Poems, Murder, IEDs and Bullets for Breakfast

28 June, 2003 2315

Every smile and every tear
Every touch and every song we sing
Walking hand and hand on the pier
All cuddled up in this precious thing

All our nights of longing
Every letter the postman brings
Nights of knowing belonging
All cuddled up in this precious thing

Flugzeug im Bauch[1]
You riding on my back laughing
You tickle me till I shout
All cuddled up in this precious thing

Screaming to the sky longing for you
Walking by your side is better than dreaming
Kissing you sweetly, closing the door to our room
All cuddled up in this precious thing

Knowing you’re thinking what I am
Looking into your eyes and not speaking
Having your beautiful body in my hands
All cuddled up in this precious thing

Dancing with you
Knowing life is so sweet
Sitting and wondering how you do
All cuddled up in this precious thing

Holding you so tight
Caressing you to sleep
Loving you in the night
All cuddled up in this precious thing

Our slowest, longest kiss
A lifetime of love never ending
That’s what our love is…
All cuddled up in this precious thing

Another day is gone – another day closer to coming home to you. I miss you so dearly. I’ll be thankful to see this week pass. It has been a bloody time here as of late, even closer to our compound. Of this past week, I have written little, but I think I am just getting used to violence. Three days ago, I was outside eating breakfast – our first real breakfast. We actually got strawberry milk and pre-packaged omelets. Foley, Conroy, and I were standing outside when only a few feet away, AK-47 fire started popping off. It was a firefight, just over the wall. People started dashing for the wall near the road, G.I.’s in PTs running with their rifles to return fire. Some people around me went into the cafeteria. I just stood there, then another burst of AK-47 fire. I didn’t even budge, it seemed so surreal. I kept eating, looking towards the running soldiers thinking, ‘Ok, now, from where I am standing, am I going to get shot?’ (Some yelling soldiers passed me with guns at the ready) ‘No, I can’t get shot, that is coming from the wall, and the barracks are between me and the wall. There is a gap, but I’m not in the line of fire. No, I am fine. Keep eating.’ It seems the gunfire is increasing. Every night I sit in my room, and Foley and I listen to the BBC. “BRRAA BRRAA BRRRRAA”
“14 rounds that time!” he says.
‘Yep, there’s some more,’ I reply.
“How close do you think that is?”
‘I don’t know, there’s some return fire…listen.’
“POP POP! THUD THUD THUD!”
“Yup, there’s a firefight. Should we do anything?” he’d ask.
‘No, just wait,’ I responded. Some nights I do tell him to get his rifle and get out of bed, just because the shots can get very close. I’m used to it now. BRRAA is AK-47, POP POP is 9mm pistol, THUD THUD is our guys shooting back with .50 caliber machineguns. The night after we got here, one of our convoys got shot at by a single gunman in the night. Our vehicles unleashed a wall of lead, over 1000 rounds of .50 cal, M16A2, and 9mm. All without identifying a target, just shooting aimlessly in the dark suburbs. SGT Castello, our re-enlistment NCO, led the response. That didn’t surprise me, what did surprise me is that we didn’t kill anyone. Not “we” but “them,” I was not part of them. Anyways, I was talking to an Iraqi man last week, and our conversation was interrupted by AK-47 fire only about 100 yards away. We just paused, looked, and continued talking as if nothing happened. So, even during the day, people are shooting here and there. The week was a terrible one though. Every day there has been death, even in our backyard. Now it’s not just Iraqis perishing, it’s G.I.s.
2412 – Conroy just came in from his night patrol.
“You won’t believe what happened! Apache was driving down the road and a motorcycle came along side the Hummers and started cussing at the soldiers, then weaving in and out of the trucks. So the machine gunner shot him. He was trying to shoot the motorcycle, but hit the Iraqi twice in the ass! We drove up to an intersection and we saw a motorcycle lying in the street, and soldiers standing around a man lying in the street. So we stopped and got out. The man’s arms and legs were bound with zip strips (plastic hand-cuffs). He was crying a storm! So, they tossed him in a truck. Major Stanton was laughing his ass off!”
I asked, ‘Did they take his to the hospital, or is he dead?’
“I don’t know, but he’s lucky to be alive. I used that same size bullet to hunt deer with,” he said.
‘Yes, he’s lucky to be alive,’ I just answered.
Last night I was trying to call you for some time, but the phone was out. Then CPT Nicks came in (around 0400) and said, “A father shot his son with a shotgun out back, about 100 meters away. We got there just as the father left. The son, he’s 20, was shot in the face and chest. There’s blood everywhere. It’s nasty Thompson.” Some guys came in said I could go look at the human mess. I looked at the phone, thought of you, and decided it was best to go to sleep. I had absolutely no desire to see the corpse. The son, I found out, wanted to get married – perhaps his love is pregnant, and he didn’t have any money. So he and his father argued, until his father blasted him with a shotgun. What a tragedy! It twists me inside, death, murder, the obliteration of love. To survive a war, to have love, and then to die so violently. It troubles me so. There are people who die everyday that I don’t even write about, just because it happens so often. An old man tries to take brass from an artillery shell, then blows himself up by accident. All to get metal from bullets to sell to get some food. Some people are even cutting down live power lines to get copper from the lines.
Anyways, the wake for this murdered man has lasted two days. Loudspeakers played a cleric’s prayers – hauntingly echoing in song all night long. I looked to the stars and whispered, ‘I love you.’ On Wednesday, I got a report of two men (G.I.s) missing. It turns out they were kidnapped. Their bodies were found today in north Baghdad. I knew that before the BBC. There is so much I know because of my job. I usually find out about something seconds after it happens.
But, there was yet another death, and two severe injuries again today. This time it happened just up the road, and the victims were people I’ve talked to on the radio –specifically Rider 3. He is the regimental operations officer. He lost his arm today, and one of his soldiers was killed by an explosion. An Iraqi man was on the side of the road and waved for help. So the trucks pulled over to help him. The man then ran off, and a large explosion blew them up. Just 1.5 kilometers from my office. The BBC is reporting it now. This was the same day we mourn the death of a soldier belonging to regiment just a day ago. The memorial was yesterday. The amount of death is unreal. It is so close. It’s made me a very serious person.
Tonight an informant was picked up at our gate. He’s told us that someone is planning to attack our barracks with a rocket propelled grenade (RPG). I’m not paranoid, I’m realistic about this place, and I don’t think it will be much longer before we get attacked. It will probably only be a rocket or a shooting, but it is only a matter of time. I imagine being shaken in the night by a shockwave from a blast. It’s not something that scares me, it’s just something I’m prepared for – realistically. You have to be realistic here, not paranoid. You gain a sense of clarity, or cold reason, of seriousness here. I stay safe. Every night I go outside to use the urine tubes “piss tubes” out in the open, I examine the surroundings. I listen, I listen to the dogs. I’m serious enough to realize I could be shot at. Every time I go out, I realize it could be the last time I go out for a walk. So, I’m careful, and I have a sense of how mortal I am. I never doubted that I was so mortal a being, as any other, but never did I think I could die so senselessly. Every step I take, is a step closer to you Nora, in such a true way as many men could never know. I don’t trust anyone in Baghdad. When I go into the city, I have my finger on the trigger of my rifle, and I examine everything. I look for anyone who wants to take my life as we are driving. I stay constantly looking rearward from the side door, making sure each passing car knows that I see them, and that my rifle is ready. As a car comes to pass, I identify everyone in the car and then wave to them. They wave back and smile – OK, keep watching them, but they are a low threat. OK, check the next car – OK, they see you looking at them, they wave a little bit nervously – but I wave back. OK, here comes an overpass – check it all, make sure no one is up there to shoot down at you. If someone wants to murder me, then it will be difficult, because I am always ready to respond. I have a belief about Baghdad, one that I was taught at the Vatican by the priest: protect your life and the life of others. I do not agree with this war, and I am not a person of violence, I wish these people no harm – and I do them no harm. The reality is that despite the immoral war that was won, there is a new authority here. It is not a terrible authority in principle. If someone wishes to take my life and not know me, not judge me, then he is a murderer. I would not let such a person take my life, to steal me unjustly from you. I would protect my life. I am coming home to you healthy and sound. I pray, and I trust in God to protect me. I do my part too, and I don’t play diplomat when in the city. I watch, I make sure to look everyone in the eye and make certain they know I see them. That is how it has to be now. I care about these people, but I’m not going to let a thug take my life. SGT Smith wanted me to go on patrol tonight with Conroy. Had I done that, I would have seen a man shot. I said ‘No’ though this afternoon, very sternly. I did it for you, Nora. I did it to make you feel safer, to make you proud, because I am coming home to you. I’m looking out for myself, I’m doing it for you, and I am protecting my life for you. Being here isn’t going to change our love, our fun, our life – but it may make, no it will, make me so thankful for you and our life together. It will make us stronger to get through this world. I LOVE YOU SO TREMENDOUSLY!

