As you can see I’m in the process of reposting the blog. A computer crash is complicating my efforts. But, somehow it seems entirely appropriate; every day here is pretty much a day of having my rebuilding efforts complicated. Sometimes it’s Bill Gates, other times it’s Zarqawi.
I got a lot to catch up on; you may have noticed that it’s been an interesting spring here in Baghdad. Spring is a wonderful time of the year; all the possibilities… the budding of trees, the seating of a new government, the blossoming of sectarian violence and hints of civil strife waft through the air.
The place is still a paradox. Heads and tails at the same time.
I am convinced of two things that I will share with you. We (as a society) are indeed engaged in combat with a foe that possesses an apocalyptic vision of the universe that includes a complete upheaval of the world’s existing political, economic and social systems. If you do not think there is such a thing as ‘global terrorism’ and you are not convinced that someone out there in a cave in Pakistan, or perhaps at a Motel 6 on I-10 is devising ways to destroy you, your family and your way of life; you are mistaken.
The second thing is this: the objective of creating a new democratically-based nation in Iraq through the use of force and foreign occupation and the desire to legitimate that effort as soon as possible by endorsing Iraqi ‘sovereignty’ have been counterproductive strategies that may in fact prevent us from achieving a desirable endstate in our foreign policy. If you think that the invasion, occupation and subsequent rebuilding efforts in Iraq will lead directly and inevitably to a democratic, modernized (technologically and socially) and stable island of pro-American sentiment in the Middle East, you are mistaken. If you think this is even remotely possible with a troop pullout timetable of less than 24 months, you are even more mistaken. It's going to take time, and it's going to take a lot more work.
And if you don’t think these two things are related, you are mistaken.
The other day I went out to a major monument in the IZ; it is Iraq’s version of the ‘Tomb of the Unknown Soldier.’ A silver casket bearing the remains of an Iraqi soldier lost during the war with Iran lies within a large sculpted column centrally placed upon a vast circular marble platform several hundred yards in diameter and reachable by walking up a concrete ramp that gently curves up from the ground to the raised platform. A large half-shell dome, modeled to evoke a soldier’s helmet tipped back, towers over you and the central column as you reach the platform. It is an immense and expansive monument and what is most enthralling about it is the sense of space; it produces an awe because of its simplicity and its oversized scale. It is like standing on top of an overturned bowl used to feed a god. When I last visited, back in September, the grounds were unkempt, rolls of barbed wire were stretched across the entrances and it was ‘guarded’ by several locals who wore their blue Facility Protection Service (an Iraqi version of a rent-a-cop) uniform shirts barely tucked in over their sweaty bulging guts. They were very eager to give me a tour, and very eager to ask for a tip when they saw another vehicle pull up into the parking lot. This time, I was introduced to an entire Honor Guard that was assigned to the monument; I arrived, and the first soldier, dressed smartly in a ‘parade’-style uniform (flushed out with oversized epaulets and a brassard and topped with a very smart beret) called up on his radio and several minutes later the commanding officer was jumping out of a jeep to greet me. A sergeant, Mohammed, volunteered to take me on a tour – speaking superb English. As we got to the top of the ramp and looked across the platform, I didn’t see a single strand of barbed wire; instead, a soldier was marking his paces back and forth across the platform with the deliberate strides that are familiar to those who have seen the showy military march common at Arlington or Buckingham Palace. I was taken on a tour down into the inside of the monument; before, the rent-a-cop had to kick trash out of the way for us to make it down the stairs and into the crypt-like interior. This time, the trophy room was fully lit, and the floor freshly swept. Although the original trophies had either been looted or removed by the new government, shiny silver cases with large glass panels sat ready to be filled with the new flags, decorations and honors that a new Iraqi army was certain to achieve. Mohammed talked about his job as a sergeant; he spoke earnestly and enthusiastically about his unit and about their mission. He explained the pride his family had in him, even though he was unable to visit very often, and without disclosing to neighbors what his profession was. I have become fairly cognizant of the distance between truth and hyperbole common to this environment; his words rang with such honesty that I immediately wished I could recruit him to train my soldiers. One of the key problems that we have identified in training the new Iraqi army (and I’ll use a military analogy here, but the issue goes deeper into society) is that there are few good ‘small group leaders’. These are your sergeants and your junior officers. The old Iraqi army was built on (a very common construct in the world, unfortunately) a fairly segregated system in which a mass of low-skill, low-rank soldiers answered to officers who merely barked orders and attempted to gain more personal stature by telling higher-ranking officers whatever they wanted to hear. What makes a good army is a good corps of senior soldiers who can be trusted to ‘do the right thing when nobody’s looking.’ It is this layer of leadership that will take years to develop. My afternoon with Mohammed gave me tangible evidence that at least this process has begun. Only two years into his career, Mohammed has achieved a senior leadership position in his company, and speaks optimistically of making the military a career. As we started our way back down the ramp, I saw that we were out of sight of any of his fellow soldiers or officers and I offered him some money for his help. He smiled at me and said, “No, no, sir. There is a reason why we are called an ‘Honor’ Guard.”
