twin brother. This brother, Nick, was in a Humvee when it was hit by an IED, causing it to flip 13 times. Nick, the only survivor, was flown to Walter Reed Medical Center in D.C. James was on his way to Iraq at the time, but he was able to visit his brother before he left. As he walked into the hospital to visit his twin brother who was in serious condition, in danger of never walking again, he heard the shouts of war protestors: "You got what you deserve! Baby-killer!" This James is the same man who held back tears as he told me about watching a warlord in Afghanistan shoot a 4-year-old girl in the street for absolutely no reason. James has only brothers, and he's always wanted a little girl. The trauma of seeing this little girl’s death has him on anti-anxiety medication. James also told me that when searching the homes of potential insurgents, he often finds the suspect waving his gun, surrounded by children - little human shields. This happens “all the time” according to James. He said Iraqis have told him they know Americans are sensitive to children, and will not use violence in their presence, so they take advantage of the compassion of American soldiers and Marines. It's ironic to me that the Iraqis who kill their own children and willingly expose these children to violence recognize the compassion of American soldiers. But Americans safe at home in the United States do not.
The media has repeatedly put these men and women in danger, whether by giving up details that compromise security, or so twisting the truth that public opinion keeps the soldiers from doing their jobs for fear of media retaliation. After all, this war is one that will be determined by American politics and public opinion. The insurgents, Al Qaeda in Iraq and their cohorts know this, and use it to their advantage, but Americans seem completely oblivious to this fact.
I'm sure many of you watched or have read about Gen Petraeus’ testimony. While the “surge” has done some good, and gains have been made, there is still “much work to be done.” Yet the calls are still heard within the United States to withdraw all combat forces. The Government of Iraq is not yet fully equipped to restrain the likes of Al Qaeda in Iraq, and other insurgent groups who are willing to massacre thousands to gain power. If our government heeds the voices that cry for our troops to return home NOW, only then will the true bloodbath begin. It is widely agreed (here in Iraq) that if Coalition forces pull out now, or in the near future, a tragedy the likes of Rwanda could be repeated: ethnic cleansing is likely to occur, unfettered by the security that is currently provided by Coalition Forces from around the world. I cannot imagine sitting through such horrific killing and doing nothing to stop it. The whole world regrets doing nothing during the Rwandan Genocide. Will we allow the same to happen in Iraq?
The sad thing is this: those who call for withdrawal of troops are doing exactly what Al Qaeda in Iraq would have them do. The “anti-war” voices are the very voices of the insurgency. They scream the message that Al Qaeda would have us hear. The war that Al Qaeda in Iraq wages is not against the Coalition Forces alone, but against the people who stand behind the forces, the people at home, either standing firm or – Al Qaeda hopes – standing down.
Here’s how an insurgency works: Al Qaeda in Iraq kills lots of civilians using myriad weapons intended for the sole purpose of killing civilians, including using civilians as human shields. The media then tells the good folks back home that lots of kids are dying in Iraq - very sad to be sure. And then there are the military casualties. People hate losing kids to war, whether the kids are little Iraqi kids, or all-grown-up American kids. So the people back home say, “this must stop!” and they start to believe that everything will be better if we leave Iraq now and let the Iraqis (or Iran, or whomever has the biggest guns) settle it. This is exactly what the insurgents want. They know they can’t have all-out war for absolute power if the Coalition is still here. They know the Government of Iraq is not quite equipped to hem them in. So they use the American people as puppets who will, they hope, persuade the government to leave Iraq. All of this so they can massacre people, unhindered by a military that stands for honor, freedom, and for justice, even justice for Iraqis who can’t fight for themselves.
**[The fact that our military was using artillery fire or air power means that the mortars came from an unpopulated area. Though technology makes both of these methods extremely accurate, the risk of doing harm to civilians is greater with air-strikes and artillery than with troops on the ground, and contrary to what most believe, our military takes extra measures to prevent civilian deaths.]
These are the moments that impact me the most. As we lay in bed listening to the sounds of war I said to N, "I hope no one dies," a silly hope under the circumstances I suppose. He responded, "Someone will." I've talked to a lot of incredible young soldiers and Marines over here, and I can't help but wonder if it will be one of their families on the receiving end of that dreaded phone call that stops life dead in its tracks. Or maybe it will be an insurgent’s family that gets the message that a son has died - just as sad for sure I suppose, though the death of an insurgent means life for women and children who are saved from the bus bomb that dead man might have planted, or the mortar fired on a rival neighborhood, or the suicide vest worn into busy morning market. I’ll take the death of insurgents over innocents.
If there is one thing that this trip has taught me, it is that war is always a complicated, messy, horrific thing, and that the media has made this war much worse, and much more complicated than it needs to
be. The men and women who are serving here have honor and integrity. They have a desire to help the people of Iraq, showing compassion to people who could easily be plotting to kill them. And the truth is that they are helping. I have never seen a group of people so determined to do the right thing, even if it means giving their very life. I am ashamed on behalf of the America that makes these men and women of honor out to be bloodthirsty criminals.
Yesterday I spoke to a young soldier named James who enlisted on the same day as his twin brother. This brother, Nick, was in a Humvee when it was hit by an IED, causing it to flip 13 times. Nick, the only survivor, was flown to Walter Reed Medical Center in D.C. James was on his way to Iraq at the time, but he was able to visit his brother before he left. As he walked into the hospital to visit his twin brother who was in serious condition, in danger of never walking again, he heard the shouts of war protestors: "You got what you deserve! Baby-killer!" This James is the same man who held back tears as he told me about watching a warlord in Afghanistan shoot a 4-year-old girl in the street for absolutely no reason. James has only brothers, and he's always wanted a little girl. The trauma of seeing this little girl’s death has him on anti-anxiety medication. James also told me that when searching the homes of potential insurgents, he often finds the suspect waving his gun, surrounded by children - little human shields. This happens “all the time” according to James. He said Iraqis have told him they know Americans are sensitive to children, and will not use violence in their presence, so they take advantage of the compassion of American soldiers and Marines. It's ironic to me that the Iraqis who kill their own children and willingly expose these children to violence recognize the compassion of American soldiers. But Americans safe at home in the United States do not.
The media has repeatedly put these men and women in danger, whether by giving up details that compromise security, or so twisting the truth that public opinion keeps the soldiers from doing their jobs for fear of media retaliation. After all, this war is one that will be determined by American politics and public opinion. The insurgents, Al Qaeda in Iraq and their cohorts know this, and use it to their advantage, but Americans seem completely oblivious to this fact.
I'm sure many of you watched or have read about Gen Petraeus’ testimony. While the “surge” has done some good, and gains have been made, there is still “much work to be done.” Yet the calls are still heard within the United States to withdraw all combat forces. The Government of Iraq is not yet fully equipped to restrain the likes of Al Qaeda in Iraq, and other insurgent groups who are willing to massacre thousands to gain power. If our government heeds the voices that cry for our troops to return home NOW, only then will the true bloodbath begin. It is widely agreed (here in Iraq) that if Coalition forces pull out now, or in the near future, a tragedy the likes of Rwanda could be repeated: ethnic cleansing is likely to occur, unfettered by the security that is currently provided by Coalition Forces from around the world. I cannot imagine sitting through such horrific killing and doing nothing to stop it. The whole world regrets doing nothing during the Rwandan Genocide. Will we allow the same to happen in Iraq?
The sad thing is this: those who call for withdrawal of troops are doing exactly what Al Qaeda in Iraq would have them do. The “anti-war” voices are the very voices of the insurgency. They scream the message that Al Qaeda would have us hear. The war that Al Qaeda in Iraq wages is not against the Coalition Forces alone, but against the people who stand behind the forces, the people at home, either standing firm or – Al Qaeda hopes – standing down.
Here’s how an insurgency works: Al Qaeda in Iraq kills lots of civilians using myriad weapons intended for the sole purpose of killing civilians, including using civilians as human shields. The media then tells the good folks back home that lots of kids are dying in Iraq - very sad to be sure. And then there are the military casualties. People hate losing kids to war, whether the kids are little Iraqi kids, or all-grown-up American kids. So the people back home say, “this must stop!” and they start to believe that everything will be better if we leave Iraq now and let the Iraqis (or Iran, or whomever has the biggest guns) settle it. This is exactly what the insurgents want. They know they can’t have all-out war for absolute power if the Coalition is still here. They know the Government of Iraq is not quite equipped to hem them in. So they use the American people as puppets who will, they hope, persuade the government to leave Iraq. All of this so they can massacre people, unhindered by a military that stands for honor, freedom, and for justice, even justice for Iraqis who can’t fight for themselves.
**[The fact that our military was using artillery fire or air power means that the mortars came from an unpopulated area. Though technology makes both of these methods extremely accurate, the risk of doing harm to civilians is greater with air-strikes and artillery than with troops on the ground, and contrary to what most believe, our military takes extra measures to prevent civilian deaths.]
20.9.07
Tea in the Ladies' Room
The Al-Rashid Hotel is a five-star hotel located just barely inside the protected International Zone. The hotel gained fame in the western world during the first Gulf War as CNN’s broadcast location. Camera footage of the bombing of Republican Guard positions – images that I will never forget even though I was young at the time - was captured from this rooftop. After Saddam ran back to Baghdad with his tail between his legs, he retaliated against the western world by creating a mosaic photograph of a bewildered looking President George H.W. Bush on the floor of the Al-Rashid lobby. (Interestingly, Saddam Hussein also celebrated his “victory” over the evil United States by erecting the famous Liberty Palace in Baghdad). American soldiers replaced the mosaic of Bush with one of Saddam’s face after the fall of Baghdad in 2003.