It was around this time that the U.S. Army of our evangelical Christian Bush administration flew in characters like Kid Rock and a Playboy pornography model to entertain the troops and celebrate the fall of Baghdad. We were still in the mindset that we had accomplished something great, and it was time to enjoy life and party! This is also when I realized the power of a gun -- that lock and load, that sliding of metal and that click that lets you know a bullet is in the chamber. It’s that click, that slide, that power that gets some people hyped, gets them going, makes people change sometimes.


[1] Airplane in stomach, like butterflies in stomach

Family Matters

25 June, 2003

Well, it’s been a few days since I’ve written. The high point was getting to speak with you two nights ago. You were busy coming back from Annika’s. I wish you weren’t so embarrassed to go “droo droo droo” with me. Oh well, you did a little. I wrote you a poem last night and a letter. It was fun writing you! I love writing you, Spatzi. I am really exhausted. We just did another raid on a neighborhood looking for weapons. We found only crap – again.
I got a package from my mom, all covered in “USA!” stickers and the like. The letter told about her efforts to bring the family together, and all her traveling ― spending lots of money. Nicol is moving to Italy, so this means mom will come over now. That’s nice. I just called you! It was good to hear your voice. You were busy at theater, but that’s OK! (Fell asleep.)

Loneliness and Talking to an American Arab from Michigan

21 June, 2003

Well it’s been a few days since I made an entry. Last night I talked to you for about an hour and 45 minutes! Wow! It was so great to hear your voice, and I know it’s hard on you with me not being there to hold you. It really tears me up actually, because being away from you feels so unnatural! It’s hard on me too – and I never get so busy that I forget about being away from you. It just goes on top of everything. I just want this to be over with soon. The anxiety never goes away, it just gets quiet sometimes – but it always hurts.
This morning after I got off the phone, I walked outside and the sun was just barely coming up. The birds were chirping, and the stars were still out. The ambience of the setting reminded me so much of early mornings in London. Something about it reminded me of Chelsea and Kensington. As I walked to my room at 0524 this morning, I missed Nora and I missed Britain. I would like to go back there for a week and maybe visit with Nigel and them in Wakefield. I love England though, I love it dearly.
This morning, I woke up at 1100 and played some Counting Crows on the radio. I got dressed and felt dirty. I walked over to the headquarters. Another freakin’ day with America’s finest. I can’t wait to get out of this place and away from these people. Sometimes it brings me to the edge of exploding. It’s hard to stay positive when I am working with people with the maturity level of a 12 year old. No, Mara is 12, and she is more mature than these people. There is a back area, like a patio, and all they do is sit there in the sun and smoke cigarettes. Fleischmann is out there now running his mouth. These are grown men – and they seriously do nothing all day. Grown men with no talents, no skill, no purpose in life. They act like they are on vacation – and they are as they sit there and hoot and holler like a drunken bar crowd. Grown men acting like children. If these people are America’s finest, then we’re all doomed. God, I want the days to go by faster, because this society of stupid men is driving me nuts. I have to do better than this, I must! I can’t imagine wasting my life with a bunch of juvenile do-nothings. I’ve go to do more! I have but one life!
Well, let me step back a day or two. Two days ago, we went back to the U.N. and then on to downtown Baghdad to pick up Mr. Stanton at his hotel. As soon as we pulled up, his U.N. truck pulled up and we waited for him to go inside and change clothes. The area was pretty nice. Some kids began to come out and play with us in the street. They were really cute. It’s good to be out with them and not talking to them across a wire. They looked at our Hummer and pointed saying, “Wheel, tire, light!” in English. One of the kids gave me a piece of candy. That was the second time, no, third time a kid gave me something to eat or drink. They are really thankful, some little girls came out and asked if we wanted some water – their parents must have sent them out to ask us. The kids are funny, at first they peek from around doors and corners with their little brown faces and big brown eyes. They slowly build up the courage to come closer, with their hands behind their backs, their little shoulders going back and forth. They look at us in amazement. I got down and shook their little hands, and then they quietly got closer and closer, and less shy. They would say something, and I would repeat it. They would all laugh. I was wondering what I said, maybe something silly, but they were all laughing – so it was OK. Then we had to leave for camp. We were taking Mr. Stanton with us. As we drove, people were cheering and waving. We pulled into a nearby market area just to show Mr. Stanton a neighborhood. The streets were packed with people. Lots of families were outside. All seemed peaceful, yet hectic. Many people waved, gave thumbs up saying “Very Good!” This was (is) a Shiite Muslim neighborhood – Shias were oppressed by Saddam. They have nice communities though, and respectable homes. Some look like something you would find in New Mexico. We drove past a square, and two men were standing around with guns – one with a shotgun and one with an AK-47. We would have stopped to arrest them, but Mr. Stanton was with us. There is no reason to have guns like that out in public on a Thursday night (called party night because the next day is holy day for the Muslims).
We came to the camp and Mr. Stanton visited for about and hour. It was then time to take him back downtown. We drove straight there, turned right at the German embassy, and pulled into the hotel. We got out and Mr. Stanton said goodbye to us and wished me luck. Then an Arab guy sitting on the steps of another hotel called us over. He said he was an American. He spoke good English and then showed us his Michigan driver’s license. His wife is American, and his children too, says he. He said he left Iraq 12 years ago and came over to see his father he hasn’t seen in 12 years. It was a surprise for sure. He was from Ann Arbor, Michigan – his adopted home town. I was looking around to make sure no one would come up on us. A lot of soldiers are getting killed by people walking up and shooting them in the head. I wanted the Arab-American to put his license away, because it made it look as if we were questioning him. I made sure to wave to the on-looking men to let them know all was OK. They waved back and went back to their business.
We pulled away in the Hummer to go back to camp. We got on the highway, and the sun was setting, a tan brown was the sky, with dark silhouettes of palm trees going by. All of a sudden, James Taylor started singing so clearly in my head, “I feel fine anytime she’s around me now…” and I leaned my head back in my metal seat, propped my foot on the edge of the doorless space between me and the highway flying by below me, and I thought of you Nora. It was a moment of peace, of trying to be with you in my soul, of feeling your soul with me. It was such a beautiful, calm feeling, with Baghdad passing by. Families would drive by with the dad and the veiled, glowing mother holding her smiling children, the light from the streetlamps flashing their faces – aglow and smiling, their little palms waving, “Mista! Mista!”
We went into a neighborhood, and it was now dark out, but the streets were packed. Then men seem to look at us with suspicious faces, and then you wave to them. They’ll continue to look at you with what looks to be contempt. I noticed that if you wave long enough, they will usually suddenly snap out of what seems to be a disgruntled-looking trance, and wave with a big smile. So, I continued this method of waving – and 80% of the time it worked. They seem as giddy as the kids. Kids were cheering, men were saying “Very good!” with their thumbs up. Of course, not everyone is happy or cheers. We went rolling down a street that looked like any normal suburban place in America – only the houses were brown. Kids were all outside playing, running next to the Hummer with bare feet asking for chocolate.
Some little girls yelled, “I love you! I love you!” and blew me a kiss. Major Stanton thought that was hilarious. He said, “Hey Thompson, she loves you!” I just looked over and laughed, ‘Yeah, yeah, Sir.” Conroy said, “Only Nora, only Nora.” I just smiled. We then got on the freeway and went back to camp. It was good to be out and see and interact with people. They are doing the best they can, even though power is sketchy at best and the place stinks of raw sewage. So much still needs to be done. Again, this place keeps you constantly asking the question, “Is this right or wrong?” in relation to the U.S. government being here. Everyday you get a different answer. When we were driving Mr. Stanton to camp earlier in the day, I saw that little girl with her father again by the canal. I waved again as I did the first time to her a few days ago. I kept waving and she ran out and kept waving back, again, until I couldn’t see her anymore. I caught a glimpse of my face in the side view mirror and I had the biggest smile. I wonder if she remembered me from days before. Her family was so poor, they all looked ragged and dirty. They live in a mud dwelling along the canal.
That night I was able to call you, well actually that next morning (0215). It was so good to laugh with you, we really were laughing a lot. When we hung up, and before then, I had already and unexpectedly started crying a bit. I just missed you so much. I love you so much! When we talked last night we talked about being around and seeing other couples and how it makes you feel lonely. I know what you mean, I just feel helpless to change that. All I can do is support you in my calls and letters. It is such a painful thing to know you are feeling so lonely, and there is little I can do about it. I need you to see us through Spatzi, to stay strong. I love you!

