4PM. Wednesday, 23 May. 116 Degrees.

And I didn't even have time for a Green Bean Smoothie today.

America is at the Mall -- or, A Call to Remember Memorial Day

America is not at war.

The (insert your favorite branch of service here) is at war.

America is at the mall.

I referenced this sentiment in an earlier post -- a sentiment that I felt long before I set boots on ground here in Bag-city, but one that has gnawed at me for some time.

The anti-war movement assails the President for failing to ask the American people to sacrifice during war--and fundamentally I don't disagree with them on that point. The only thing we, as a nation, have been asked for is patience, and, in the days after 9/11...dare I say it...to go shopping. We were asked to live our lives as we normally would, ignoring the sounds of war marching all around us. Sadly, that's easy to do in modern America, where the military is less than 1% of the population, and when fewer and fewer communities support military facilities. It's easy to do when large numbers of Americans view this war only as an abstraction, a news report, or nothing more than a political push me-pull me.

Last year, I travelled to Veterans Affairs hospitals across the country, and I spent a number of afternoons visiting Walter Reed Medical Center in Washington. I met many of our nation's wounded warriors, and listened as they spoke about their injuries. I know that I was in the presence of true heroes. Men not focused on themselves, but on their families, and, on the guys that are still out there in the fight.

To suggest that it is not immediately arresting to meet young men (and women) recovering from traumatic injuries, is simply not honest. It is. In fact, in some instances, it's simply shocking. But, the courage these great Americans display is humbling. I mention this, only because it goes back to my point about how easy it is for so many to ignore the war. I can't tell you how many times I have been in an airport or public place, and witnessed the shock and curiosity of the public at the sight of a young soldier or Marine, missing a leg or arm, or an eye. In many cases, our great warriors are applauded, or greeted with quiet nods of thanks or appreciation. In too many cases, it's the averted eyes, the visceral discomfort, or the unwillingness or inability to recognize the serviceman before them. But my guess is that these are many people who "support the troops".

I come back, then, to the question of how is it that those who proclaim their support for our nation's fighting men and women, actually support us. How many volunteer at a VA hospital or even volunteer to drive veterans to their medical appointments? How many, through churches or community groups, gather, box and mail care packages to the guys out in the dust who really need their help the most? How many look for ways to support military families, especially those of deployed reservists, who are often far from the tight-knit support groups of military communities?

How many take time from a Memorial Day picnic to actually observe Memorial Day?

Memorial Day has always been special to me, but not for the reasons it should be. I was born on May 30th -- the real Memorial Day. I grew up just a few miles from Boalsburg, Pa -- a town that bills itself as the birthplace of Memorial Day, and honors that history with an annual observance at the cemetery that first witnessed the decoration of veterans' gravesites.

That, and, the volunteer fire company puts on a really fun fair.

I'll admit that as a kid, I spent more than one Memorial Day at the carnival, and even marched in my 9th grade band in the Memorial Day parade. And, as an adult, I remember more than once battling weekend traffic to the beach.

But, until recently, I don't ever recall visiting a cemetery to honor our nation's fallen war dead.

Last year I spent Memorial Day at the Arizona National Cemetery in Phoenix, and later that day, on a quiet visit to the National Cemetery and VA hospital in Prescott, AZ. In Prescott, every headstone and marker was honored with a small American flag, placed by the local Boy Scouts. I had a chance to speak briefly with one of the troop leaders -- for him and his Scouts, its an annual mission, and from it the boys learn to respect not only their nation, but the sacrifices of those who have gone before to give them, and us, all that we have. It's ironic, isn't it, that because of the gift of freedom and great prosperity, that we enjoy because men and women went into battle and died, we now have the ability to live in a society so detached from our military services, that we can almost ignore the holiday that honors them?