Today, this hotel remains intact, and serves as the only hotel in the International Zone (and the only one I would dare set foot in), and is frequented by journalists working in the IZ. The ground floor holds a restaurant and its halls are lined with tables filled with local art, jewelry, artifacts, trinkets, and astonishingly beautiful rugs and silk fabrics from Iran, Afghanistan and the Kurdish region of Iraq. Oil seems to be the medium of choice for painting, and some of the art begs to come home with me. I am a sucker for the jewelry too – antique silver boasting a rainbow of colored stones beg for a spot in my jewelry box.
While most of the wares are laid out along the dim hallway (the lights are kept off during the day to save electricity), there are five lucky shopkeepers who have an entire room in which to display their goods. Samaya is one of these lucky ones.
I met Samaya on a trip to the Al-Rashid last week. She invited me and my traveling companions into her shop full of silver pieces ranging from tea kettles and vases to serving sets and silverware. Judging from the price tags they are either ancient or overpriced. The pieces are absolutely beautiful and since I’m sitting in the Cradle of Civilization, my money is on ancient. I ask about tea, something that I have been looking to purchase ever since I sampled the deliciously sweet Iraqi version. I had envisioned buying some in just such a place. At the suggestion of tea she scurries to the back of her shop returning with a bag of loose tea leaves and a pouch of cardamom pods. She scoops – three scoops – of tea into an old mayonnaise jar, and then, much to my surprise, begins to crack cardamom pods with her teeth, one-by-one, emptying the seeds of each pod into the jar. She hands one pod to me (after putting it in her mouth to crack it) and indicates through gesture that I should put the seeds into my mouth. I’m not much on chewing cardamom seeds (yes, I’ve tried it), but she is so happy to give, so I receive graciously and enjoy.
After chewing on cardamom pods, I am pleasantly surprised to see that Samaya is pouring water into a tea kettle. In the tradition of Iraqi hospitality she isn’t satisfied to host guests in her shop and talk about tea without serving tea. She finds her finest china, and invites me to sit. I doubt very much that I will ever be served tea in a silver shop in my own country. This is hospitality.
We are seated in the back of her shop in a room that I later realize is…a bathroom. There’s no toilet, but this room definitely was made to be a bathroom. Under the sink, Samaya stores her good tea, some snacks, and a box of Lipton tea to which she turns up her nose and snorts her disapproval. She’s absolutely correct. Lipton holds no candle to the strong sweet, anything but bitter Iraqi tea, sipped from delicate shot-glass-size china.
As we sip our syrupy, delicious tea in the bathroom, we begin to ask Samaya questions. She grew up in Baghdad and has lived here all her life. She is educated; she studied history at Baghdad University. She has been married for two years – since April 2005 – which surprises me since she appears to be closing in on 40, an ancient age for marriage in this culture. I tell her that I was married in June 2005, and she lights up like it’s the best news she’s heard all week. We have a connection. When I ask her about children, she turns sad.
Through her broken English, I finally decipher this:
Samaya lives on a street in Baghdad that is notorious for its danger. She commutes into the International Zone to work. Her gestures communicate fear of mortar rounds, something she’s quite experienced with, apparently. She lives on the seventh floor of her building. It is well known that Baghdad is often without electricity. There are plenty of people working to fix this, but for now, it’s down a lot. This means no A/C, which would be torture in this desert heat. But for Samaya, it also means no elevator. She has to climb seven (she learns a new word here) “flights” of stairs to reach her apartment. When she was three months pregnant, she was running down the stairs in the dark (her gestures here indicated she was running from mortar rounds or something scary), when she fell. This fall caused her to lose her child.
With a deep breath and a sip of tea, her smile returns. It is obvious she’s used to living in the midst of sadness. Just take a deep breath and move on. She begins to dig through an old tattered bag that sits on the chair next to her, out comes a paper sack, marked with sooty fingerprints. She pulls out a stack of about 40 photos, and passes them to us, a proud smile on her face. There are pictures of her wedding day, of friends, of family – her brother and her niece Daniela, who is three, and there are plenty of pictures of Samaya with her friends on the day she graduated from Baghdad University. She points out the wedding portraits several times, and notes a difference between two of them. In one, she wears her veil over her hair and her arms and neck are fully covered. She says this one was taken “outside.” In another, her hair is down, the skin of her arms and neck exposed. This was taken at “studio.” It is clear to me that she is very proud of the one taken in studio.
As we pass the photos back to Samaya, I am thinking about the photos, and I look at the tattered bag that still sits on the chair. It is full of precious things, not just a wallet, a compact, and a tube of lip gloss. It is obvious that these things are comfortable in the bag. They did not find themselves there today for the first time. Samaya carries these memories with her everywhere she goes. I can’t help but wonder what it is that makes a person carry with her the things that keep memories, instead of leaving them at home where they will safe. Maybe home is not safe enough. Or maybe for Samaya these memories give hope for the day when she will, once again, live without fear of bombs and mortars.
Here with me are two American servicemen. Samaya wants her picture made with them. She is obviously taken with them, and asks them to return. She, like most Iraqis, is thankful for them. She trusts them, and appreciates them.
As we begin to leave, Samaya gives my modest clothes a once over, and pulls a silk scarf – one that coordinates with my outfit - from a hook on the wall. She has me sit and begins to pin the pink scarf around my hair, showing me how to wrap it close to my hairline, pinning it below my chin, and then wrapping it again, so that it will not slip. She takes me to the mirror, and then tells me I can take a photo if I want. I, of course, have a camera with me, and we take a few snaps.
It’s possible that Samaya thinks I should be covering my head, and wanted to give me a little hint. She covers her head, but somehow I don’t get the feeling that she thinks I should. She’s just sharing her culture and her life with her guest.
I hand Samaya a twenty dollar bill to pay for my bag of tea and shiny new silver ring. She kisses the money twice and we say our goodbyes.
Today, this hotel remains intact, and serves as the only hotel in the International Zone (and the only one I would dare set foot in), and is frequented by journalists working in the IZ. The ground floor holds a restaurant and its halls are lined with tables filled with local art, jewelry, artifacts, trinkets, and astonishingly beautiful rugs and silk fabrics from Iran, Afghanistan and the Kurdish region of Iraq. Oil seems to be the medium of choice for painting, and some of the art begs to come home with me. I am a sucker for the jewelry too – antique silver boasting a rainbow of colored stones beg for a spot in my jewelry box.
While most of the wares are laid out along the dim hallway (the lights are kept off during the day to save electricity), there are five lucky shopkeepers who have an entire room in which to display their goods. Samaya is one of these lucky ones.
I met Samaya on a trip to the Al-Rashid last week. She invited me and my traveling companions into her shop full of silver pieces ranging from tea kettles and vases to serving sets and silverware. Judging from the price tags they are either ancient or overpriced. The pieces are absolutely beautiful and since I’m sitting in the Cradle of Civilization, my money is on ancient. I ask about tea, something that I have been looking to purchase ever since I sampled the deliciously sweet Iraqi version. I had envisioned buying some in just such a place. At the suggestion of tea she scurries to the back of her shop returning with a bag of loose tea leaves and a pouch of cardamom pods. She scoops – three scoops – of tea into an old mayonnaise jar, and then, much to my surprise, begins to crack cardamom pods with her teeth, one-by-one, emptying the seeds of each pod into the jar. She hands one pod to me (after putting it in her mouth to crack it) and indicates through gesture that I should put the seeds into my mouth. I’m not much on chewing cardamom seeds (yes, I’ve tried it), but she is so happy to give, so I receive graciously and enjoy.
After chewing on cardamom pods, I am pleasantly surprised to see that Samaya is pouring water into a tea kettle. In the tradition of Iraqi hospitality she isn’t satisfied to host guests in her shop and talk about tea without serving tea. She finds her finest china, and invites me to sit. I doubt very much that I will ever be served tea in a silver shop in my own country. This is hospitality.
We are seated in the back of her shop in a room that I later realize is…a bathroom. There’s no toilet, but this room definitely was made to be a bathroom. Under the sink, Samaya stores her good tea, some snacks, and a box of Lipton tea to which she turns up her nose and snorts her disapproval. She’s absolutely correct. Lipton holds no candle to the strong sweet, anything but bitter Iraqi tea, sipped from delicate shot-glass-size china.
As we sip our syrupy, delicious tea in the bathroom, we begin to ask Samaya questions. She grew up in Baghdad and has lived here all her life. She is educated; she studied history at Baghdad University. She has been married for two years – since April 2005 – which surprises me since she appears to be closing in on 40, an ancient age for marriage in this culture. I tell her that I was married in June 2005, and she lights up like it’s the best news she’s heard all week. We have a connection. When I ask her about children, she turns sad.
Through her broken English, I finally decipher this:
Samaya lives on a street in Baghdad that is notorious for its danger. She commutes into the International Zone to work. Her gestures communicate fear of mortar rounds, something she’s quite experienced with, apparently. She lives on the seventh floor of her building. It is well known that Baghdad is often without electricity. There are plenty of people working to fix this, but for now, it’s down a lot. This means no A/C, which would be torture in this desert heat. But for Samaya, it also means no elevator. She has to climb seven (she learns a new word here) “flights” of stairs to reach her apartment. When she was three months pregnant, she was running down the stairs in the dark (her gestures here indicated she was running from mortar rounds or something scary), when she fell. This fall caused her to lose her child.