Another Child Shot, USO Comes to Baghdad, First Visit to the United Nations Headquarters in Baghdad

17 June, 2003

I am sitting at my desk now, just having sent Nora a letter, thinking about the flood of incidents I had to deal with; your letter having the most detailed account. Last night, a man was shot in the chest – I had to approve his transport to the hospital. Then, a man was shooting a 9mm in the air. Our guys got him and broke his face in – then bragged about it and jumped around like a bunch of primitive cave men. There was even one officer among them, and his utter ecstasy showed on his face at having caught and freely brutalized the lump of brown, blood-stained, Iraqi flesh that was brought to our building.

“We beat the shit out of him! He’s lucky
we didn’t finish him off!”

− Young SGT overjoyed with his catch

Although the soldiers stood around him, shining a flashlight into his bloody face and yelling at him in the English – as if he could understand anyways. He was taken over to our prison area, where I looked him over. He was crying, begging for is life − hysterical. Again, I just made sure he had some water, and I made sure all those around him were calm. It was such a disturbing thing to see a grown man crying and begging for his life. You imagine that this person was a child 30 years ago. What has he been through, what has he seen, why was he shooting a 9mm in the air? Unfortunately, Fleischmann showed up and started talking out of his ass, saying this guy is a piece of shit and talking in circles only to be heard. He always wants to play with the prisoners and give a commentary on the worthlessness of our prisoners – usually an uninformed commentary. I agree that some prisoners are vial, but there are varying degrees of offense, and the punishment should include a bit of fear and discomfort. In Utopia, by Thomas Moore, he talks of the punishment of criminals, when those criminals have been created by the ruling establishment. It is true, that much of the criminals in Baghdad have been created by the police vacuum we created through the destruction of authority here. To handle these people with brutality or unprofessional acts only makes us as bad as the criminals. After getting this prisoner, three more were brought in for shooting AK-47s in the streets. One of the bullets struck a 4 year old boy in the back of the skull. Conroy brought the boy to our Army hospital, where he was treated and released. They (the hospital) asked, “Should we drop the kid and the family outside the gate?” I responded, ‘No, we will take them back home.’ So I called the scouts, and they took them right to their home. I then went over to see the new prisoners, involved in shooting the child, and I felt only a basic sympathy for them – a ragged group of thugs. One of them was laying on the floor, restrained with zip strips on his wrists and a sandbag on this head (they often have sandbags on their heads). He kept moving like an inchworm and banging his head on the concrete floor – so our medic asked if he could put him out – probably a good idea. So he walked over and stuck a needle in his butt and injected him with a sedative used normally to sedate people with severe pain. When the man felt the needle, he shrieked and jolted like a wild beast. I had seen enough of that, so I went to the other room to see the other prisoners. By this time, the man with the broken face had been cleaned up and was docile as he slept on a cot. The other men were sitting in corners crying and yelping like crazy men, then sobbing, through their sandbags. I could only feel sorry that they got themselves in such a position, by deciding to go insane and accidentally shoot a child and put a bullet in his skull. These men were like tongues of fire, rising up from the smoldering fires of hell, rising up from the smoldering hell of Baghdad’s nights.
Then I got a report of several hijackings, some weapons violations, and then the kidnapping of 5 children by a man with a 20 passenger bus. A chill went down my spine, another kidnapping. The information about the kidnapping was so poor, but I did have a color and description of the bus. So I immediately called two helicopters on the radio, and they began the search. I talked to them for an hour while they were searching, but in the end, we had no luck. That is the way it is sometimes, there is no way to respond to crimes quickly. Most go unsolved. * I am leaving for the U.N. HQ in Baghdad now. I’ll continue when I return.
That was my first time in a U.N. building. Major Stanton’s dad is there as a U.S. government official working with the U.N. When we pulled up to the building, you could immediately sense the presence of money. Conroy and I parked outside of the compound, and within minutes, three men came asking for help, saying their car was stolen. Some annoying sergeant on guard duty there explained to them that we weren’t a police station, and that they would have to go to an Army MP station down the road. Then the sergeant waved to a few passing cars and turned to us. He said, “The biggest challenge is to get the married women to wave back!” Conroy and I just ignored him, and he eventually wandered away. As we were standing next to the freeway, people were waving and cheering at us, especially the children.
I wanted so much to go into the U.N. building. Then, one of the guards told me I could go in to buy something to eat or drink from the U.N. cafeteria. The only problem was I couldn’t take my weapon with me. Conroy knew that I wanted to go in, so he kept my weapon for me. I walked through the gate, and I was truly excited. There were all kinds of civilians, very well dressed, congregating near the door. They were all speaking French, Arabic, and some English. It was strange though, as I neared them, I dropped my head and unexpectedly became very self-conscious of my uniform, my ammunition, my dirty appearance. There was even a faint sense of shame. I felt like I was on the wrong side of the wall. I felt like the lowest, most phoney creature on the planet. I believe I felt this way because these are people part of a community that I would like to belong to one day. These are supposed to be the peacemakers, and here I was – a hired gun – walking across a polished marble floor with my combat boots. I though, ‘I wonder if these people know that I believe in what they say they are doing, and their mission overall.’
I entered the reception hall of the building, and it was marvelous. There were two stone carvings of the Mesopotamian figures. A man’s bearded head on a lion’s winged body. There was a woman there speaking French to some respectable Arab man. Most everyone was dressed very nicely. I uncomfortably made my way to the cafeteria. There were a few Americans, some Arabs, some very plain-looking American security guards. I looked over the drinks and goods, and decided on an apple and apple juice. REAL FRUIT! I paid in dollars, and I got $15 back from the $20. Then the man at the counter handed me a fist full of Iraqi Dinar. I was surprised to have gotten so much money that could have only matched $2.00 at the most.
There was a man standing next to me in Colonel Sanders-looking clothes, wearing a straw Dixieland flat top hat on his white hair. I wondered who he was. Perhaps he was an eccentric academic sort. He then asked the man for a bottle of white wine. I noticed that he had a British accent. Then the man standing behind him asked for some wine. I took my apple juice and made my way out of the building. I noticed all the people sitting around discussing matters, I really would love to be right there discussing too, coming up with solutions. Not sitting with people talking in circles or mindlessly discussing plans of action that are ill-conceived. I became excited a bit again, just to be there among the people there – part of a community that I identify with in principle. I thought to myself that perhaps one day I could join them in work. To be objective though, they do get quite a bit of protection from the U.S. government and U.S. forces – especially here in Baghdad. One problem is that the U.N. work is not being allowed to run at full potential. Hopefully plans are in the works. I said goodbye to the African-looking guard and left the building. So many people wearing fine clothes were exiting the building – along with a stream of very new SUV U.N. trucks and a parking area full of U.N. trucks. Something I noticed was the amount of refined-looking and finely dressed white men riding around in these trucks. I also noticed some nerdy-looking French people wearing outdoor adventure type clothing – something a yuppie would wear while hiking the Silicon Valley and drinking Evian mineral water – coming out of the compound. I thought to myself (and as I watched so many wealthy people about the place), ‘What could these people possibly be doing to be making Iraq better?’ Sometimes I think some of these NGO people are involved because it is a social adventure, and to make themselves feel humane or compassionate. Something akin to the pothead who yells at a protest for world peace, but his priorities in life are living easy and getting high. It’s all in the name of fashion. I have lost all respect for those kinds of people. There are probably a lot of good people at the U.N.
Major Stanton’s dad then came out to meet Conroy and me. I noticed the West Point ring on his finger. He had an air of a stately man, a man of seriousness, of contemplation, and purpose. I immediately rendered him respect based on my personal assessment, and that was returned by a hearty and business-like handshake. Major Stanton introduced me to him and said, “Thompson here speaks fluent German.” I was surprised to even get a compliment from him. It reminded me of the importance of formal introduction and socializing. I respected the man alone (on first impression) due to the fact he was good enough to send his son to Harvard, and thus secure his future forever. On first analysis, you would not guess Major Stanton graduated from such a place – but he did – and that is really all that matters. My respect for my parents lessened somewhat after contemplating this, because I got almost no outside support for college – even after it was promised.
We soon left the U.N. and drove through a part of the city. Again, people were waving, kids smiling. I was keeping my eyes on vehicles coming along side our Hummer and people getting close to the truck. I scanned each alley, all the rooftops. All the dirty shops, all the dingy holes, the old men, the brown kids. The city is alive, that is for sure, I just don’t know what its future is. It is amazing to see such a large place operating under such little authority. These people are good people, industrious people. They are running about the city, but I don’t think they are really running it.
As we got on the main highway on-ramp, there was a mud hut next to the army canal, among green brushes and brownish soil. Next to the hut was a little girl in a purple dress – probably 4 years old, standing with who I think was her father in traditional Sunni dress. I waved to her, and she waved back – I just kept waving as we went down the road, and she stood there waving back. It seemed like an eternity, but it was beautiful to me for some reason. I just want to show that I do notice them, and that I do care – perhaps that is why I waved I waved for so long. It was just sweet that she waved back for so long too. When I am in the city, or interacting with kids here, I don’t feel like I am in the Army. I just feel like a kid embarrassed at his father’s reputation. I feel a mixture of sorrow, hope, shame, sympathy, understanding, and concern.
We returned to camp, and I felt a bit refreshed having got a change of scenery from our camp, and the people there. I sat down and tried the phone to call you, but it wasn’t working. Then SFC Smith gave me a package and they started saying it was a dildo or vibrator, because of the shape of the box. Our colonel was nearby, and didn’t think the joke was funny, and I didn’t want to be seen with people who think childish stuff like that is funny. So I walked away with my package and ignored their comments.
I was so excited to get your package. I opened it up and found all the little posty notes on everything. I love when you do that, it is really cool. I opened the box of Teebaumöl teetree oil and there was even a posty on it! Nora, you don’t know how lucky I feel, how proud I feel, and how loved I feel when you do those things for me. You sent all those little things for the Nora shrine too. I told Foley about the Nora shrine, and he couldn’t believe it. People were like, “You are smiling from ear to ear!” I forget where I am, I go into our world, and start laughing, getting excited, GOD NORA! I MISS YOU! I read your letter too, 27 pages front and back! I know that you love me, Nora, I know it. I am going to write you a letter about it. That package was great though, it really brought me up! I need that here! Finally, I did some laundry at 0130 or so with a flashlight and a bucket. I would look up at the stars and think of you so much. Sometimes I need to hear your voice so much on the phone it turns my stomach, I get anxious. I feel so much like I am a hostage, wrongly taken away. I have to try hard to remember God has a plan – we only have to believe that. So that is what I thought of when I said my prayers (it is now 18 June 2003) last night. I pray so much Spatzi, so much for us. I look forward so much to coming home to you – I feel like a man chained down to a rock, far from you, where I belong. I love you, Nora. I beg time to pass quickly.

