If You Have an Election On Superbowl Weekend Will Anyone Notice?

For most of the month of December and January I was immersed in planning contingency operations for the provincial elections that were held all over Iraq. My piece was very, very small but very rewarding.

I learned a lot about Iraqi government. I learned that it is completely unlike ours. Theirs is a system based on a forty year old system of communist style command and control, designed to “top down” keep the masses in line. That same system is now turned so that it is supposed to flow “bottom up.” In other words, the system is supposed to now represent the people, not the government.

There are other significant structural issues to this system that confuse and confound people who look at it. For example; the government does not collect taxes. However, because the local governments have no source of income except for what it provided by Baghdad, the town councils and muhdirs (moo’-Deer), or mayor, have no control over the local officials who run the essential services. No, the people who clean up trash, make sure the lights are on, and ensure teachers are in schools are all from a parallel system of service ministries. Confused yet? Keep in mind NI3E (Nothing In Iraq Is Easy).

As convoluted as the system is, the fact remains that it works. Although imperfect, the people understand where to go and how to get things done.

The elections in January were a big deal in this country. This was really the first time citizens could vote from an “open ballot” and choose the representative of their specific choosing. The provincial elections in Babil saw over 1400 people run in 78 different political parties for just 30 seats. Over 14,000 people ran for office all over Iraq! This was a big deal because no one imagined that we’d get this far in the security of the country to hold them.

In Babil, 56% of the registered voters went to the polls on January 31st to cast their ballot. That’s about 10% more than the turn out for the US elections. The election went off with very little violence, although there was some, and the winners are now in “school” to learn how to be provincial leaders. If these new leaders can/will begin to actually represent the people then the country will have turned another small corner towards a stable future.

I was home on the weekend of the elections. The first Sunday in February fell on that weekend. A Sunday holy to sports fans and advertizing executives all over the US. Superbowl Sunday.

I looked for news of the elections. Having left in a hurry on Januray 31st I didn’t know if the polling sites stayed secure, or if there were mass casualty incidents. Coming home I anxiously looked for news on the elections. It was hard to find any information about the elections at all.
Then, live, from Iraq, breaking news! Soldiers watching the Superbowl will get to drink two real beers! Really?! That’s the best CNN, NBC, whatever could do? We relaxed General Order #1 and let Soldiers drink beer while watching the big game?

News networks are closing their Baghdad offices and moving on to where the “story” is – Afghanistan. There is no more news here in Iraq. Iraq is old news, it’s over; forgetting the cost in American dollars and lives and forgetting the shattered bodies and minds of those that served and those who love them.

What a shame. You missed the big win.

"How's It Going?"

I have been asked that question many times over the past few weeks. Let me answer.

How’s it going with your family?
Lisa and I got through a tough time over the past few weeks. We delivered the baby on February 3rd and baptized her with the name, Rebecca Lucy. We are still looking for answers to the how and why questions that we still have. While in the hospital we found a way to laugh, and cry, and rejoice in the strength of our family. Lisa is an amazingly strong person and I am a lucky man.

Being home unexpectedly with my family allowed me time with the kids. TJ has only seen me in pictures and on the video on the computer for the last six months. His face lit up when I realized I was actually in the house. His attitude was along the lines of, “Oh, hey, there you are. Do you want to see my new toys?” He is a beautiful child and I love to see him laugh and smile. We took him sledding for the first time and he loved it and even helped pull the sled up the hill.

Samantha proved to be a patient pre-teen by allowing me to take care of Lisa first. She did very, very well on her report card making all of us so proud – she makes it seem easy. I went to visit her when she was ice skating with her 6th grade class. I never realized how tall she was until I compared her against 200 other 6th graders. She is tall and beautiful. Wow. She continues to be a great big sister and wonderful daughter.

How’s it going over there?
That’s other question I answered a lot. My answer is that, here, in Babil, we are doing well. No one could have imagined this situation twenty four months ago. The example I use is the provincial elections that were held on the day I returned home, January 31st. In Babil province alone over 1400 men and women ran in 78 different political parties for 30 available seats. Amazing. Amazing that 1400 people chose to run for office against such long odds (there were 14,000 people running nationwide). It speaks to the stability and security that they feel to be able to run for office. Election posters were everywhere. Why would people do that if they didn’t want to be part of the process of improving this country?