Presidential aspirant John Edwards believes that the best way to honor the service and sacrifice of our war dead, is to instigate protest against the war in Iraq at Memorial Day ceremonies. (http://www.supportthetroopsendthewar.com/) To those who fail to understand that such crass politicization of a holiday honoring our war dead is abhorrent to the very notion of honor, sacrifice and service, who view this "call to armchairs" by Edwards as a noble act of civil disobedience, I want nothing of your hollow wailing of support.

But then I remember Prescott, AZ, where young men and boys learn of patriotism, service, and honor.

So what can I ask of you? For my friends and family at home, the annual Memorial Day Ceremony at Boalsburg Cemetery is Monday, May 28 at 6PM. And there are ceremonies as our national cemeteries across America. Click here for a comprehensive listing.

For those far away, start with a prayer for our fallen heroes, and for their families--not just to yourself, but shared, aloud, with others. A visit to the grave of a family member or friend who served, or flying a flag smartly from your lawn.

Or take even just 15 minutes with your children, explain what Memorial Day means, and why it's important now, in the 5th year of a long war, to remember. They, and we, will be the better for it.

P.S. And a Memorial Day/birthday card for your favorite sailor wouldn't hurt, either. ;)

Some Like it Hot

I have a simple request. Mr. President, the next time we take on a brutal dictator and topple his regime, could we pick one in a nice temperate climate? Like, oh, I don't know, British Columbia. A civilian in my office suggested Hawaii, but I reminded him that we had already done that one.

Outside temperature at 10:30AM.

(That's 1030 for you military types.)

Now, 106 degrees isn't so bad if you're standing on the Las Vegas Strip waiting for the next pirate battle or volcanic eruption.

Or, if the A/C in your building is working. Ours is not. It's been out since last week. It really wasn't too bad, until today. We thought about making prank phone calls to Iraqis to tell them that we couldn't come to work because the a/c in our building was down, and that it was too hot to walk up 6 flights of stairs, but we were afraid someone in the US media might find that insensitive, and I don't want to be the next Lindy England. It goes without saying that the Air Force personnel in our office suggested that, if we must work at all, we sit in our Suburban with the a/c on all day and conduct business from there. But, then someone would say that wasn't environmentally friendly.

So what can you do?

Drink water. Lot's of it. Have a look at today's consumption alone.

It's a good thing my mission this morning was scrubbed, because I would never have made it out and back without a bathroom stop...and it's not as if you can pull off the freeway when you finally see a gas station that "looks clean".

How will I cope with the Iraqi heat for the rest of summer?

Two words: GREEN BEAN.

I really am beginning to believe that all roads during my tour will at some point lead back to the Green Bean. Not only does the Green Bean purvey fine coffee products (an update on that in a moment), BUT...what could soothe the warrior spirit more than a frosty fruit smoothie. Seriously, if the Spartans had Green Bean fruit smoothies in their fight against the Persians at the Battle of Thermopylae, they might have prevailed. It was the Hot Gates, after all.

(See how I tie this all together, bringing the ancient forward to reference the modern Iranian interference in Iraq? More on that at a later date, but my Grandmother always insists that an educational purpose should balance the purely frivolous...so here is yours: Fruit smoothies could have changed the face of the ancient world. I stand by my claim. )

Seriously...have a look. How could you NOT resist?

And finally, I have been challenged. (I know some of you are thinking, "you're challenging? No kidding". That's OK...I know who you are. Kathleen.)

After my usual triple house coffee this morning, I realized that hot coffee (and I mean Rob-sized portions of hot coffee -- some people call them kegs, I call them hearty doses) and Bag-city heat don't mix. And really, aren't there enough jittery people around this town already? So, an Army captain and I made a pact...I will give up coffee, and he will give up dipping Copenhagen. DEAL!

Frankly, there is very little that a soldier could challenge me to do, that I wouldn't do just to prove the point that a sailor can be every bit as HOOAH as a soldier. Don't ask me what that means, because I have no idea. The Army has no idea, but they all insist on being HOOAH, even to the point on eating....HOOAH bars.

Again, how could I make this stuff up?

So as of this morning, I am once again clean. Caffeine free.