On June 20, 2003 the USO hosted a bash for the soldiers at the Baghdad International Airport (BIAP). Symbols of American values were on stage, as Kid Rock and Leann Tweeden (a Playboy Magazine model) entertained soldiers. Kid Rock sang, “If I was president, I’d turn all churches into strip clubs,” and “If I was president, I’d give my State of the Union Address from a mile high, smoking a joint on Air Force One.” That was after showing his middle finger to everyone. It was an affectionate display though. Kid Rock openly supported the troops during the war, when many in the entertainment industry spoke out against it. I thought it was odd that the Army of Bush, of morals and values, was being entertained by Kid Rock and a Playboy model. It didn’t seem so odd when I found out he was a Republican, and rumored to be invited to Republican National Convention almost a year later. With songs like, “Fuck U Blind,” “Wax the Booty,” and “Pimp of the Nation,” it’s hard to believe he is a Bush supporter at all. Later, during the Abu Ghraib scandal, Americans were shocked to learn that some soldiers had little or no moral values.

Looking for an Iraqi Wife and a Child is Shot

15 June, 2003

Tonight is exceedingly humid and I have my towel by my side – half soaked already. Nothing much happened today, even with “Operation Desert Scorpion.” That turned out to be a joke. In all, three AK-47s and $32,000.00 (that will be returned) was found in a sweeping, shocking, raid. There was one safe confiscated too. It was blown open, and all we found was a package of staples. It reminds me of the house raid on my shift that raided the home of the man to shit on himself. We had helicopters, tanks, scouts sur-rounding the house – such a show of force – BUT all that was found was a single .38 caliber bullet. Wow.
Any ways, this morning, Foley and I woke in the condo to two loud explosions near our building. I jumped up to see some sol-diers running with their rifles towards the building. It sounded to close, but not close to our building. We weren’t able to determine what it was, but mortar explosions are probable. I am getting used to the sporadic explosions and automatic weapons fire. It doesn’t even register any more. Even tonight, just as I was thinking I ha-ven’t yet heard gunfire tonight, two gunshots rang out loudly a medium distance away. The guards asked, “Did you see tracers?”
‘Na, no tracers!’ I responded. So nothing happened, Baghdad remains the same. Oh! Yes, last night, a car drove through a roadblock at Apache sector – so they shot it, but then the driver shot back as they drove away. His bullet grazed a child near the road, but he is going to be OK.
Today Buck showed me a card acetated to the butt stock of his rifle. It said something in Arabic. He said it said, “Please stand back, thank you.” This he told all who asked. He said this would help keep kids away from him when he would go on patrols. Well, it turns out he had our translator, a good man, write “Hello sweet-heart, I will take you to America with me.” The translator didn’t write this right away, but only reluctantly after asking Buck if he would marry the prospective woman first, and respect her. Buck gave his promise, and our translator granted his wish for a sign. I had to laugh at this.
Ahhh Spatzi, I am listening to “Das Sontagskind” The Sunday Child again. I am studying German a lot! I got to talk to you twice today! I wanted to talk to you so badly this morning, just to hear your voice. The phone seemed to be working, so I tried and got through only after a few tries! It was SO GREAT to talk to you Nora, to hear your voice! I am in suck a good mood after that! I am thinking of you every minute Nora. I love you so much!

Gunshots Ring Out as Sergeant Major Shoots a Dog Unanounced

14 June, 2003

It is another hot night. No wild dogs barking though. Last night was cooler, only because of the sandstorm that blew through quite forcefully, blanketing Foley and I’s affectionately dubbed “condo” with dust for three hours. The strong winds felt great on my sweaty skin, but I couldn’t open my dust covered eyes to find my sweat towel. We didn’t sleep until 3 or 4 o’clock. Let me just say that I am, as is my new custom, listening to the BBC world service. Tonight I was laying on my back listening to the reports about the fifth night of pro-democracy demonstrations in Tehran, Iran. I looked up and smiled, feeling somewhat justified in my belief that true change ultimately comes with the will of the people. I am following this closely, with enthusiasm. No war, no brutal killings, simply civil disobedience – something others have dismissed as ineffective in some political discussions I’ve had with some officers recently. As recently, my hopes are coming true in Tehran. This is amid the news of chaos in Liberia, Sri Lanka, and Israel.
Last night was an interesting night, in that the base stupidity and child-like behavior of Sergeant Major Sanders was on stage for all the world to see, whereas earlier he was able to escape scrutiny based on his rank and the general assumption by all that such a position of authority could never be attained by an idiot. Well, this is the Army. He (during the middle of the raid) got on the battalion net to ask the colonel where the keys to his motorcycle were. We have collected a number of confiscated motorbikes. The officer on shift told him that he could not have a bike, at which Sanders became agitated and subsequently called the colonel. It was so childish – and I could not believe I was handing Sanders a microphone during a raid to ask about a motorcycle. The expressions on everyone’s faces betrayed disbelief. Well, he and the “boy prince” Prince (who he personally and unfoundedly elevated to the rank of sergeant) were outside being pushed along on their bikes by exhausted and panting mid-level NCOs. This was in a vein attempt to push start the bikes. I stood there with Major Day, our battalion XO. I think everyone who witnessed this carnival was shaking their heads. Yes, it was Pappy And these Sundance Kid. The same two who hit Iraqi cars with their Hummer and then brag about it, the same two who confiscated an AK-47 from an Iraqi policeman who pleaded in utter confusion for his weapon. Well, I got the call from division saying there was an angry policeman demanding his rifle back. I could only offer my apologies in my mind. Yesterday I had a long conversation with an Iraqi college student who was the delivering an Iraqi army uniform to Sanders “Pappy” that his father had custom made. He ended up waiting two hours, one of which I spent with him talking across the razor wire that separated us. I talked to him partly out of curiosity, and partly to distract him from the fact that Pappy was grossly negligent on keeping his appointment. In the course of the hour, an old lady came to tell me her son was very sick with vomiting and diarrhea. I too had been suffering the same affliction quite fully only a few days ago. I gave her the medication I was given by the Army, mere (but effective) antacid pills. I told her to give her son half a pill and to give him small sips of water often, instead of large amounts all at once. I knew this from a remedy I invented having been sick a few times already and dehydrating. She then asked, “Pepsi?” The student translated: “Can her son drink Pepsi? Is that OK?” I said yes. She was very grateful, and went off to help her son. The student and I then talked about the great need for basic medical services in Baghdad. He told me about his university of 150 rooms, of which five are now usable. He continues to study nonetheless, with exams been this week. He also digs ditches for the Americans for $2.00 a day. I reassured him the Americans would rebuild schools, hospitals, and police stations – but not even I was sure when or if that would happen. He asked about America, but I told him I love Europe – and that I am going to stay in Germany. I asked him if he is happy Saddam is gone. He said he would just be happy to have a new government and safety.
Then Pappy showed up and started treating the student coldly, speaking at him with an unintelligible southern accent. This student passed the uniform through the fence to Pappy, and the student expected to collect his $25 fee. Pappy muttered something about coming back the next day at 1800. He walked off. The student looked confused, and I was confused as well. Pappy just walked off without paying! I felt ashamed, I looked at the student, and we both understood what happened. He then looked at me as if to say, “Why did he do that?” I tried to form an expression to communicate “I’m sorry.” I felt like I was standing on the wrong side of the fence. He walked away, his dignity a bit hurt. Some kids ran up – two boys talking to me in Arabic with their hands out through the razor wire. I put a quarter in the one boy’s hand, and he immediately shouted and demanded, “DOLLAR! DOLLAR!” I didn’t have that. So I turned and walked away from them, with “Mista! Mista!” echoing behind me.