With a deep breath and a sip of tea, her smile returns. It is obvious she’s used to living in the midst of sadness. Just take a deep breath and move on. She begins to dig through an old tattered bag that sits on the chair next to her, out comes a paper sack, marked with sooty fingerprints. She pulls out a stack of about 40 photos, and passes them to us, a proud smile on her face. There are pictures of her wedding day, of friends, of family – her brother and her niece Daniela, who is three, and there are plenty of pictures of Samaya with her friends on the day she graduated from Baghdad University. She points out the wedding portraits several times, and notes a difference between two of them. In one, she wears her veil over her hair and her arms and neck are fully covered. She says this one was taken “outside.” In another, her hair is down, the skin of her arms and neck exposed. This was taken at “studio.” It is clear to me that she is very proud of the one taken in studio.
As we pass the photos back to Samaya, I am thinking about the photos, and I look at the tattered bag that still sits on the chair. It is full of precious things, not just a wallet, a compact, and a tube of lip gloss. It is obvious that these things are comfortable in the bag. They did not find themselves there today for the first time. Samaya carries these memories with her everywhere she goes. I can’t help but wonder what it is that makes a person carry with her the things that keep memories, instead of leaving them at home where they will safe. Maybe home is not safe enough. Or maybe for Samaya these memories give hope for the day when she will, once again, live without fear of bombs and mortars.
Here with me are two American servicemen. Samaya wants her picture made with them. She is obviously taken with them, and asks them to return. She, like most Iraqis, is thankful for them. She trusts them, and appreciates them.
As we begin to leave, Samaya gives my modest clothes a once over, and pulls a silk scarf – one that coordinates with my outfit - from a hook on the wall. She has me sit and begins to pin the pink scarf around my hair, showing me how to wrap it close to my hairline, pinning it below my chin, and then wrapping it again, so that it will not slip. She takes me to the mirror, and then tells me I can take a photo if I want. I, of course, have a camera with me, and we take a few snaps.
It’s possible that Samaya thinks I should be covering my head, and wanted to give me a little hint. She covers her head, but somehow I don’t get the feeling that she thinks I should. She’s just sharing her culture and her life with her guest.
I hand Samaya a twenty dollar bill to pay for my bag of tea and shiny new silver ring. She kisses the money twice and we say our goodbyes.
19.9.07
Blackwater
I have my own opinions on the Blackwater incident that took place here in Baghdad on Sunday, but have been asked to keep them to myself. However, I think this is an important issue in our time, and one that few have considered. Issues of law and accountability abound. I don't necessarily agree with everything Singer says, but he gives a good synopsis of the problem. Here's Singer's take on it:
Details are still fuzzy on the incident that led the Iraqi government to act against Blackwater. But it may be almost irrelevant to the results. Initial reports from the U.S. embassy are that a Blackwater USA convoy that was guarding State Department employees came under fire in the Mansour district in Baghdad. A vehicle was disabled and a lengthy gun battle broke out. Witnesses are reporting that it lasted at least 20 minutes. The Iraqi Interior Ministry is reporting that 8 Iraqi civilians were killed and 13 wounded in the crossfire. There will likely be lots of claims back and forth about whether the shootings were justified or not, whether who was killed were primarily insurgents or civilians, etc. and likely everyone will have their own spin. It will be interesting to see whether any video finds its way out.
The only thing we do know is that the Iraqi Government is not happy at all, with the Iraqi Prime Minister (who is Shia, so not pre-disposed to cover up for a Sunni attack) blaming the killings on the company's employees and describing it as a "crime." The Iraqi Interior Ministry says it is pulling the license of the company to operate in Iraq and will try to prosecute any foreign contractors found to have used excessive force in the Sunday shooting.
Still, even before all the details come to light, a few things are clear:
1) It was inevitable. Private military contractors have been involved in all sorts of questionable incidents, since the very start of the Iraq enterprise. U.S. military officers frequently expressed their frustrations with sharing the battlefield with such private forces operating under their own rules and agendas, and worry about the consequences for their own operations. For example, Brigadier General Karl Horst, deputy commander of the US 3rd Infantry Division (responsible for Baghdad area) tellingly put it two years back, These guys run loose in this country and do stupid stuff. There’s no authority over them, so you can’t come down on them hard when they escalate force. They shoot people, and someone else has to deal with the aftermath.”
No one has kept an exact count of the incidents, but some notable examples include:
The Aegis “trophy video,” in which contractors took video of themselves shooting at civilians, set it to the Elvis song "Runaway Train," and put it on the Internet.
The alleged joyride shootings of Iraqi civilians by a Triple Canopy supervisor. They became the subject of a lawsuit after two employees, who claim to have witnessed the shootings, lost their jobs.
Armed contractors from the Zapata firm detained by U.S. forces, who allegedly saw the private soldiers indiscriminately firing not only at Iraqi civilians, but also at U.S. Marines. Again, they were not charged, as the legal issues could not be squared. Private military firms may be part of the military operation, but they and their employees are not part of the military, or its chain of command or its code of justice.
Abu Ghraib, where reportedly 100 percent of the translators and up to 50 percent of the interrogators at the prison were private contractors from the Titan and CACI firms, respectively. The U.S. Army found that contractors were involved in 36% of the proven abuse incidents and identified six particular employees as being culpable in the abuses. While the enlisted U.S. Army soldiers involved in the Abu Ghraib abuse were court-martialed for their crimes, not a single private contractor named in the Army's investigation report has been charged, prosecuted or punished. The Army believes it lacks the jurisdiction to pursue these cases, even if it wants to.
The inevitable part was not just the shootings, but the government's reaction, which has been on the horizon for a while. The Iraqi government is supposedly a sovereign state, so it is not surprising that at some point it would start to act like one, trying to enforce its monopoly over violence against other armed organizations on the ground.
2) Pay attention to the politics. 2) The underlying politics to this are important to understand. Private contractors are a visible and especially disliked part of the US presence in Iraq. So a good way for Iraqi government officials, who are often depicted as stooges of the US, to try to burnish their nationalist credentials is to go after the contractors. They can make it look like they are standing up to the big bad outsiders, but not do so against U.S. troops. As AFP noted, “Monday's action against Blackwater was likely to give the unpopular government a boost, given the contractors' widespread unpopularity.”
3) That it was Blackwater is unsurprising. As illustrated by the examples listed above, Blackwater is not the only company working in Iraq. Indeed, the L.A. Times recently reported that there may be over 160,000 private contractors working in Iraq, as many as the overall number of US forces even after the “surge.” However, Blackwater has been one of the most visible -- unusual for an industry that typically tries to avoid the limelight. This notoriety makes Blackwater a fatter target than, say, an unknown British or Bulgarian company.
The relationship between the Iraqi government and Blackwater is particularly tense -- and not just because armed Blackwater guards are the contractors that senior Iraqi government officials run into the most. On Christmas Eve 2006, a Blackwater employee allegedly got drunk while inside the Green Zone in Baghdad and got in an argument with a guard of the Iraqi Vice President. He then shot the Iraqi dead. The employee was quickly flown out of the country. Nine months later, he has not been charged with any crime. Imagine the same thing happening in the U.S.: An Iraqi embassy guard, drunk at a a Christmas party, shooting a Secret Service agent guarding Vice President Cheney. You can see some potential for underlying tension there. In May 2007, there was another reported shooting of an Interior Ministry driver by Blackwater employees. That led to an armed standoff and had Matthew Degn, a senior American civilian adviser to the Interior Ministry's intelligence directorate, describing the ministry as "a powder keg" of anger at the firm.
4) This is what happens when government fails to act. The problems with the absence of oversight, management, doctrine, and even law and order when it comes to private military contractors have been known for a while. Heck, I wrote a book about it back in 2003, before the Iraq invasion. While the industry has boomed, the vacuum of policy and strategy has continued for years. In June 2006, for example, the Government Accountability Office reported that “private security providers continue to enter the battle space without coordinating with the U.S. military, putting both the military and security providers at a greater risk for injury.”
U.S. officers in the field are also complaining about the underlying harm created by this lack of policy. For example, Col. Peter Mansoor is one of the most influential military thinkers on counterinsurgency -- currently serving as Gen. David Petraeus' executive officer. In 2007, he told Jane's Defense Weekly that the U.S. military needs to take "a real hard look at security contractors on future battlefields and figure out a way to get a handle on them so that they can be better integrated -- if we're going to allow them to be used in the first place. If they push traffic off the roads or if they shoot up a car that looks suspicious, whatever it may be, they may be operating within their contract (but) to the detriment of the mission, which is to bring the people over to your side. I would much rather see basically all armed entities in a counter-insurgency operation fall under a military chain of command."
Yet, nothing much has happened. Indeed, the only real action was limited efforts in the Congress. In Fall 2006, Senator Lindsay Graham slipped into the 2007 Defense Bill a clause that could potentially place contractors and others who accompany American troops in the field under the U.S. military’s Uniform Code of Military Justice (UCMJ). That is, he changed the law defining UCMJ to cover civilians -- not just in times of declared war, but also during contingency operations. Almost 10 months later, however, no Pentagon guidance has been issued on how this clause might be used by JAGs in the field. So, its impact so far has been like a tree falling in the forest, with no one around.
More broadly, there have been several recent efforts at bringing some transparency and oversight to the U.S. side of the industry. Key players have been Representatives Jan Schakowsky and David Price, and Senator Barack Obama. (His bill, the "Transparency and Accountability in Military and Security Contracting Act of 2007,” essentially brings together the reforms sought by Schakowsky and Price on the House side.) These have not yet passed into law, but may during the upcoming debates. Whether the executive branch will use them, though, returns us back to the problem of inaction on Graham’s bill.