Happily, I have discovered the joys of Green Bean fruit smoothies. It's the best $5 investment I can imagine.

A Letter to Friends -- 23 April 2007

Dear Friends,

Thanks so much for your notes. I've been in downtown Baghdad's green zone for two weeks now and am settling into a routine, which pretty much boils down to sleep, eat, work, eat, work, eat, gym, sleep, and repeat. A friend of mine said the other day that he had no idea what day it was, but he knew it was dinner time. That seems to be the pace of things around here. They say that you will leave Iraq a member of the 300 club -- either weighing 300 pounds because you eat all the very good food out here (every Sunday is lobster night), or benching 300 pounds, because there is not much to do other than work and work out.

My Uncle Charles served two tours in Vietnam. He recently wrote and told me about his experience last year going back to Vietnam as a tourist. As I have been out on missions throughout Baghdad, I have been thinking about his experience in Vietnam and about coming back some day and hopefully finding a thriving, peaceful city.

In many ways, it seems amazing that the city thrives to the degree it does. In spite of everything, every day on the streets outside the walls of the Green Zone, I see people going about their daily lives -- setting up stalls in the market, opening shops, walking the sidewalks, going to school.

In central Baghdad, the traffic is so thick, that operating a convoy safely given the threat of IEDs and the more deadly EFPs (explosively formed projectiles -- most of which are imported from Iran) is almost impossible, which means invoking a certain amount of faith each time I see the sign "You are now leaving the International Zone." Those are times when I am glad that I had the months of training that I did. I know that should I have to, I could get on the radios, call in a medevac or a sitrep, or jump into the gun turret and get the crew served weapons up. I hope I don't ever have to do that. I can't say enough good about the soldiers that serve as our convoy security teams. They could not be more professional with us, and try to mitigate their impact on the city streets while keeping us safe.

Even though I have been here for two weeks now, the green zone still has a surreal quality to it. It's a mixture of military and civilian from all over the world, with contractors everywhere, and bombed out palaces hiding behind blast walls and jersey barriers. The private security contractors are everywhere, from Nepalese Gurkhas to former SF guys now serving as protective details. Many of the main buildings here show the evidence of more than just this war, but at the same time, I'm certain that this area once has a certain beauty to it, despite being the one time playground of Saddam and his Baathists. And while it's comfortable, and the quality of life is high, there are remembrances of where we are. Saturday afternoon we had 8 mortars land in the green zone. I heard them all hit, and could see the dust cloud rising up from my office window. Yesterday afternoon about 5:30, I was going through a check point when a mortar sailed in and landed less than 100 meters away. Two people had injuries from shrapnel, but nothing serious, thankfully. My office is right next to the combat support hospital, and many times during the day, and especially at night, I can see and here the air ambulances take off for medevac missions.

Last week I wrote an email to my niece to explain to her where I am living, what I'm doing, and maybe to start the process of her understanding why it's important that I be here. She is a very smart, inquisitive girl, and I know that she is more aware of what is happening here than maybe others understand. I told her that every morning when I walk from where I live to where I work, I see a group of Iraqi girls in their school uniforms waiting for their ride to school, and that it made me think of her. I wrote that even though she is from these girls separated by many miles and even though they speak a different language, they have lots in common. They want to go to school and learn about the world. And they want to grow up in a safe city and have families of their own that they can raise in freedom and peace. Hopefully, what I'm doing here will play some part in that mission. I believe it is the right one, in spite of all the mistakes we have made in our attempts to put Iraq back together. My discussions with the Iraqis that work in our office about that subject are interesting, but I'll save that for another email.

My greatest frustration now is the political weakness and lack of will, courage, and leadership in Washington. I blame those who see the war as a tool for political battles fought at home, where winning is marked by gains in polls and congressional seats, rather than here where the real people fighting these battles are (and I really talking about the guys out there walking the streets every day, not myself). And I also blame our leaders for not making the case about why this is so important, and what the consequences are if we lose -- not because we really have lost or are losing, but simply because we lost our will, gave up and walked away.