“Check it out! I got me a new huntin’ suit!”
– Pappy in the HQs building when I came back in.

We’ve found a name for what a lot of soldiers play here: cowboys and ragheads. It is so true. Well, today, not much happened, but did find a quote I scribbled directly from the mouth of SGT I forget his name. Here it is: “The first guy who pissed in my truck did it after he (pointing to SGT Grey) beat the shit out of him and pointed a pistol in his face,” said the scout, talking about a prisoner they captured.
Well, the first case that I was briefed on this morning was a dead body that was eaten by dogs during the night. The man had been shot twice in the back and once in the mouth. Just another day in Baghdad. Dead bodies are a normal thing now. Many people just dump bodies because the hospital charges a fee, and no one has money to waste on burying somebody when they need food first and foremost.
Tonight, as large building near us went ablaze, my first impulse was to call the fire department because of the families living there, BUT I then realized there is no fire department. Then I went out front, and found three soldiers with two boxes full of new grenades. They were found on the side of the road. We put them away, keeping in mind the incident in Kuwait during the war when an American soldier blew up his own HQs. Well, sometimes you fear the good guys more than the bad.
In less than 10 hours, Scorpions Strike will take place, and we will crack down on Baghdad’s weapons black market. It will be dangerous, but hopefully all go well.
On to matters of normalcy, of love. I am increasing my German studies in earnest, in between radio transmissions at my desk. I’m making time for German and English reading, so my day is getting better. I can also write you a poem, finally. I have finished Machiavelli’s The Prince (more on that later). I made a new friend today in Sir Thomas Moore. I was so delighted and encouraged to read his words in the new book by reading Utopia. More on that later as well.
Spatzibobbes, this is the part (it’s 0215 on 15 June now) I’ve been wanting to go to! The phone is not working again, and I’ve been so needing to hear your voice. I miss you so dearly, and I know you miss me the same way too. I brush my teeth tonight too, just for you! I almost forgot! I love you Nora, My mind is so focused on you, despite all that is going on here. I was walking today, and this came to me:

I have seen a desert rose
Some thing so beautiful I could never be
Along this path I’ve chosen
This desert rose speaks to me

This rose I see not in the sand
She grows on the sea inside of me
She stretches out her caring hand
Reaching down from where stars be

This desert rose I see always
Close my eyes and she is there
And when I am alone, there she stays
Running her fingers through my hair

This desert rose be not red
She’s golden eyes, she’s light brown hair
She skin so soft beside me in bed
She’s all I live for in this desert bare

You are my desert rose
You are my dream come true
And wherever I go, Nora
Your love touches me and sees me through

I long for you Nora, so dearly. Know this, know that I thirst for you as no man could know – for it is so full of longing and desire just to be beside you. I will be in time. I love you so dearly!

Idle Relections on a Warm Baghdad Night

12 June, 2003

It is a warm night tonight, as it is every night here. You sleep sweaty, you wake in a pool of sweat. I would rather be here than in the Kuwaiti desert, given the two options. Of course, I would rather be at home with you!
Today, much of the regular stuff happened: AK-47s, large amounts of cash, prisoners, motorcycles, 1000 125mm tank rounds were captured. This evening I was handling coordination between two helicopters and some scouts on a sting of a house. The house was searched, and only one bullet was found.
Earlier today, some soldiers brought a prisoner in. I sat listening to the soldiers speak about this particular catch. The British soldier (Brit, but in the U.S. Army) obviously derives some pleasure, as do they all, at terrorizing the detainees. I can’t say they don’t completely deserve some punishment – but not to the point where we become like them (I have some more thoughts about this). He said, “After beating the shit out of him, he started getting loud, so I got about this far (showing a millimeter with his thumb and forefinger) and screamed in his face. Then he shit on himself! He really shit on himself!”
Everyone was laughing. He then shared that the man stank of crap, and that this was the second time a prisoner did this. That made me suspicious. Not only that, but there is no interpreter working after 1700, so we never get anywhere, just miscommunication. Today, a sanitation truck was dumping raw sewage into a field, so my office took it. It was a massive, very modern tank truck. Well, they got pictures taken with it, like little kids – full of grins. I don’t know, I don’t understand the amusement. The truck was returned this evening.
I also visited the little kids along the fence today and gave them some food. Again, they seem like little animal-like creatures (they most certainly aren’t) scattering for food. I don’t talk much to them. I just smile and look past or around them as I give them food. To look them in the eye is to initiate the begging sequence that ruins their innocent image. So I hand out food, then continue on my way back to work. I don’t even have that much food.
Israel is in crisis again, that wretched place. God, if only the left-wing Jews could come to power! We need a balance the world over. Well, I am going to bed – to pray for peace. I love you Nora, I just finished a letter to you! I hope it is a love letter. You are so special to me, so wonderful. You are my peace, you are my answered prayer!

Child Kidnapped on My Shift

11 June, 2003

Tonight I am going to lay in my cot, listening to the BBC report on a suicide bombing in Israel. I think about the PLO man that I had seen in the pictures yesterday. What possesses someone to blow themselves up? There are so many explanations.
I only have time to write about one event from today, but it is a chilling entry that troubled me deeply today. I have a spent 9mm bullet casing in my pocket. It was to be a piece of evidence, but the case will never be opened, and it has already been forgotten. So I took the casing, so that it may never be forgotten.
At 1900 this afternoon, a man driving a new white Opel 4-door was carjacked in our sector. He was hijacked at gunpoint by three men with 9mm pistols with silencers. They took him prisoner, and then grabbed a child, a boy, from his parents at gunpoint. The kidnappers fired three rounds in the ground and then drove away with their two prisoners. They actually took the child right away from his parents. The parents then waved down a Humvee driven for our executive commander. They were in tears, but our soldiers there could not understand what the parents were saying. So they wrote a note and gave the casing from the bullet to the executive commander. He drove to our headquarters, and I got on the case right away, only to get railroaded by the Army unit responsible for the area where the kidnapping took place. I was working frantically – thinking constantly of this terrified child, of the pain of the parents, this was so real to me, so horrible, I knew that only a few minutes away, a family has been dealt a horrific blow. I tried as hard as possible to organize a search of the area, using my authority over battalion management to the fullest. The same man responsible for keeping the peace in this zone, was the same man who was laughing about scaring that poor, skinny, ragged prisoner I was giving water to only a few days ago. I worked the kidnapping all the way up to regiment, and soon to the whole city of Baghdad. As I did this, our office sat empty, as the staffers smoked cigarettes on the “back porch.” I emphasized the urgency of this case, because the longer we waited, the more time these kidnappers had to escape. Still, I was truly on my own. I then contacted the regimental commander – the top of the ladder – and he was the only one who seemed to care, and gave me authority to send the quick reaction force into the zone. So I called the zone commander (zones can’t help other zones, but I manage 3 very large zones) and he said, “I don’t have enough people! I have a patrol out, and I am guarding the Iraqi police station! I can’t respond to every little crime! The Iraqi police don’t even have cars!” And just like that, the search was virtually killed. No one even went to see the parents, who were waiting for help, and were certainly weeping tremendously as I write this. And the child! This enrages me to the fullest! No one cared. It was just another crime. I can’t imagine what those two kidnapped people are going through right now. There is so much violent crime here right now. I felt helpless, but I did all I could. Tonight, I picked up the bullet casing and held it in my dirty fingers before my weary eyes. I twisted it in my fingers, looking closely at it. Violence. A kidnapping and carjacking all committed with this casing. This was in the hands of the kidnappers yesterday. Violence. Evil. Hate. Bullets. Metal. Violence. Bullets. Crime. Anarchy. War. Violence. Crime. War. Tears. Trauma. Evil. War. Evil. War. Violence. Bullets. Evil. Tears.