The point is that the U.S. government has paid for the industry for years, but had tried to ignore the accompanying responsibility for the consequences. In lieu of our own inaction, the Iraqi government has stepped in, perhaps in a way that we may not be happy with.
Of course, there is an underlying irony. There are reports that the “license” that the Iraqi government is supposedly revoking doesn’t exist. The Iraqi Interior Ministry is the entity that every contractor is supposed to register with, but it is also the organization that the recent panel led by retired General James Jones described as "dysfunctional" and "a ministry in name only." So many companies have been unable to register, and many contractors have even had to resort to using their business cards as if they were official IDs. It will be interesting to see if this included the very company hired to guard senior U.S. leaders in Iraq.
5) Over outsource and you paint yourself into a corner. This is what happens when you hollow out your operations. Blackwater has a contract to guard State Department employees. Now, the question must be asked: If the company cannot do so, what happens next?
Tongue in cheek, one could say that we all learned last week that: (a) the U.S. has enough extra military forces in Iraq and (b) the security situation is getting better. So, if this is true, then what’s all the fuss?
Of course, we all know that the whole Kabuki play last week in Congress was false and that the security situation is atrocious and that State personnel still need to be guarded. Back in the day, all of these roles would have been filled either by military forces or State Department diplomatic security. But our military forces are stretched thin, and the government’s diplomatic security force has been hollowed out at the same time that the need for it has expanded. (And just for the record: A consortium of companies, led by Blackwater, got a $1 billion contract to do the global State Department diplomatic security job last year. So it wasn't exactly a lack of money that caused the hollowing.)
So, in the short term following such a market failure, we have three likely choices: 1) ignore the Iraqis' wishes and just keeping on using Blackwater contractors as before; 2) find another company to step in and quick-fill take on these roles in lieu of the firm; or 3) negotiate with the Iraqis to find terms under which the firm might continue to carry out the operation (such as promising a joint investigation, payments to civilians, etc.). Obviously, none of these is a great solution in the short term. None solve the long-term problems. But those are the terrible cards we have in our hands right now. Again, we can't blame anyone else. When it comes to military outsourcing: We dealt these cards to ourselves.
As we now see in Iraq and elsewhere, the privatized military industry is a reality of the 21st century. This entrance of the profit motive onto the battlefield opens up vast, new possibilities, but also a series of troubling questions – for democracy, for ethics, for management, for law, for human rights, and for national and international security. At what point do we begin answering them?
-- P.W. Singer is Senior Fellow and Director of the 21st Century Defense Initiative at The Brookings Institution. He is the author of Corporate Warriors: The Rise of the Privatized Military Industry. His writings are available at pwsinger.com.
Details are still fuzzy on the incident that led the Iraqi government to act against Blackwater. But it may be almost irrelevant to the results. Initial reports from the U.S. embassy are that a Blackwater USA convoy that was guarding State Department employees came under fire in the Mansour district in Baghdad. A vehicle was disabled and a lengthy gun battle broke out. Witnesses are reporting that it lasted at least 20 minutes. The Iraqi Interior Ministry is reporting that 8 Iraqi civilians were killed and 13 wounded in the crossfire. There will likely be lots of claims back and forth about whether the shootings were justified or not, whether who was killed were primarily insurgents or civilians, etc. and likely everyone will have their own spin. It will be interesting to see whether any video finds its way out.
The only thing we do know is that the Iraqi Government is not happy at all, with the Iraqi Prime Minister (who is Shia, so not pre-disposed to cover up for a Sunni attack) blaming the killings on the company's employees and describing it as a "crime." The Iraqi Interior Ministry says it is pulling the license of the company to operate in Iraq and will try to prosecute any foreign contractors found to have used excessive force in the Sunday shooting.
Still, even before all the details come to light, a few things are clear:
1) It was inevitable. Private military contractors have been involved in all sorts of questionable incidents, since the very start of the Iraq enterprise. U.S. military officers frequently expressed their frustrations with sharing the battlefield with such private forces operating under their own rules and agendas, and worry about the consequences for their own operations. For example, Brigadier General Karl Horst, deputy commander of the US 3rd Infantry Division (responsible for Baghdad area) tellingly put it two years back, These guys run loose in this country and do stupid stuff. There’s no authority over them, so you can’t come down on them hard when they escalate force. They shoot people, and someone else has to deal with the aftermath.”
No one has kept an exact count of the incidents, but some notable examples include:
The Aegis “trophy video,” in which contractors took video of themselves shooting at civilians, set it to the Elvis song "Runaway Train," and put it on the Internet.
The alleged joyride shootings of Iraqi civilians by a Triple Canopy supervisor. They became the subject of a lawsuit after two employees, who claim to have witnessed the shootings, lost their jobs.
Armed contractors from the Zapata firm detained by U.S. forces, who allegedly saw the private soldiers indiscriminately firing not only at Iraqi civilians, but also at U.S. Marines. Again, they were not charged, as the legal issues could not be squared. Private military firms may be part of the military operation, but they and their employees are not part of the military, or its chain of command or its code of justice.
Abu Ghraib, where reportedly 100 percent of the translators and up to 50 percent of the interrogators at the prison were private contractors from the Titan and CACI firms, respectively. The U.S. Army found that contractors were involved in 36% of the proven abuse incidents and identified six particular employees as being culpable in the abuses. While the enlisted U.S. Army soldiers involved in the Abu Ghraib abuse were court-martialed for their crimes, not a single private contractor named in the Army's investigation report has been charged, prosecuted or punished. The Army believes it lacks the jurisdiction to pursue these cases, even if it wants to.
The inevitable part was not just the shootings, but the government's reaction, which has been on the horizon for a while. The Iraqi government is supposedly a sovereign state, so it is not surprising that at some point it would start to act like one, trying to enforce its monopoly over violence against other armed organizations on the ground.
2) Pay attention to the politics. 2) The underlying politics to this are important to understand. Private contractors are a visible and especially disliked part of the US presence in Iraq. So a good way for Iraqi government officials, who are often depicted as stooges of the US, to try to burnish their nationalist credentials is to go after the contractors. They can make it look like they are standing up to the big bad outsiders, but not do so against U.S. troops. As AFP noted, “Monday's action against Blackwater was likely to give the unpopular government a boost, given the contractors' widespread unpopularity.”
3) That it was Blackwater is unsurprising. As illustrated by the examples listed above, Blackwater is not the only company working in Iraq. Indeed, the L.A. Times recently reported that there may be over 160,000 private contractors working in Iraq, as many as the overall number of US forces even after the “surge.” However, Blackwater has been one of the most visible -- unusual for an industry that typically tries to avoid the limelight. This notoriety makes Blackwater a fatter target than, say, an unknown British or Bulgarian company.
The relationship between the Iraqi government and Blackwater is particularly tense -- and not just because armed Blackwater guards are the contractors that senior Iraqi government officials run into the most. On Christmas Eve 2006, a Blackwater employee allegedly got drunk while inside the Green Zone in Baghdad and got in an argument with a guard of the Iraqi Vice President. He then shot the Iraqi dead. The employee was quickly flown out of the country. Nine months later, he has not been charged with any crime. Imagine the same thing happening in the U.S.: An Iraqi embassy guard, drunk at a a Christmas party, shooting a Secret Service agent guarding Vice President Cheney. You can see some potential for underlying tension there. In May 2007, there was another reported shooting of an Interior Ministry driver by Blackwater employees. That led to an armed standoff and had Matthew Degn, a senior American civilian adviser to the Interior Ministry's intelligence directorate, describing the ministry as "a powder keg" of anger at the firm.
4) This is what happens when government fails to act. The problems with the absence of oversight, management, doctrine, and even law and order when it comes to private military contractors have been known for a while. Heck, I wrote a book about it back in 2003, before the Iraq invasion. While the industry has boomed, the vacuum of policy and strategy has continued for years. In June 2006, for example, the Government Accountability Office reported that “private security providers continue to enter the battle space without coordinating with the U.S. military, putting both the military and security providers at a greater risk for injury.”
U.S. officers in the field are also complaining about the underlying harm created by this lack of policy. For example, Col. Peter Mansoor is one of the most influential military thinkers on counterinsurgency -- currently serving as Gen. David Petraeus' executive officer. In 2007, he told Jane's Defense Weekly that the U.S. military needs to take "a real hard look at security contractors on future battlefields and figure out a way to get a handle on them so that they can be better integrated -- if we're going to allow them to be used in the first place. If they push traffic off the roads or if they shoot up a car that looks suspicious, whatever it may be, they may be operating within their contract (but) to the detriment of the mission, which is to bring the people over to your side. I would much rather see basically all armed entities in a counter-insurgency operation fall under a military chain of command."
Yet, nothing much has happened. Indeed, the only real action was limited efforts in the Congress. In Fall 2006, Senator Lindsay Graham slipped into the 2007 Defense Bill a clause that could potentially place contractors and others who accompany American troops in the field under the U.S. military’s Uniform Code of Military Justice (UCMJ). That is, he changed the law defining UCMJ to cover civilians -- not just in times of declared war, but also during contingency operations. Almost 10 months later, however, no Pentagon guidance has been issued on how this clause might be used by JAGs in the field. So, its impact so far has been like a tree falling in the forest, with no one around.
More broadly, there have been several recent efforts at bringing some transparency and oversight to the U.S. side of the industry. Key players have been Representatives Jan Schakowsky and David Price, and Senator Barack Obama. (His bill, the "Transparency and Accountability in Military and Security Contracting Act of 2007,” essentially brings together the reforms sought by Schakowsky and Price on the House side.) These have not yet passed into law, but may during the upcoming debates. Whether the executive branch will use them, though, returns us back to the problem of inaction on Graham’s bill.