In Iraq there is no internal threat that can disrupt the slow but deliberate momentum the country is gaining. It will never be without corruption, nepotism, or intimidation, but then, hey, that’s Iraq. 2009 will bring slow economic growth and a new government. What I tell people who ask is that this is what it feels to be on the doorstep of win; slow, boring at times, and hopeful.

How’s it going with you?
Me? The loss of Rebecca hit me hardest when I left Lisa and the kids to return to Iraq. I am still sorting and making sense of everything. The distance from Lisa makes it harder than I want it to. In the past month I was able to find a lot of old high school friends via FaceBook and catch up on 25 years of adulthood. It’s funny how those memories pull me back to the days of designer jeans and “Frankie Says Relax” shirts. I am still suffering from jet lag following a 50 hour trip back to the FOB. In a way I am glad to be back in the mission. I was greeted by Soldiers with hugs and smiles – the sign of a strong unit and great people.

I have taken many moments to pause and reflect on my luck as a husband, parent, friend, soldier over the past few weeks. How am I? I am doing well.

Not Every Story Has A Happy Ending

As I sit writing this I am waiting to go over the air field to get on a Blackhawk to go home and be with my wife. Our daughter died in utero sometime over the last few days. We are immensely heart broken and personally I feel as if I can't get home fast enough.

The baby's name was Rebecca Lucy or Lucy Rebecca, the exact placing of the names was an on going discussion for Lisa and I. Lucy was my mom's middle name. In a way it feels like I lost another part of mom. We both know that are a few more difficult days ahead of us before things get better and we have prepared ourselves as best as possible - but the reality of these situations never reflects what you think they will be like.

Not every story has a happy ending but in every sad story there is something to learn. In all of this saddness I have already learned a couple of things to be thankful for. First, the love you give you get back. I love my wife and she is an amazingly strong woman and partner. I could not ask for a better human being to be in my life. That love also came from my Soldiers, who upon hearing the news, dropped what they were doing and literally came by my side. At 2030 (8:30pm) most of my staff and leadership were still in the office. I realized that they weren't leaving until I left. I love these Soliders and try to show them as best as a commander can. They returned that love last night.

Second, I get to see my son, TJ, who is all of 20 months old and a full-on toddler. Despite the emotional weight of this event, I am so glad I get to be his dad for a couple of weeks. Third, Lisa and I discovered as a couple how many friends that we have out there (and here). Through emails and phone calls and visits and dinners prepared for Lisa we have received tremendous support.

It's time to go. Thank you for your prayers good wishes.

Messages

16 January
Lisa and I spoke after she was done with sonogram appointment. She told me that there was an unusual reading and that she had to stay to see the doctor. She waited and waited and waited and eventually had to leave to go back to work. On her way home the doctor called her and said that she’d have to make another appointment.

17 January
An email from my mother-in-law; call Lisa. I returned to my office where we have a State Department phone that can call home clearer than any other method on the FOB. I found her on her cell. The doctor called Lisa at home. On a Saturday. As she recounted the conversation I asked her to tell me everything he had said. The baby is too small; too small by about four weeks. Lisa’s amniotic fluid is low. There need to be tests; as soon as possible. She is going Monday with a friend.
There was a lot the doctor didn’t say. He didn’t say anything about how this was going to be okay in the end.
I call my brother and give him the message.

18 January
A fitful night had me agitated all day today. I can feel the anxiety in me building. I know I will have to go home. I tell some of my officers so that I can leave them in charge in case I need to go quickly. Following an evening meeting I meet with the Chaplain. We talk and pray and he reminds me that hope is okay. I talk to God on my walk home.