A few weeks ago, I saw a picture of a sign on a Marine Corps outpost here in Iraq. It read: "America is not at war. The Marine Corps is at war. America is at the mall". Substitute your favorite branch of service, but I couldn't agree more. That's my soapbox, sorry!

So thanks again for all your notes and good wishes. They really do mean a lot out here.

All the best,

Rob

How do you explain the war to children?

What follows is a letter I wrote to my 10-year old niece shortly after I arrived. She is a very bright, inquisitive girl, who I know wants to understand why my being in Iraq matters.


My dear niece,

Marhaba! That means HELLO in Arabic!

I was so excited to get your email! I'm so glad you had a good Easter at Grandma's. It's important to spend holidays with people we love, isn't it? That's part of what makes being a family so special.

I'm writing to you from the city of Baghdad, the capital of Iraq. When you can, look on a map and you will see where I am. Did you know that Baghdad is the capital modern Iraq, but that what is now Iraq is the site of one of the most ancient civilizations in the world? For thousands of years, people have lived in Iraq on the land between two great rivers, the Tigris River, which flows right through the middle of Baghdad (on the left), and the Euphrates River. Together, they formed what was call the Fertile Crescent. The land was rich for farming and living, unlike the desert that surrounded it.

Thousands of years ago, even before Jesus was born, the people who lived here were doing great things. The first written alphabet was called cuneiform, and was created by people called Sumerians over 5000 years ago. One of the first sets of written laws, called the Code of Hammurabi, was developed here 1700 years before Jesus was born. Have you ever heard of the "Wonders of the Ancient World?" (like the pyramids in Egypt.) One of those wonders was called the Hanging Gardens of Babylon. Those were in Iraq, too, very close to Baghdad. When you think about it, you can understand why the people who live in Iraq today are very proud of their history and their culture, just like we are in America.

I know that you have learned about the difficult times that the people in Iraq are having now, and because of that I want you to understand why I am in Iraq. Like so many Americans, and people from all over the world, we are trying to help the people of Iraq learn how to achieve all those great things again, and to help them live in a peaceful country, where they can enjoy the freedom and safety that we have in America.

So what part am I playing in that very big plan? You know that I went to law school, and that I used to work for a judge, right? Well, here in Iraq, I am taking that experience, and working with Iraqi lawyers, judges and police officers, so that we can help them all make Baghdad a safe city for people to live and work and raise their families.

The lawyers and judges and police are so important, because they are the people who protect those who aren't strong enough to protect themselves. They make sure that the courts are fair, and that people are treated as the laws of Iraq say they should be treated. These judges and lawyers are very brave men and women who have the courage to stand up and give help to those Iraqis that need it. If we can be sure that this happens all over Iraq, the country will become stronger, and people will know that when they have a disagreement with their neighbors, they can trust the law, enforced by the judges and police, to protect them. You can see, we have a BIG job!

Every morning when I walk from where I live to where I work, I see a group of Iraqi girls in their school uniforms waiting for their ride to school. It makes me think of you and your sister. Even though you and these girls are separated by many miles and even though you speak a different language, you have lots in common with them. Like you, they want to go to school and learn about the world. And they want to grow up and have families of their own that they can raise in freedom and peace.

Well, that's a very long email! But I hope it helps you understand what I'm doing here, and that maybe it won't seem that we are so very far away from each other.

How about this...in every email, I will teach you a word or two in Arabic, they language they speak in Iraq, and in many countries in this part of the world. So here's your first couple of words....I started the email by saying "Marhaba!" That means "hello!" Now that I'm saying good bye, I will say...

Ma'salama, which means, go in peace.

So, Ma'salama, my dear niece. Go in peace. I love you very much.

From the banks of the Tigris River, in the ancient city of Baghdad,

Love,
Uncle Rob

First Contact -- 5 April 2007

I thought that I would back up a bit, and post some of my emails to family and friends, from my first day here in Bag-city, along with some other first impressions.