The point is that the U.S. government has paid for the industry for years, but had tried to ignore the accompanying responsibility for the consequences. In lieu of our own inaction, the Iraqi government has stepped in, perhaps in a way that we may not be happy with.
Of course, there is an underlying irony. There are reports that the “license” that the Iraqi government is supposedly revoking doesn’t exist. The Iraqi Interior Ministry is the entity that every contractor is supposed to register with, but it is also the organization that the recent panel led by retired General James Jones described as "dysfunctional" and "a ministry in name only." So many companies have been unable to register, and many contractors have even had to resort to using their business cards as if they were official IDs. It will be interesting to see if this included the very company hired to guard senior U.S. leaders in Iraq.
5) Over outsource and you paint yourself into a corner. This is what happens when you hollow out your operations. Blackwater has a contract to guard State Department employees. Now, the question must be asked: If the company cannot do so, what happens next?
Tongue in cheek, one could say that we all learned last week that: (a) the U.S. has enough extra military forces in Iraq and (b) the security situation is getting better. So, if this is true, then what’s all the fuss?
Of course, we all know that the whole Kabuki play last week in Congress was false and that the security situation is atrocious and that State personnel still need to be guarded. Back in the day, all of these roles would have been filled either by military forces or State Department diplomatic security. But our military forces are stretched thin, and the government’s diplomatic security force has been hollowed out at the same time that the need for it has expanded. (And just for the record: A consortium of companies, led by Blackwater, got a $1 billion contract to do the global State Department diplomatic security job last year. So it wasn't exactly a lack of money that caused the hollowing.)
So, in the short term following such a market failure, we have three likely choices: 1) ignore the Iraqis' wishes and just keeping on using Blackwater contractors as before; 2) find another company to step in and quick-fill take on these roles in lieu of the firm; or 3) negotiate with the Iraqis to find terms under which the firm might continue to carry out the operation (such as promising a joint investigation, payments to civilians, etc.). Obviously, none of these is a great solution in the short term. None solve the long-term problems. But those are the terrible cards we have in our hands right now. Again, we can't blame anyone else. When it comes to military outsourcing: We dealt these cards to ourselves.
As we now see in Iraq and elsewhere, the privatized military industry is a reality of the 21st century. This entrance of the profit motive onto the battlefield opens up vast, new possibilities, but also a series of troubling questions – for democracy, for ethics, for management, for law, for human rights, and for national and international security. At what point do we begin answering them?
-- P.W. Singer is Senior Fellow and Director of the 21st Century Defense Initiative at The Brookings Institution. He is the author of Corporate Warriors: The Rise of the Privatized Military Industry. His writings are available at pwsinger.com.
14.9.07
Iraq First
The IZ is divided into different areas. There is one area - one that seems fairly safe and secure and is full of Americans - where I spend a great deal of my time. On Tuesday, there was a press conference that I decided to attend, and it was on the Government of Iraq’s side. A friend offered to drive me since he was going anyway. I'll leave the friend's name out of this, but let's just say he's well connected. (Incidentally, on this very morning, I heard my first car bomb - it's always good to have someone who knows what's going on to interpret the various blasts that I hear but cannot identify). As we approached the heavily guarded entrance to the Iraqi side of the IZ, I noticed that there were two lanes of traffic. One lane was backed up at least 200 meters, the cars in front all opened up for search. The other lane was empty, and it's the one we breezed through thanks to my friend. I asked why the lane was so backed up, and he said because of threat/suspicion of a bomb every car would be searched carefully. He said that sometimes searching just one car that is a potential threat can take hours. Most members of the press would be in that lane.
I am not a seasoned journalist who is hellbent on getting the story first; in fact this is my first foray into reporting. But here in Iraq, I have become a "member of the press" and have my own little official press badge. At best I’m a patriotic American here to find out the truth. I could also be described as a nobody who writes when inspired. So it was ironic when I found myself to be the only Western journalist that made it to the Iraqi government building for the unveiling of the first ever comprehensive Iraqi National Security Strategy. For two hours I waited, along with probably 20 or 30 Iraqi men - journalists and government officials, aids and advisors - for the Iraqi National Security Advisor, Dr. Muwafaq al-Rubaie, to arrive and present this document that has been two years in the making. At the last minute, a famous NBC international correspondent showed up with his camera crew and ruined my scoop. But for a time I was the one and only.
This new strategy, called "Iraq First," is a comprehensive look at the trials that face what is in essence a brand new country. It is still called Iraq as it has been for decades, but this country is being built from the ground up. I only imagine that starting a country from scratch might be difficult under the most peaceful circumstances, but in the midst of age old sectarian...shall we call it "competition"...that has become violent, starting a country is a fairly daunting task. This new document is a ray of hope. It is Iraq’s vision of itself as a country, and it outlines how Iraq plans on defending itself. It was not written by the United States or another member of the Coalition. In fact its freshly printed pages were translated from Arabic to English for this ceremony. It is another small demonstration of Iraqi solidarity as they build nation they can be proud of.
I am not a seasoned journalist who is hellbent on getting the story first; in fact this is my first foray into reporting. But here in Iraq, I have become a "member of the press" and have my own little official press badge. At best I’m a patriotic American here to find out the truth. I could also be described as a nobody who writes when inspired. So it was ironic when I found myself to be the only Western journalist that made it to the Iraqi government building for the unveiling of the first ever comprehensive Iraqi National Security Strategy. For two hours I waited, along with probably 20 or 30 Iraqi men - journalists and government officials, aids and advisors - for the Iraqi National Security Advisor, Dr. Muwafaq al-Rubaie, to arrive and present this document that has been two years in the making. At the last minute, a famous NBC international correspondent showed up with his camera crew and ruined my scoop. But for a time I was the one and only.
This new strategy, called "Iraq First," is a comprehensive look at the trials that face what is in essence a brand new country. It is still called Iraq as it has been for decades, but this country is being built from the ground up. I only imagine that starting a country from scratch might be difficult under the most peaceful circumstances, but in the midst of age old sectarian...shall we call it "competition"...that has become violent, starting a country is a fairly daunting task. This new document is a ray of hope. It is Iraq’s vision of itself as a country, and it outlines how Iraq plans on defending itself. It was not written by the United States or another member of the Coalition. In fact its freshly printed pages were translated from Arabic to English for this ceremony. It is another small demonstration of Iraqi solidarity as they build nation they can be proud of.
9.9.07
"Kit"
This is me riding through the red zone all decked out in my "kit" (protective gear). The HUGE shades are not a fashion statement...just part of the kit.
Sacrifices
The grand ballroom in the former Presidential Palace is now the largest coffee shop I have ever seen. The lattes are fabulous thanks to three young men from Nepal who work ridiculous hours. One day I ordered a single latte and a double latte. The next day, when they saw me standing in line, the tall, handsome Nepali man said with his proudest smile: "single latte double latte." I've thought about trying the chai espresso, but I appreciate so much the fact that they remember my order that I don't want to change it up on them. On less busy days, they draw little hearts in the foam on top of my latte.
Metal bookcases are filled with used books that are traded on a take-a-book-leave-a-book type system. There are racks of magazines, most of which interest me none, with titles that talk about electronics, guns, and such things. I did find a Conde Nast Travel magazine that kept me occupied for an hour or so. Round tables are scattered across the ballroom, and there are several living room type seating areas, with sofas, armchairs, ottomans, and side tables. On the other side of a room divider are 20 computers with internet access.
At any given time, at least one sofa holds a sleeping soldier, sailor, airman or marine. I can only make presumptions as to why these guys don't go back to their quarters to sleep. Is it because the palace is safer? Is the break so short that walking back to quarters is not worth the trouble? Either way, this image of exhausted men sleeping in this ballroom will forever be burned in my memory.
This palace ballroom is where the people who work in Embassy Annex come to eat a quick lunch, to have a casual meeting (mostly State Dept. people), to play chess or a card game, or to connect with home. I spend a lot of time watching and listening in this room.
Yesterday a group of soldiers sat at a table near mine. As they got up I could hear them making plans for the evening when I heard one man say, "I won't be able to make it; they're inducing my wife tonight; I'll be a dad by this time tomorrow." The words were spoken as a matter-of-fact, and I am sure this man was not seeking sympathy from anyone. He was just beaming proud as can be. But how difficult it must be for him to miss the birth of his child. And I can't help but think of his wife, delivering a child without its father there to help her welcome a son or daughter. She must have strength that I can only imagine. She has to.
Every day, I spend some time sitting at a computer writing, sending e-mails, planning my journey home. And every day, I cannot help but notice that the men at computers next to me are, in large part, fixated on one thing: women. I see men signing up for online dating services, chatting with other chatters with handles like "sweet thing" (I'm just guessing this is a girl's handle), and writing letters to girlfriends, wives, fiances. Most of these guys are surrounded by their friends, but they are lonely for something more.
Jeremy has been successful as a commander in the Army. He holds a fairly important position here, and has spent well over half of the past four years either here in Iraq. He wants to have a family, and it's just not happening when he's only home for 4-5 months at a time and knows he'll be returning to Iraq so often. This guy would be quite a catch, but he isn't in one place long enough to be caught! He is successful, but he knows there is more to life than being successful at work. He wants to continue to help in this effort to give Iraq freedom - a cause that he believes in - but he is sacrificing his dreams of having a family to serve here.
Eugene has been overseas six times, and has opened a Dear John letter on four of those six deployments. He has a girlfriend now, and he's just not sure she can handle him being away for so long. "It's just too hard for them - knowing that this probably won't be the last time, and being scared of losing me, so they just call it off." They just call it off.