19 January
I can feel the muscles tense in my back and neck. I run for miles out along the perimeter. Usually it clears my head and allows me to think. Today it doesn’t. I return from my run to the compound. I stretch and notice a coin buried in the dirt. I pick it up and it has two hands in prayer on the front. On the back it says, “God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, courage to change the things I can, and wisdom to know the difference.” I call Lisa on the satellite phone later in the evening. She is in the doctor’s room waiting and I need to call back. There is nervous apprehension in her voice as she describes the high definition ultrasound she had done. I tell her that I’ll call back soon. Twenty minutes later I call. Her friend answers. Lisa is talking to the doctor. She puts me on. The connection is static and garbled in space but I hear her crying. It’s not good.
Lisa put me on speaker phone. The doctor tells me that the placenta is detaching from the uterus and the baby is not getting enough nutrients or oxygen. The baby is only 350 grams and should be 500 grams. I hear what she is saying but I need to ask her what it means, although I already know. I ask her how these situations usually end up. “Not well,” is the answer. I go numb. I can’t hear and tell Lisa I need to back to the office to call her from the State phone.
Ten minutes later she is more composed. She is being put on bed rest for two weeks to see what happens. We discuss options. We discuss when I should come home. I tell her about the coin. Everything else blurs.

20 January
I skype with Lisa in the morning. I haven’t slept much. We talk. I am reminded that this woman is an amazing source of my strength and I hers. I love her beyond description, although I still try as often as I can. Together we try to find some peace and prepare for the hard road ahead. At work I make the arrangements to go home when the time calls for it. I am 8,000 miles and three days of solid travel from home.
I see the doctor who gives me Tylenol PM to help me sleep. I sleep for nine hours.

21-23 January
We have slowly been telling family and friends. This is as much to share the burden than anything else. It amazingly opens up other people to tell me their story of when they lost a child. Their stories give me perspective and remind me that I am not alone. Lisa and I speak twice a day. My days are filled with work. It’s the only thing to divert my mind. It’s hard to imagine what is going to happen. I know things are hard now and will likely get much harder before it gets better.

Lisa and I will have to make choices between things we can changes and accept the things we can’t. I take the coin out and pray for the wisdom to know the difference.

Ghost Towns

In 1990, Iraq had the fourth largest army in the world.

In 1991, the multi-national coalition shattered that army. In 2003 we obliterated it.

The evidence of the war that destroyed the army of Iraq is all over the country. When I fly around south central Iraq, from Babil to places like Karbala, Wasit, and Qadasyia I see those places from 1000 feet up.

I have seen army bases were once huge, thriving facilities, covering several square miles, all flattened. I can tell that they were military bases from my maps and by the way the buildings and roads are laid out in precise order. Barracks look like barracks everywhere. In many places the only indication of the base ever existed is by the internal road network and outlines of exterior fences. All other evidence has been wiped clean by our bombs and time.

In some places the buildings still stand but the roofs are gone and all that is left is an empty shell. Looking down at these places you can see that the buildings have been picked clean like a carcass, whether it was by looters, Americans, or salvage workers, leaving just the skeleton.

I flew over a former Republican Guard air base yesterday where bomb craters the size of baseball diamonds dotted the ground up to the four foot thick concrete bunkers that once housed the air force. The bunkers are cracked and broken like empty shells buried in the sand.

If you know what to look for the evidence of the war is also visible on the ground. Pock marks cover walls where machine guns fired. Pavement is patched up where rockets impacted and were covered over with cement. Every now and then you can find a stray rusted shell casing.

I think about the men who no doubt died in these places and feel no pity for them. Not even in passing. In fact, I hold them in some respect for as soldiers they faced certain death without leaving their posts. Their dedication to their nation is what being a soldier is about. I once met a man who fought in the 2003 war against us. He actually admitted to firing artillery at Coalition Forces during the attack on Baghdad. He has been the only military aged male who served in the military who has ever admitted to shooting at us. I shook his hand – at least he was a warrior.

Many others, forced into conscription, never believed in Saddam’s regime and fled the obvious. I can’t blame them. The only cowards were those who believed in Saddam but ran anyway when called to duty.

Not a single base I have seen has any squatters living on them. The Bedouins don’t even stop here. The new military doesn’t even build over these places. There are no signs that life ever visited these places after March/April 2003. It’s as if the malevolence of the Ba’ath regime still lurks in the shadows and no one wants to be haunted by ghosts of that recent past.