WAR. VIOLENCE. TEARS. EVIL.

─ CRIME

Would these parents still have their child if there was no war? Would that G.I. killed yesterday still be alive if there was no war? Would these poor kids still have homes if there was no war? I have been touched closely by so much violent crime since I have been here. Animal acts, butchery, human beings – I take that back – human animals at their worst. We have conquered this country and poorly attended to it over pride. We have played down the violence, ignored the horror that descends on the city every night. We need the U.N., we need more help, we need enlightened leadership, we need the international community to help these people. It seems we are guarding our possession blindly, ignoring the real war that is now underway. It is a tragedy, yes, the true opportunity to do the right thing is lost daily, lost to stupid officers and poor planning.
As I looked at the bullet casing, I thought of the priest’s words to me at Vatican City – Bush and Saddam will be judged for bringing this war on the people. I hope Bush sleeps well tonight. He’ll never know about the boy that was kidnapped tonight, at the agony of the parents, of the U.S. soldier that frantically tried to help. I am shedding a tear right now! Horrible! I will keep this casing! It symbolizes so much to me, THIS IS TERROR. I even thought of sending this bullet casing to Bush, with my own story for him to read, but I doubt he would ever get it, and I would probably get in trouble for sending a 9mm casing to the President. Fools! Our leaders are fools! They are jeopardizing our human existence with their power. How do they hold their power? There has to be a vulnerability, a button that can be pushed, to topple the house of cards. This 9mm casing would never have exploded, had Bush not crossed the border. Why did we cross the border? Tonight I pray and think of you, Nora. I love you, and there is a lot of work ahead to make this world a better place. Our children deserve better. I hope for the growth of the E.U., to act as an instrument of peace, of justice. Ultimately, I hope in God. That is the only way. Without God there is darkness. I love you Nora, I will be there for you always!

Our headquarters building was constantly improving. A relic of the old British garrison that once stood on the Rustimiya complex, minor improvements like air-conditioning and refrigerators brought the place up to 21st century standards. Foley and I would work late nights while watching bats crawl around the ceiling. There were several bats that would fly in and out of the building throughout the night. One soldier was able to catch a weak one that had fallen. When you walked in the dark hallways of the building at night, it was normal to see the outline of a bat flying towards you.

Looking Through an Iraqi Officer's Family Photos

11 June, 2003 ...Continued

What we did find in the captain’s luggage along with these three captives, were lots of family photos going back 50 plus years into the life of this officer, and paperwork showing his membership in the PLO. I decided to look through some of the pictures that were overlooked by the intel guys because they didn’t offer much. I saw this guy’s past. I suppose I saw the wedding pictures of his parents – in black and white. They looked very nice, dignified, civilized. There were various other black and white pictures of family members, and they all looked European, and wearing good clothes. Then I started finding pictures of this man when he was a child – one in particular was a group picture of smiling children with a destroyed building burned and twisted behind them. Then there were pictures of him as a teenager, then older, obviously traveled – looking excited to be staying in a hotel room. He had pictures of himself posing with furniture and the refrigerator. Then came some pictures of him in his mid to late 20’s, again, traveling, walking down narrow market streets with his buddies. Then came the Iraqi army photos. There was a picture of him standing in a reception line, with very nervous looks on their faces. They were getting Baath Party medals.
There was also a video taken, and we watched it. It was simply a wedding video with all the Arab world-meets-video editing gaudiness. Of course people watching were saying “Show us your tits! Show some ass!” I just left. The biggest thing I remember from yesterday was the pictures. I thought it revealed something – perhaps it showed a life gone from civility to chaos. How did this man go from a happy child on a photo, to a man on the run? I think back to the picture of the kids in front of the destroyed building. Did that experience, perhaps in Palestine circa 1970, change his life? I was young like him too once, and I was going new places – one of those places being Ireland, to get involved in politics there. Young, idealistic, and patriotic. That is something I need to write about too – the conversation I had with an Irishman in the Army at Camp Udairi. That is an interesting story.