Rick is in love with his wife and has teenage children. This father is on his way home in a couple of weeks. I spoke to him just after he got off the phone with his 13-year-old son who just started football season. This man has been away almost three of the last four years - since his son was 9-years-old. During this conversation, his son asked him at least three times if he would be able to see him play football this year. Praise God, this man will be home in time to see half the season. His boy said hasn't gotten a tackle yet. But he's working real hard, and by the time Dad gets home, he'll be ready to show off for him.
There are the obvious sacrifices - those of life and limb. And then there are the more subtle ways that these men and women give their lives for us. Do everything you can to support those who protect us.
Metal bookcases are filled with used books that are traded on a take-a-book-leave-a-book type system. There are racks of magazines, most of which interest me none, with titles that talk about electronics, guns, and such things. I did find a Conde Nast Travel magazine that kept me occupied for an hour or so. Round tables are scattered across the ballroom, and there are several living room type seating areas, with sofas, armchairs, ottomans, and side tables. On the other side of a room divider are 20 computers with internet access.
At any given time, at least one sofa holds a sleeping soldier, sailor, airman or marine. I can only make presumptions as to why these guys don't go back to their quarters to sleep. Is it because the palace is safer? Is the break so short that walking back to quarters is not worth the trouble? Either way, this image of exhausted men sleeping in this ballroom will forever be burned in my memory.
This palace ballroom is where the people who work in Embassy Annex come to eat a quick lunch, to have a casual meeting (mostly State Dept. people), to play chess or a card game, or to connect with home. I spend a lot of time watching and listening in this room.
Yesterday a group of soldiers sat at a table near mine. As they got up I could hear them making plans for the evening when I heard one man say, "I won't be able to make it; they're inducing my wife tonight; I'll be a dad by this time tomorrow." The words were spoken as a matter-of-fact, and I am sure this man was not seeking sympathy from anyone. He was just beaming proud as can be. But how difficult it must be for him to miss the birth of his child. And I can't help but think of his wife, delivering a child without its father there to help her welcome a son or daughter. She must have strength that I can only imagine. She has to.
Every day, I spend some time sitting at a computer writing, sending e-mails, planning my journey home. And every day, I cannot help but notice that the men at computers next to me are, in large part, fixated on one thing: women. I see men signing up for online dating services, chatting with other chatters with handles like "sweet thing" (I'm just guessing this is a girl's handle), and writing letters to girlfriends, wives, fiances. Most of these guys are surrounded by their friends, but they are lonely for something more.
Jeremy has been successful as a commander in the Army. He holds a fairly important position here, and has spent well over half of the past four years either here in Iraq. He wants to have a family, and it's just not happening when he's only home for 4-5 months at a time and knows he'll be returning to Iraq so often. This guy would be quite a catch, but he isn't in one place long enough to be caught! He is successful, but he knows there is more to life than being successful at work. He wants to continue to help in this effort to give Iraq freedom - a cause that he believes in - but he is sacrificing his dreams of having a family to serve here.
Eugene has been overseas six times, and has opened a Dear John letter on four of those six deployments. He has a girlfriend now, and he's just not sure she can handle him being away for so long. "It's just too hard for them - knowing that this probably won't be the last time, and being scared of losing me, so they just call it off." They just call it off.
Rick is in love with his wife and has teenage children. This father is on his way home in a couple of weeks. I spoke to him just after he got off the phone with his 13-year-old son who just started football season. This man has been away almost three of the last four years - since his son was 9-years-old. During this conversation, his son asked him at least three times if he would be able to see him play football this year. Praise God, this man will be home in time to see half the season. His boy said hasn't gotten a tackle yet. But he's working real hard, and by the time Dad gets home, he'll be ready to show off for him.
There are the obvious sacrifices - those of life and limb. And then there are the more subtle ways that these men and women give their lives for us. Do everything you can to support those who protect us.
7.9.07
Reality of Fear
As I sit here in Saddam's old Presidential Palace, it is fairly easy to forget that I am in a warzone. This palace is amazing. And it's not just the inside of the palace that's fairly nice. The IZ is somewhat of an oasis in the desert, with lots of palm trees and even a pool behind the palace. There is a lot of dust, and the daily sounds of war can be heard - sometimes in the distance, and sometimes close enough to be pretty scary. But for the most part, I think I could live here for a while and be pretty comfortable.
But that blast this morning, it cost someone, maybe lots of someones, their very life. It's easy to ignore the real meaning of that loud boom when I am safe and surrounded by concrete T-walls and a bunch of tough soldiers and marines. That blast was nothing to me because it wasn't close enough to scare me as I sip my latte and eat my Special-K. But that blast changed someone's life forever. There is a family in this city for whom September 8, 2007 will forever be engraved on their hearts as the day they lost that one they loved.
I've written a little about the dangers I face here, and some of my fearful moments as I spend 10-15 minutes riding through the red zone under heavy guard in armored vehicle. And then I remind myself that there are children who LIVE in the red zone - families who are trying to make it in the city of their birth, hoping that today will not be the day when they meet death.
I heard a story last night, one that made me grieve for the terror, the confusion, and the utter sadness that has come to this land through the quest of a few men - men who terrorize their own people in the name of Allah - to have worldly power at the cost of innocent lives.
Somewhere outside of Fallujah, a Marine saw a man digging a hole in the ground on the side of the road. This Marine had lost buddies to roadside bombs, so it would be understandable if he reacted with less restraint than he did. He could have avoided risking his own life, and simply shot the man who was digging what most would assume was a hole for an IED. But instead, as I believe and hope that most of our soldiers and marines would do, he took the high road - the one that led him into what could have been his own death. He took an Iraqi interpreter and walked out to a man who appeared to be planting an IED.
Through the interpreter, the Marine found out that this Iraqi husband and father was out in the middle of the night with his shovel because the sewer line in his house was backed up. He was trying to take care of his family. The Marine called for a detachment of his men, armed with shovels, to help with the digging, and the sewage system was working before the sun was up. Thanks to insurgents who have made it impossible to recognize the enemy, this Iraqi man could have been killed. But thanks to an American Marine who risked his own life and went the extra mile, an Iraqi man went home a hero in the eyes of his family.
The soldier who told me this story began to swell with emotion, his eyes turning red and rimming with tears at the thought of what could have so easily happened that night. I am moved by the compassion of this man - this soldier - who wants more than anything for the people or Iraq to live in freedom and not in fear. And I am once again moved by the compassion and selflessness of our Marines and soldiers.
A Marine COl who has spent over two years in this conflict and now trains Iraqi soldiers told me there are two messages he'd like to send to whomever will listen:
1. We have to finish this war for the Iraqi people. Whether the past was handled perfectly or not, we must look forward and ensure that, when we leave this place, it is a place where people can LIVE without fear.
2. "I don't want my 11-year-old boy finishing this war for me, and that's what will happen if we leave without finishing what we've started."
But that blast this morning, it cost someone, maybe lots of someones, their very life. It's easy to ignore the real meaning of that loud boom when I am safe and surrounded by concrete T-walls and a bunch of tough soldiers and marines. That blast was nothing to me because it wasn't close enough to scare me as I sip my latte and eat my Special-K. But that blast changed someone's life forever. There is a family in this city for whom September 8, 2007 will forever be engraved on their hearts as the day they lost that one they loved.
I've written a little about the dangers I face here, and some of my fearful moments as I spend 10-15 minutes riding through the red zone under heavy guard in armored vehicle. And then I remind myself that there are children who LIVE in the red zone - families who are trying to make it in the city of their birth, hoping that today will not be the day when they meet death.
I heard a story last night, one that made me grieve for the terror, the confusion, and the utter sadness that has come to this land through the quest of a few men - men who terrorize their own people in the name of Allah - to have worldly power at the cost of innocent lives.
Somewhere outside of Fallujah, a Marine saw a man digging a hole in the ground on the side of the road. This Marine had lost buddies to roadside bombs, so it would be understandable if he reacted with less restraint than he did. He could have avoided risking his own life, and simply shot the man who was digging what most would assume was a hole for an IED. But instead, as I believe and hope that most of our soldiers and marines would do, he took the high road - the one that led him into what could have been his own death. He took an Iraqi interpreter and walked out to a man who appeared to be planting an IED.
Through the interpreter, the Marine found out that this Iraqi husband and father was out in the middle of the night with his shovel because the sewer line in his house was backed up. He was trying to take care of his family. The Marine called for a detachment of his men, armed with shovels, to help with the digging, and the sewage system was working before the sun was up. Thanks to insurgents who have made it impossible to recognize the enemy, this Iraqi man could have been killed. But thanks to an American Marine who risked his own life and went the extra mile, an Iraqi man went home a hero in the eyes of his family.
The soldier who told me this story began to swell with emotion, his eyes turning red and rimming with tears at the thought of what could have so easily happened that night. I am moved by the compassion of this man - this soldier - who wants more than anything for the people or Iraq to live in freedom and not in fear. And I am once again moved by the compassion and selflessness of our Marines and soldiers.
A Marine COl who has spent over two years in this conflict and now trains Iraqi soldiers told me there are two messages he'd like to send to whomever will listen:
1. We have to finish this war for the Iraqi people. Whether the past was handled perfectly or not, we must look forward and ensure that, when we leave this place, it is a place where people can LIVE without fear.
2. "I don't want my 11-year-old boy finishing this war for me, and that's what will happen if we leave without finishing what we've started."