The War Is Over (aka Painting Rocks)

It’s January 2009, and the SA (formerly known as SOFA) is in effect. Iraq is quiet. Quiet so that there are fewer explosions, less gunfire, less violence. The country is preparing for elections in two weeks. Whatever normal is for Iraq might look like what I see and hear outside of the FOB.

There is an undertone of, “What do we do now?” that hangs over the FOB. Trained killers now spend time eating, going to the gym, and maintaining their equipment. The new unit that we are supporting spent months physically, mentally, and emotionally preparing to go to war only to get here and find out that stability and security are now firmly taking hold.

Iraq is suddenly boring and that is dangerous.

Slowly, Soldiers lose their edge. Worse yet, the boredom will overtake them and they will act up or act out against one another. It is a greater challenge for leaders to keep their troops gainfully employed during these times than it is to deploy them in a fire fight.

So leaders fall back on what they know from being in a garrison; orderliness, beautification, and attention to detail. Thus we paint rocks. “Painting rocks” is a term used in the Army, but not often. It means to make busy work in lieu of anything substantial. The other day I went by a bunch of Soldiers who were painting cement barriers, making the headquarters look more professional, and I thought, “The war’s over, were painting rocks.”

With all deference to the Soldiers who were doing the painting, they we only trying to bring a sense of esprit de corps to the area by painting logos and heraldry for the unit. However, it isn’t lost on many of us that somehow, somewhere in 2008 the war turned a corner. Iraq stability hit a tipping point. And now, here we are at the beginning of the end.

I was talking to some troops who were wondering about “what’s going to happen next.” I told them to take the next few months seriously. We are at the threshold of a win, something we didn’t really expect in 2006 and 2007. The Iraqis have a long way to go but have made great strides since 2005 (when I was here last).

The next few months will be hard. We need to put down the metaphorical paint brush and get smart in areas of expertise that we are unfamiliar with; economic initiatives, measuring essential services, building relationships within the Iraqi government, building capacity, and continuing to professionalize the Iraqi military.

And then let's go home.

Mandatory Fun - Happy New Year

Welcome to 2009. When I wrote last time about "camel racing"

as part of the New Year's festivities I didn't think they actually meant camel racing. New Year's eve was mandatory fun, meaning that everyone had to go out and participate. Fun, when directed by the boss usually goes two ways, really fun, or really dull. Last night I found out there was a third option; really silly.

The night had the ususual for New Year's, including a ball made of plywood and stuck with 2009 chem-lites. The fact that someone had 2009 chem-lite available and counted them was only the beginning. Once we had a formation of a thousand or so troops, we broke out into gladiator games. And thus the silliness began. In addition to the camel races (thank God no one actually rode the beasts but instead led them over the course), there was a gator pull.

Fortunately, that didn't involve a real alligator although if they could have found one they might have used it. The gator, an all terrain vehicle, was pulled by Soldiers while others rode in it while jousting with their opponents. Someone muttered, "someone's gonna get hurt," and they were right. The bubble wrap sumo wrestling, and dummy toss were much safer. At the end of the games someone was declared the "gladiator warrior for 2009" with great fanfare. Ugh.

As 2008 drew to a close, old man 2008 was tossed onto the bon fire pile and the baby New Year was seen running in diaper, bonnet and combat boots with a torch bearer to light the way to 2009. This is what I stayed up for because they had been putting gasoline on the pile of wood and old furniture since 1:30 in the afternoon. I was expecting a small mushroom cloud to usher in the New Year.

The bon fire didn't disappoint with flames reaching 40' in the air. The temperature was down in the thirties but the fire gave off enough heat to drive out the cold within minutes. Most of my guys had gotten smart hours before an went back to the reality of the compound. I stayed with my First Sergeant, Operations NCO, and one Team Chief who was only hanging around to use the office phone to call his family.

Finally, as 2009 rolled in, fireworks were passed around to hundreds of Soldiers. It was the apex of silliness, a large crowd with small explosives set off by anyone who had a lighter. It was time to go.

The Iraqis are now "in charge", whatever that means. 2009 brings us closer to home. Closer to what matters most, family and friends. HAPPY NEW YEAR!