Sickness in Baghdad and the Iraqi General Who Never Was

10 June 2003

Another day in Iraq, with America’s finest. I am sitting here in our headquarters wondering how the hell I am going to keep my sanity working here. The absolute bullshit that goes on here is immeasurable. I work mostly with people 10 years older than I am, people with wives and children, people who have the maturity level of a 12 year old. I am justified in believing little kids that play soldier become big kids that play soldier. I have worked HQs for a long time, and I know how things should be run. I have never worked with more unprofessional, immature, or uneducated group of people. There are so many personalities here, and in only a few I do find any common ground. Now that I have that out of my system, on to other things…
Yesterday, I was sitting in my chair after going on a patrol in Baghdad City, relaxing a bit after vomiting most of the day. I ate some baked Iraqi chicken, and I presume that caused my illness. I was sitting in my room listening to the BBC World Service, now on FM in Baghdad, listening to an address by a minister to the House of Commons. It was concerning the change from British Pounds to euro. I was listening to this speech, and it occurred to me what an important time this is in our modern history. I don’t simply mean that this war is important, I mean the position of the EU is increasingly important. Also yesterday, Poland voted for EU membership. Africa remains in turmoil, Palestinians continue to engage Israelis, Israelis continue to engage Palestinians. North Korea admitted also of developing nuclear weapons. I don’t remember a time in my lifetime when the world order seemed to be so fragile. I also cannot remember a time when I had so little faith in the professional abilities of our government. I have long been interested in and followed government, and I am utterly disappointed in the lack of intelligent debate and accountability our Congress has practiced over the past year. Let me focus in on my main thought – that of EU expansion. Following the Iraqi war, or “Operation Iraqi Freedom”, the world seemed split over whether or not to side with the U.S. in supporting this war. It was apparent to me then, as countries like Romania and Poland offered their support for the war, that this was going to be an opportunity for opportunistic, second-rate nations to stand shoulder with George W. Bush in exchange for money, trade consideration, and a White House reception. Rumsfeld called the Europe of WWII “Old Europe” while implying the future of Europe lay in the former eastern bloc countries. Now Europe is feeling a bit sour after the U.S. carelessly spoke badly about France and Germany. You can tell in the media that the tensions between the U.S. and Europe are growing. Not so much over military or security tensions, but tensions over influence. Who possesses the moral compass? Europe is growing, it is developing greatly, it is thoughtfully harnessing its potential with a sense of greater purpose for its people. Britain is caught in an awkward position, having supported the U.S. in wartime, but fails to admit that it is a part of Europe. The Europe of today is a Europe that I trust, a Europe of checks and balances, a Europe aware of the catastrophic consequences of war, a Europe concerned with the improvement of quality of life and family. I know no such America. Liberty carries a torch. It seems that torch is going to be passed to Europe from the U.S. as the world seeks an alternative power. I think the EU is emerging as a major super power. It is very possible over the next decade. The incorporation of Russia and even Turkey could also have very positive, lasting implications for the world order.
Britain decided to postpone the acceptance of the euro currency until next year – at least the referendum. For that I am not totally sad. At least they are moving towards Europe. The big question is who England will eventually side with? Who will they trust? One thing is for sure, Europe is growing and increasing its potential to influence and balance world power and activity. If the U.S. continues to force Europe into morally compromising issues, it will begin to go its own way. It seems as if the U.S. is growing more and more paranoid, and looking at some of the most desperate states as allies, or better yet, numbers on a sheet of support. No matter the politics, this is an important time in history, and a time in my life where I no longer see the greatness of many leaders. This year was a great indicator, a great test of character, of courage. Courage came in many forms, but for me, courage was Pope John Paul II declaring war and arms sales as immoral – despite the fact that Bush would dismiss his ideas as naïve. Courage was Joschka Fischer telling Rumsfeld that he could not give his support for a war his people do not believe in. Courage was Jimmy Carter letting the American people know that this was not a just war. Greatness of men depends upon their reputations. It’s the reputation that may be overblown, exaggerated, or unfounded. The great only seem to be great so long as we believe them to be great. We allow them to be great, and it is with just as much ease we can take that greatness away. The more I see of the world, the more I realize how many people have little confidence, little practical intelligence, narrow life experiences, and live a grossly under -disciplined lifestyle. This is only a portion of society, but it is useful in putting “great” men in power. Our president, our judges, our congress people, our mayors, our county officers, all the way to our military generals are nothing more than extraordinary people. To be ordinary is to lack the ability to see your potential to attain greater power. To be extraordinary is to possess something more, some foresight, some insight, some passion. Sometimes people are made extraordinary. I think that is the case with many world leaders today. They are crafty, they are opportunists, and they are able to maintain an image of power. I do believe that many people in the U.S. government are just ordinary people, who have been elevated to extraordinary status. I think it is important to realize that just because someone is a recognized leader, that does not justify their future behavior. They must be held accountable, and constantly scrutinized. Just because Bush or Rumsfeld say something is the truth, that does not mean that is the case. Just because they say they have a master plan, doesn’t mean they are correct. They are simple men – sometimes extraordinary, seldom great. So this is a major revelation in my life, coming here to Iraq has facilitated that. Great men? I would think anyone with passion and foresight could attain a position of greatness. Greatness really means nothing though, in my opinion, unless you have done something for the common good. I would rather be a saint than great, and if I were to have power, it would be for the good of the people. There is so much wrong in the world, but there is a lot of right too. That is easy to forget sometimes. I was reassured of the power of goodness on my pilgrimage to Vatican City.
A lot happened yesterday. A man shot himself in the leg by accident, and a police captain was murdered in his home. I went on patrol yesterday, and was able to see some of the city. I was at the Martyrs’ Monument, a turquoise blue heart made of stone, cut in half to show an Iraqi flag between the two halves. The two teardrop halves rise about 200 feet into the air. It is really an impressive sight. Our interpreter said it was built for the mothers of the Iran-Iraq War dead. The grounds are now a U.S. Army headquarters. I saw a picture today of a U.S. soldier who re-enlisted in front of the Iraqi flag.
From the monument, we drove to regimental headquarters. On the way there, our interpreter told us he had been jailed for 3 months at this facility (a former Republican Guard base) for having satellite TV. Now he is interpreting for the U.S. against the government that arrested him. One of the first things I noticed was a large, bombed-out building. You could actually see the entrance area and the hole the bomb punched diagonally through the building. Conroy and I walked to the heavily guarded gate, where some goofy, well dressed Iraqis were selling all kinds of soft drinks and blocks of ice. I managed not to throw up. Don’t eat the chicken!
We then drove to the Ministry of Oil, seemingly the only government building not bombed in Baghdad. Our unit occupied it as a headquarters. It is a modern complex in a dumpy area. The ornate fountains are now used by kids as a swimming hole. I went over to the medics to get some medicine for my stomach. I was very dehydrated, but opted to slowly hydrate on hot water rather than get stuck with an I.V. I didn’t have time anyways.
Then we were off again, to stop by a poor neighborhood to show that we are trying to keep security. On the way there, on the highway, people were driving by cheering and waving to us. A bus of Africans even drove by cheering. When we reached the neighborhood, with narrow roads, and multiple story buildings, all brown and grey and dirty, laundry hanging from balconies, children running in the streets covered in sewage water full of bright green antifreeze. Some women and children came out to their balconies to wave, and all of the men waved to us. We stopped to talk to one group and some boys came up to me and gave me some sunflower seeds. One thing I noticed was the low priority the clean up and appearance of their homes seemed to be. There was trash everywhere, but all you could see along the streets were teashops full of working age men sitting around while trash builds up. There is very little initiative being shown in relation to community pride and cleanliness. I am not sure if public services kept the streets clean before the war, but they are surely trashed now. The people smile and wave all the same.
Well, today was another day of paranoia. All of our ignorant, self-important, NCOs are sitting around coming up with grand ideas. The beginning of today included a raid by our soldiers on the houses of the surrounding poor families. One of our biggest hot-heads and exaggerators said that he saw the villagers doing suspicious things. So, this morning, the soldiers went through their houses. What did they find? Scared women and children and lots of blankets. Our illustrious S-3 Sergeant Major Fleischmann – a man I lose respect for more and more everyday – has made a hobby of arbitrarily making life complicated for the Iraqis, and talking about them in a cold manner. He is a brownnosing, ass kissing, German immigrant-turned-American. He is constantly giving speeches and walking around with a self-satisfied look of arrogance on his face. He is fake though, and quick to betray his loyalties. He’s running around here saying “Oh screw them, they can move!” I thought it was funny that one patrol he sent out found an Iraqi anti-aircraft missile truck just 50 meters from our fence! I said “Sergeant Major, maybe if you weren’t so afraid to go outside the fence and actually meet Iraqis instead of scaring them, you would have found those missiles a week ago!” Everyone started laughing, but I made my point. He also started cutting down trees in our area. That just made me angry. He’s doing so much, simply because he can. That is when someone’s character truly shows – when they are in authority. So I asked him, “Are these enemy trees you’re cutting down? Do they discriminate between Iraqi and American bullets?” The truth is, the trees provide cover from sniper fire (our latrines are out in the open!) and provide firing positions. BUT, now we are getting paranoid again. Build the fences higher, alienate these people who want to know us, and make them feel as if we are separating ourselves from them. I doubt this is very effective in securing peace. In fact, I believe more than ever that it is time to allow the U.N. fully into Iraq. We alone are doing a poor job of policing, and the mentalities here are conflicting with the opportunities we have to make a real, positive difference. We have a bunch of soldiers trying to be diplomats, and the last time I checked, young men full of machismo combined with extremely narrow personal experience makes for lots of miscommunication and failure. We need the U.N. now, we cannot shoulder the load of Iraq on our own, we need to swallow our pride.
Two days ago we took an Iraqi lieutenant into custody for selling weapons. The same guys who brought the little guy here a few days ago brought this big, smart looking Iraqi. The interpreter asked with some sympathy why he had the weapons. He denied everything, but you could sense that he was lying. It didn’t matter though, because eyewitnesses saw him selling weapons. I was going to give him some water, but I decided not to, as he was fat and well cared for. Our intelligence officer got all excited and interrogated him. After some time, our intel officer took it upon himself to sit the prisoner out in the grass by our building, in plain view of the villagers here. Soon, the prisoner was shouting at the people (who were gathering more and more by the minute) and the little kids were yelling at him, saying “Ali Babba, Ali Babba!” Some of the adults were yelling at him too. He sat on a folding chair out on his grass stage. I got a call on the radio that too many people were beginning to mass along the the fence. By the time I got there, people were harassing the prisoner and selling Pepsi and cookies. The scouts who were there were getting aggressive towards the crowd. One asked, “How do you get over this fence, I am going to fuck these people up!” As he said this, he extended a spring baton he planned to use. I told him to chill out and let me take care of it, that we have our side of the fence, and they have theirs. I then walked to the fence and said forcefully “GO!” and gestured for them to leave, and put my finger to my lips to signal “quiet.” They listened and moved away. They just wanted to know why the man was taken prisoner. The challenge is to keep everything low key and under control, before and NCO or officer comes along and blows everything out of proportion. That is a big problem – miscommunication and exaggeration. Well, I told them if they didn’t want a crowd, they shouldn’t put him out for everyone to see! So they promptly moved him to a room, one scout yelling, “HOME MOTHERFUCKER! THIS – HOME!” I wonder if they act out of control when they are unsupervised. We are having a problem with soldiers using excessive force. There is still a story I have to tell about a week ago when a convoy of ours got “attacked.” I’ll do that later.
Going back to the one man I dealt with a few days ago – it turns out he was running from his brother. Then I found out that the soldiers took him back and placed him execution style in front of a garbage pit. They played head games with him for a while before releasing him. This was in addition to his experience here at my building. I found this all out when the company commander boasted childishly that they “scared the shit out of him.” I was the only comforted that no one laughed at this, and that in turn caused him to change his tune. There is obviously stuff going on with captives and civilians that we don’t know about.
Today, three more people were captured and brought in. This time I went to make sure they were being treated humanely. One of the ugly three had his wrists too tightly zip-stripped, so I had them adjust his hands. I didn’t feel too bad for these three gross looking men, they were drinking alcohol and shooting at people in a mosque. What was interesting was the sniper rifle and paperwork, Palestinian Liberation Organization membership card, pictures, and a video of a wedding in Kuwait. The pictures showed a Republican Guard special forces captain, and we have the uniform to prove it. There were also pictures of himself at Baath Party functions. There were certificates from Saddam Hussein as well. In short, we have found a Baath Party member’s possessions, but not the man himself. Fleischmann then thought we had captured a Republican Guard general (he thought this after seeing a picture and immediately, without asking got the colonel and the major to show them this prisoner). Well, I let it play out to where Fleischmann would take the commander to see the “general.” They all showed up to see the prisoner, and I had to laugh to myself as the commander said, “That’s not the general!” Well, he was right, it was not him at all.