5.9.07
Al Faw Palace
Al Faw Palace 
was the destination for my second trip into the "Red Zone" of Baghdad. It is one amazing place, though not more amazing than my daily hangout, the former Presidential Palace. Al Faw is the location for some of the military headquarters in Baghdad, and it is buzzing with important people doing important things. I have more photos that I'll post later. The Palace is...well...palatial, to be completely obvious. The chandelier that can be seen in the second photo is at least 30 feet tall. The photo does it no justice. And the third photo is of the absolutely intricate design of the ceiling. It appears to be either carved of wood and painted, or made from a mold. The following is an interesting blurb on Al Faw Palace, taken in my laziness from the ever knowledgable Wikipedia:
The Al Faw Palace (also known as the 'Water Palace') is located in Baghdad approximately 5km from the Baghdad International Airport, Iraq and was commissioned to be built by Saddam Hussein to commemorate the re-taking of the Al Faw Peninsula by Iraqi forces during the Iran-Iraq conflict. The palace is situated on a former resort complex about 8 kilometers from the 'Green Zone', which is now referred to as the 'International Zone' or 'IZ' and the complex contains numerous villas and smaller palaces and is now one of the largest US/Coalition bases in Iraq (Camp Victory/ Camp Liberty). The palace contains over 62 rooms and 29 bathrooms. Many of the rooms have now been converted to serve as offices, and since 2004 the Palace has been used as the headquarters for the Multinational Force Iraq (MNFI) along with the Joint Operations Center (JOC), which serves as 'Mission Control' for all operational aspects of Operation Iraqi Freedom.
There is an artificial lake surrounding the palace that has a special breed of large bass dubbed the Saddam bass as well as large carp. Saddam formerly used the palace for duck-hunting expeditions.Because of the very light damage to the Al Faw Palace and other structures located on what is now Camp Victory, it is widely presumed that the planners of the 2003 invasion intended that this area would be used as a headquarters and main base area following the liberation of Baghdad. The resort is surrounded by high walls with preconstructed security towers which contributes to more readily maintaining surveillance and security for the former resort.
Ride in the Red Zone
Protected by body armor and Kevlar helmet, I load into the passenger seat of the third in a group of three armored SUVs about to make the trip from Camp Victory to the International Zone (Green Zone). The drive takes only 15 minutes or so (if that), but it seems like a lifetime. The driver is talking to me, telling me about the armor that protects the vehicle, noting the thickness of the bulletproof windows, and pointing out various landmarks that we pass along the way - the place where Saddam was sentenced to death, the oddly shaped "Tomb of the Unknown Soldier," and a brand new billboard. There are some landmarks that need no explanation - shells of buildings that have been gutted by the blast of a car bomb or suicide bomb. There are plenty of buildings that are only half-standing. The roads are eerily deserted due to mandatory Friday curfew, and we are moving at a nice clip as I attempt to snap pictures. On a subsequent trip to Camp Victory, I will learn that curfew day, though it seems eerie, feels much safer than other days, when there is the possibility of a dangerous traffic jam. As we leave Camp Victory, just prior to entering the Red Zone, a soldier gets out of the lead car and walks to the top of some contraption that resembles a deer stand. I ask what he's doing, and my kind driver explains to me that he's looking for threats ahead...making sure things are clear before we head into the danger zone. After passing through the gate, my driver revs the engine and sticks to the back side of the second SUV. There will be no getting in the middle of this entourage. We move erratically back and forth from side to side, making our vehicle an unpredictable target in case we are shot at. The driver points out the thickness of the bulletproof windows.
We approach an overpass, and I hear radio chatter that the overpass appears to be clear. With every crossing pedestrian, there is a radio call. Roadkill does not go unnoticed. All of my senses are engaged. I do not feel afraid. But I am alert and ready thanks to a healthy shot of adrenaline. I'm in no real danger. My driver is experieced, and I know I am safe. I feel a little guilty. Guilty because I know that if anything were to happen, this man who has a wife and kids back home would sacrifice his life to save this girl he doesn't really even know. I think of the soldiers who spend their days patrolling on foot in the heart of Baghdad. And the ones who are on convoy duty day in and day out, hauling supplies in and out of Iraq, vulnerable to every kind of danger. They spend every day risking their lives for some girl with a backpack on her way to school back in Texas, some boy on his way to market in Baghdad, for you, for me. These boys - these men - these are heroes.
4.9.07
Duck and Cover
Saddam Hussein was fanatical about many things, not the least of which was his own security. In fact, I've heard that his obsession bordered on paranoia. I cannot remember all of the details of these safety precautions he's taken. Suffice it to say that the palaces that house the American Embassy and other U.S. government offices are fairly immune to the "indirect fire" that insurgents fire on the International Zone. The mortar rounds merely chip away at the exterior of the building, and cause a lot of noise.
I typically spend most of my time in one of these palaces, but last night I was drying my hair in the trailer where I live, the walls of which are far less impenetrable than those of Saddam's palace, when I felt the earth move.
Before last night, the rumble of the air conditioner turning over, or the thump of dates falling from palms onto the roof of the trailer got my heart pounding with thoughts of bombs and mortar rounds. Last night something became very clear to me: when there comes a mortar round, there will be no wondering what it is I'm hearing.
I quickly slipped on my shoes, grabbed my Iraqna cellular calling device, and scampered to the "duck-and-cover" bunker (I've taken to calling it a "hunker-bunker" instead...it has a better ring to it) that sits 20 yards from the trailer. As I arrived breathless in the bunker, the sirens began, telling all to take cover. The streets that are usually full of people at this hour, were completely deserted. Everyone was in a bunker, but somehow I managed to be all alone in mine, not really sure how many more rounds would be fired or when it would be safe to leave. (The positive aspect of my aloneness is that I was spared the embarassment of being scantily clad in my night-clothes in front of other hunkerers).
I made a quick phone call to my "security detail" to let him know I was not in the palace where he last saw me, but that I was OK. Out of breath from running downstairs to the Green Bean coffee shop only to find that I was not there, he told me to wait in the "hunker-bunker" until the all clear call. I sat there praying that it was over for about 10 minutes, and then came the clear call. I calmly walked back to the trailer and put on proper clothing before I called my security detail and let him know I would be spending the rest of the evening in the heavily fortified palace.
I typically spend most of my time in one of these palaces, but last night I was drying my hair in the trailer where I live, the walls of which are far less impenetrable than those of Saddam's palace, when I felt the earth move.
Before last night, the rumble of the air conditioner turning over, or the thump of dates falling from palms onto the roof of the trailer got my heart pounding with thoughts of bombs and mortar rounds. Last night something became very clear to me: when there comes a mortar round, there will be no wondering what it is I'm hearing.
I quickly slipped on my shoes, grabbed my Iraqna cellular calling device, and scampered to the "duck-and-cover" bunker (I've taken to calling it a "hunker-bunker" instead...it has a better ring to it) that sits 20 yards from the trailer. As I arrived breathless in the bunker, the sirens began, telling all to take cover. The streets that are usually full of people at this hour, were completely deserted. Everyone was in a bunker, but somehow I managed to be all alone in mine, not really sure how many more rounds would be fired or when it would be safe to leave. (The positive aspect of my aloneness is that I was spared the embarassment of being scantily clad in my night-clothes in front of other hunkerers).
I made a quick phone call to my "security detail" to let him know I was not in the palace where he last saw me, but that I was OK. Out of breath from running downstairs to the Green Bean coffee shop only to find that I was not there, he told me to wait in the "hunker-bunker" until the all clear call. I sat there praying that it was over for about 10 minutes, and then came the clear call. I calmly walked back to the trailer and put on proper clothing before I called my security detail and let him know I would be spending the rest of the evening in the heavily fortified palace.
2.9.07
Staging Post
This Army post is quite possibly the loneliest, saddest place I have ever been. It is hands down the eeriest. I can not say where it is located, but it is a war staging area in the middle of the desert, and it is hot - sometimes upwards of 120 degrees. I spend two nights here awaiting transport to Baghdad. This the gateway to Iraq, and to Afghanistan. The loneliness and fear in this place are palpable.
With but a few exceptions, every soul who is here is on his way to spend a year or more away from loved ones and home. Everyone here is on his way to war. The misery of dreading an entire year away from loved ones is written on every face. The fear of unknown is evident in the eyes of many. And the familiarity of this routine can be seen in the resolve of those who are back for a second, third, or fourth time. People wander around in a half-zombie state, exhausted from traveling, lonely, scared - these people are going to war, and their faces show it.
Maybe this is the worst part - the dreading what is to come. I hope that is the case.
Day and night are one and the same here. When I arrive at almost midnight, I watch a game of volleyball as I eat my dinner. I am not tired because it is daytime at home, but I try to sleep. Sleep does not come easily because the lights in my tent remain on at all hours. Daytime is more suited to sleep than nighttime in this strange place that never sleeps. Thankfully, these tents are air conditioned.
I wake at 6:00 a.m. for morning roll call, and then fall asleep until 2:00 p.m. - the hottest part of the day, and it is unbearable. The desert sun reflects off of every surface, making it nearly impossible to see. Only a few people mill among the canvas tents that serve as makeshift hotels.
Night falls again, and people return. We are all waiting to board a plane for somewhere else. Of course, there are people who are stationed in this place who help soldiers get where they're going. They are the most cheerful crowd, and it's a good thing. This place, and these soldiers could use some good cheer.
With but a few exceptions, every soul who is here is on his way to spend a year or more away from loved ones and home. Everyone here is on his way to war. The misery of dreading an entire year away from loved ones is written on every face. The fear of unknown is evident in the eyes of many. And the familiarity of this routine can be seen in the resolve of those who are back for a second, third, or fourth time. People wander around in a half-zombie state, exhausted from traveling, lonely, scared - these people are going to war, and their faces show it.
Maybe this is the worst part - the dreading what is to come. I hope that is the case.
Day and night are one and the same here. When I arrive at almost midnight, I watch a game of volleyball as I eat my dinner. I am not tired because it is daytime at home, but I try to sleep. Sleep does not come easily because the lights in my tent remain on at all hours. Daytime is more suited to sleep than nighttime in this strange place that never sleeps. Thankfully, these tents are air conditioned.
I wake at 6:00 a.m. for morning roll call, and then fall asleep until 2:00 p.m. - the hottest part of the day, and it is unbearable. The desert sun reflects off of every surface, making it nearly impossible to see. Only a few people mill among the canvas tents that serve as makeshift hotels.
Night falls again, and people return. We are all waiting to board a plane for somewhere else. Of course, there are people who are stationed in this place who help soldiers get where they're going. They are the most cheerful crowd, and it's a good thing. This place, and these soldiers could use some good cheer.
31.8.07
Combat Arrival
It's 8:00 am on Friday, and here I am in the hot belly of a C-130 with at least 50 sweaty soldiers and two pallets of luggage. Seats line the outer walls of the aircraft - facing the middle, with two rows back to back running down the middle as well. So we sit, each in our twenty-two inches of posterior room, knees tangled together, carryon luggage in our laps, and we wait. The engine turns, and I assume we must be moving, but there are no windows, making it difficult to tell for sure. I begin to feel claustrophobic as the desert heat forms beads of sweat that soak my clothes. The belly of this plane is not air conditioned, and the loading dock has been sealed, creating air so thick it's hard to breathe. I feel us move, but it seems like we're in reverse. I can't really tell which way we're going, and have to remind myself that the loading dock is at my right, so we must be moving towards my left. I feel the shudder of takeoff...I think...I am so disoriented it's hard to tell. Only when we hit turbulence from moving through the heat am I certain that we are off the ground.
The flight is an hour and a half long, and I am in misery most of the time. My back aches, my hips hurt, and the heavy bag I'm holding on my lap is pressing my thighs into the bar below, cutting off circulation and putting my legs to sleep. There's not enough room to shift in my seat, but there's no way I can sit still.
Meanwhile, the cute little girl soldier across from me sticks a Cheerio in the mouth of a friend who is sleeping so soundly his mouth has fallen open. The guy next to me says he has two kids. He looks at his watch and says they're on the way to go bowling - they go every Thursday night with a program back home for children of deployed members of the Armed Forces. He is on his way to war for a year or more. I don't ask his age, but he he no more than 25. Soon the proud father is asleep, along with just about all the other soldiers, sprawled over each other like family. There are a few other civilians on this flight, and they are the only ones who seem to share my misery. I am humbled by these soldiers, most of whom are 10 years younger than I am.
An hour or so into the flight, I feel the plane lurch and drop. And then again. And again. We are making a combat descent - it makes us a more difficult target for surface-to-air fire and it reminds me of the gravitron at the state fair. We are pulling a few Gs in a C-130, and it's making my stomach turn, my head spin. I'm not sure I can make it without tossing my cookies. Even the soldiers are awake now, with eyes becoming saucers everytime the plane makes a sharp turn while losing quick altitude. All of the planes that land in Baghdad these days use this combat descent. I am thankful I didn't fly commercial. I'm glad to be in the hands of the U.S. Air Force instead of a foreign airline pilot. I feel our wheels graze the ground, and then glide along the tarmac, and I wonder just how long I've been holding my breath.
The flight is an hour and a half long, and I am in misery most of the time. My back aches, my hips hurt, and the heavy bag I'm holding on my lap is pressing my thighs into the bar below, cutting off circulation and putting my legs to sleep. There's not enough room to shift in my seat, but there's no way I can sit still.
Meanwhile, the cute little girl soldier across from me sticks a Cheerio in the mouth of a friend who is sleeping so soundly his mouth has fallen open. The guy next to me says he has two kids. He looks at his watch and says they're on the way to go bowling - they go every Thursday night with a program back home for children of deployed members of the Armed Forces. He is on his way to war for a year or more. I don't ask his age, but he he no more than 25. Soon the proud father is asleep, along with just about all the other soldiers, sprawled over each other like family. There are a few other civilians on this flight, and they are the only ones who seem to share my misery. I am humbled by these soldiers, most of whom are 10 years younger than I am.
An hour or so into the flight, I feel the plane lurch and drop. And then again. And again. We are making a combat descent - it makes us a more difficult target for surface-to-air fire and it reminds me of the gravitron at the state fair. We are pulling a few Gs in a C-130, and it's making my stomach turn, my head spin. I'm not sure I can make it without tossing my cookies. Even the soldiers are awake now, with eyes becoming saucers everytime the plane makes a sharp turn while losing quick altitude. All of the planes that land in Baghdad these days use this combat descent. I am thankful I didn't fly commercial. I'm glad to be in the hands of the U.S. Air Force instead of a foreign airline pilot. I feel our wheels graze the ground, and then glide along the tarmac, and I wonder just how long I've been holding my breath.
29.8.07
No Better Than Bananas
I made it to the Middle East! So far my trip has gone impressively well. I got reasonably good reat on the transatlantic flight and have met several very interesting people thus far. I'm at a base now where I will wait 24 hours to fly to Baghdad International (BIAP). I should arrive there sometime Thursday night or Friday morning. The lady in charge of media relations said as far as seat priority goes on the flights to Baghdad, soldiers have first priority, then supplies, and media comes just after produce. So I'm just below bananas. I'm sleeping in a tent here - one of what seems like hundreds of brown tents that are set in rows. My tent is close to the latrine, and I got a bottom bunk. Hopefully I'll only spend one night here. In the internet cafe where I sit now, there are several soldiers using webcams to talk to loves ones. These guys are either on their way home, or, more likely, on their way to spend the next year of their lives in Iraq. They must feel lonely leaving family behind, but these shining smiles as soldiers connect with home - these are priceless.
28.8.07
Today's Concerns
I've made it to D.C. and leave this evening for the Middle East. By this time tomorrow, I will be processing through the airport to gain entrance to Baghdad. I can hardly believe I'm writing this. I can hardly believe I'm doing this! I feel like I should probably be scared right now, but so far I'm just pretty excited. I am nervous about little things. Did I turn the oven off this morning after I grilled my breakfast sandwich? (Yes, I made an egg sandwich at 4:00 in the morning - it's going to be a long day, afterall). I made tea too. I'm pretty sure I turned off the stove. I know I didn't leave my Chi iron on, because I brought it with me. It's funny. I brought a Chi flat iron to do my hair, but when I arrive at port of entry I get to pick up an armored helmet and ballistic eyewear that will likely undo whatever styling the Chi has accomplished. Aside from bring the Chi along, I actually packed very light (though by no means as light as my Papa, who packs so light he has to wash his clothes in the sink every night), but you never know when you'll need to straighten some unruly hair. Did I make a mistake checking my only pair of real shoes? (I'm wearing flip-flops). I can't get on the plane from my port of entry to Baghdad without my shoes. Hopefully my checked pack will make it! I am a little nervous that I won't find the guys that are supposed to meet me at port of entry. Funny that I'm bound for the most dangerous place on this planet, and I'm worried about the same stuff I'd be worried about on any old trip across the Southwest. These are all small things, but I do have one serious concern. My biggest stressor is worrying about my family and friends who are worrying about me, because my decision to do this - I'm guessing - has caused some concern. Hopefully reading about my experiences will get you all excited about what I'm doing and alleviate some fears. Most thing aren't as as dramatic on the inside as they seem from the outside.
I look forward to writing my next post from a land far away.
I look forward to writing my next post from a land far away.
20.8.07
a great adventure
One week from tomorrow I leave for Baghdad, the last place on earth I ever thought of visiting at a time like this. Individual body armor has been procured, along with kevlar helmet and ballistic eyewear. The Nikon and its lenses are packed and ready to go, and new hiking boots have been faithfully broken-in. There are details yet to attend to, but I am ready.
Though I never expected to find myself in a warzone of any kind, my circumstances have led me to this place, and I wait with anticipation for arrival in Iraq. I go to write, and will surely capture what I see on camera from time to time. I hope to send home a different, non-mainstream-media perspective on the war and the plight of soldiers and citizens. This will be an adventure to be sure. I am nervous, but excited anticipation prevails at the thought of being witness to what I hope to be the turning point in a war that will be serve as a landmark in the history of our nation. This conflict that lingers over the graves of men and women of Biblical fame is set in a land that is full of history, both brutal and beautiful; and I am eager to see those places of ancient history and history-in-the-making.
My plan is to write a news column for several publications. I will update this blog as I am inspired to do so. Feel free to comment, and to pray for wisdom, inspiration, and safety.
Though I never expected to find myself in a warzone of any kind, my circumstances have led me to this place, and I wait with anticipation for arrival in Iraq. I go to write, and will surely capture what I see on camera from time to time. I hope to send home a different, non-mainstream-media perspective on the war and the plight of soldiers and citizens. This will be an adventure to be sure. I am nervous, but excited anticipation prevails at the thought of being witness to what I hope to be the turning point in a war that will be serve as a landmark in the history of our nation. This conflict that lingers over the graves of men and women of Biblical fame is set in a land that is full of history, both brutal and beautiful; and I am eager to see those places of ancient history and history-in-the-making.
My plan is to write a news column for several publications. I will update this blog as I am inspired to do so. Feel free to comment, and to pray for wisdom, inspiration, and safety.
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