First Encounter with a Iraqi Prisoner

6 June 2003 2321

It was dark today when they brought him in, and the sight of a man being brought in with a bag on his head already had me feeling uneasy. I just happened to be there when they unloaded him. He was caught while trying to jump a fence. That was why he was here. The captors thought I was the interrogator, so I went along and our intelligence officer allowed me to manage the situation. We took the man to a room and they removed the bag from his head. He must have been terrified, especially in these times of violence. He was crying, confused, and speaking in Arabic. The soldiers standing around him looked upset, like they felt sorry for him.
He was so skinny, brown, dirty black curly hair, grinning and crying in mental agony. One could imagine what he would have thought a year before under Saddam’s rule. Not being able to understand what was being said, not knowing where he was being taken, not being able to see any coming blows.
He cried, looked as if he was going mad, and curled up like a little animal in the corner, tiny, in a protective position. I felt sick to my stomach, especially knowing he was harmless. All the soldiers were standing around him. I went to get some water for him, my rationed bottle of the day with my name on it, and brought it to him. I approached him with my water, and noticed his hands were bound. So I patted him softly and brought the bottle to his lips. He drank a bit and started speaking Arabic again. The intelligence officer asked questions in English. He was like a wild, captured animal. The officer said “Fedayeen?” but got no response. I gave him some more water and felt sick to my stomach to have some poor man so helplessly bound at my feet, crying for mercy. It felt so wrong, and I believe everyone else felt that too, and all of a sudden, it was decided that he should be released right away. The guards got the bottle of water, and took him to the Hummer so they could take him back and release him. After that, I had to sit down. It disturbed me to think that people are taken into custody all over the world, in similar situations, but brutalized and beaten. This man was lucky, even though it may not have appeared so. Also today, some Iraqi was killed at a used car lot when he pointed a pistol at a soldier. We also had women and children pulling soldiers’ dead bodies from shallow war graves and putting them in plastic bags. This so they could bury them properly in a cemetery, and not by a highway lot. An Islamic political cell was raided too, and all the weapons and cash and medical supplies were brought here. There were paintings of Islamic clerics and banners, radios and detonators. All old detonators though. Right now our room is full of RPGs. AK-47, rockets, ammunition and large amounts of cash – $11,000 dollars worth today.
I miss you so much Spatzi! I think they have a phone set up now, but we’ll have to see! I am so nervous about calling you – like the first time when we were in the States! So many butterflies in my stomach Nora, I am going to keep trying until I get through to you, I won’t give up!

Witness to Some of the First Elections in Baghdad

June 3, 2003 1910 3-32 AR TOC[1] South East Baghdad

Well, it is hot, more so humid here. Everything is going OK, but it is very stressful at times, especially with some of the childish people working here. There have been some arguments too about how to treat the Iraqi civilians, and varying attitudes towards them. Let me start first by tracking over the past two days.
Two days ago I actually had my first experience with Iraqis up close, as I greeted about 200 men who were there to start elections.[2] The response I got was positive from them, while occasionally there would be someone who would not speak. The majority were very friendly, very well dressed, and well mannered. Some of them brought their sons too.
The election meeting was in the looted theater, about 200-300 people (well, men) in attendance. Some were dressed like sheiks, some very western, and some meagrely. Some looked very dark in complexion, some looked white European. All of them were laughing and seemed excited to be there. One of the first things I noticed were a few junior officers who work in general military intelligence positions, who have now been elevated to the position of city official, judge, jury and authority figure. Somehow I feel that these young guys, many of them filled with romantic and adventurous gusto, are ill-suited for this. They use military terminology with the people and deal with them in a military manner. I wish they would use State Department officials or civilians to perform the government re-building. Soldiers don’t make good ambassadors here, young ones, I mean. Well, after all of the men were seated, the debating began, and everything began to boil. The crowd got loud, then became enraged, and then they dispersed to the lobby area to calm down. The situation was very loud, very tense, and seemingly fragile. You might say that is democracy, Independence Hall, right here in Baghdad. My assessment is that these people act as if they have woken up to an impossible reality, a future that lays in the balance.
“A racetrack, they have a racetrack?” – Duty NCO with southern accent. I just had to write that down, he just said that as I was writing and he was reading a map. So many people here are surprised at how, well, normal this place seems to be. Back to the election…
I mingled with some men and their sons, who were dressed modestly and from a workers cloth, and I will never forget the expression that one man conveyed to me in earnest. As men were yelling at each other, he looked to me and communicated instantly, as would a long time friend, with his expression “Can you believe this, it’s such a shame.” I could only curl my lip and offer my sincere understanding and compassion with my expression, while dipping my head a slight bit. I looked to his son, about 8 or 10 years old, and shared in his disappointment. This small interaction only furthered my belief that there is a common bond between the good, family-oriented, working people of the world – a common understanding, a shared concern.
At some point, a boy came up to me and gave me a Pepsi. I thought he wanted money for it, and when I tried to pay, he would not accept the money. That was amazing, because the dollar goes a long way here. We always buy the drinks from them, so to give away an asset like that was truly meaningful.
The whole time though, it seemed like something was dysfunctional in the process, and that was the military involvement in the civil matters, when that role should be limited to security. There are a lot of missed opportunities and dashed opportunities because we have some of our least mentally equipped and experienced people, soldiers, acting as the official state representatives here.
We have also found that 3rd Infantry Division soldiers still have a real hatred and disregard for Iraqis. At the election, the war-weary soldiers, who were killing these people and being shot at by them only a few weeks ago, were telling them “MOVE MOTHERFUCKERS!!!” and grabbing them. Today, I saw three soldiers walking. They saw a pipe that we had made to bring clean water to the poor families that are living in the looted buildings and one said, “Can you believe this shit, they are givin’ these people running water??” From what I have seen and heard, they have a dark relationship with these conquered people – everything from sexual exploitation to half-hearted gestures of good will. I don’t even like to look these guys in the eyes, there is something in them that expresses confusion and darkness. I believe you can only understand this when you have known someone before a war, I mean a soldier, and seen them after a war – as I did at the Saddam Parade Grounds. I really worry about Jimmy, I wonder if he has changed in a way I have described above. I think about how blessed I am to have been at home with Nora and at Vatican City during the bombing campaign. I was and continue to be fortunate, but there are and were so many people killed and maimed, both mentally and physically because of this war. I convince myself to concentrate on the present, to help these kids, but I do think back on the past – and wonder if this could have been avoided. I was telling Foley about Hurricane Hugo. I was in that disaster, in the heart of it, and lived for almost a month in a war-like environment. We were (Foley and I) walking through some rubble of a bombed building, and I wondered how we willingly create disaster on such a large scale, with so many deaths. Natural disasters are such a horrible thing, but to consciously choose to create mass destruction and trauma is something evil. It is so easy to forget about what has happened here, especially when the children are so happy, and to forget the human price and the scar this time will leave in the hearts and minds of U.S. soldiers and Iraqis.
Today has been a little stressful, because the staff insists on lounging around (earlier they were searching for an old cannon to put outside for our new headquarters, instead of setting up the basics that we need). It seems like a lot of training we do in Graf and Hohenfels is not being used at all. I am running around coordinating a lot of things while everyone is relaxing near the garden, or going on treasure hunting trips. This really is a military “adventure,” Schroeder had it right to keep Germany out of this.
Well, that is enough about the ins and outs of this place. There is something that is really keeping me going and that is you, Spatzi! I am getting so much mail from you! It is the greatest, really. I wish you could see my face when I read them. I know that you love me Nora, and I know that you will be by my side forever. You make me want to live forever, just so I could know this heaven forever. I love you Nora! Last night at 2400, I got off work and I was so tired, I laid in bed and wanted to write you so badly – I started crying, more than I expected to. Nora, I am so in love with you! We will have a family, and I will be the best man you could ever wish for. I love you!

When we arrived at the officer training camp, I noticed something peculiar about the 3rd Infantry Division unit that was living next to us. Their MP and scout vehicles displayed phrases having to do with September 11th, 2001. Many would have a New York City Fire Department engine number on them, or WTC, or something else stencilled on them. It seemed they came with a different spirit than we did (1st Armored Division). It seemed they came seeking reprisal, seeking vengeance, for September 11th. We had been conditioned to think that this war was to rid Saddam Hussein of his “arsenal of weapons of mass destruction,” to enforce the U.N. resolutions that the U.N. itself wouldn’t enforce. Then, this mission to rid Saddam of WMD was dubbed “Iraqi Freedom.” Among the people I know, we never considered our deployment retaliation for that dreadful day. Maybe that had something to do with us being in Germany at the time of the attack. Maybe from within the United States, the embers of hate towards the Middle East glowed brighter than they did among Americans stationed oversees. I just don’t know.
[1] Battalion Tactical Operations Center, where most coordination is organized
[2] Community level elections