Dear Family,

Hello from the International Zone in downtown Baghdad. Right now, I'm sitting in a huge ballroom in one of Saddam's palaces, now the US Embassy, drinking a chai latte and writing emails. Just another one of the many surreal experiences I have had since arriving here in the Green Zone at 5:30 this morning. Today has been somewhat of a blur -- we arrived and got an hour of sleep before having to get up for the start of our in-briefs. Then it was death by PowerPoint all day long. I am getting settled into my "hooch" which I share the bedroom with the medic from my unit.

I wish I could write more about what I have seen here in the last day -- we arrived at BIAP (Baghdad International Airport) from Kuwait at about 8:30PM and waited for our transportation to the IZ. The journey was quick and uneventful, but I found myself not able to sleep when we were finally able to. As I lay in my cot, over the near constant drone of helicopters, I could hear the muezzin from a nearby mosque start the morning call to prayer.

I'll write more as soon as I can.

Rob

The Caffeine of War

Forget about the fog, it's all about the coffee.

If an army moves on its stomach, then I have no doubt that a Navy sails on its coffee. For a sailor in the sandbox, nothing brings more joy to my mornings in Baghdad than this sight, and the triple house dose of caffeine-laden goodness that comes with it.

Welcome to the Green Bean, home of the Mother of All Coffees.
Seriously...I'm not making that up. It's on the menu.

How soldiers, sailors, and marines went off to war without a gourmet coffee bar is beyond me. I'm guessing it's the advent of the Air Force (thank you Air Force!) that brought creature comforts like this to the sandbox. You really can't expect airmen to deploy for a full six months without lattes, could you?

Green Beans Coffee is almost everywhere in theater. And God bless them for it. You don't see Starbucks out in the desert selling frappes and freshly baked cookies from the front half a connex box, but the Green Bean is right there with us.

Support your troops by swinging by their website and ordering some for yourself (http://www.greenbeanscoffee.com/). Dump some sand into the bottom of your cup, forgo showering for at least a week, and you too can experience the caffeine of war. It's the least you can do, isn't it?

It's quiet

It's strangely quiet outside tonight--at least for the moment. No wind. No helicopters. No birds. The palms aren't swaying and there are no sirens. Just stillness.

But like everything here, it's almost anticipatory. It seems like you never know what's around the corner. I see it in my Iraqi friends, and I see it in Iraqi institutions. There's a certain hesitancy. That uncertainty, again, of what's coming next. It makes moving things forward here very difficult. It makes bold steps almost impossible, and I wonder, if that's part of what's impeding bold and decisive leadership in this country.

P.S. Happy Birthday, Mother. I love you, and I miss you.

Inshallah

Yesterday, I was speaking to an Iraqi woman--beautiful, and almost shy, her fair skin was surrounded by a lavender scarf covering her hair. After our business was done, I drove her to Assassins Gate so that she could make her way out of the green zone and back to her bodyguard and car. When, in her soft voice, she thanked me for helping her, I told her that I hoped all of this security--checkpoints and concertina wire and t-walls--would soon be unnecessary, and that she wouldn't need badges and bodyguards to move about her own city. She quietly said thank you, paused and then whispered "Inshallah."

Inshallah.

God willing.

Inshallah is everywhere in Iraq.

"Will I see you tomorrow, habbibi?" "Inshallah, Sayyed Robert."

"Shall we meet on Thursday?" "Yes, inshallah."

I rarely know when inshallah is simply reflexive, a means of absolving responsibility, or just a way of leaving it all up to uncertainty. And uncertainty is where I found myself as I watched this quiet woman make her way back into the red zone.

Inshallah.

I don't know if she was saying it to me necessarily, or rather was simply letting the words pass her lips for a moment, before they scattered into the noise of the city. She wasn't looking at me when she said "inshallah." But there it was. And I wondered if she was waiting for an answer, or it it was just another beat in Baghdad's chaotic rhythym.

Even though I didn't know who "inshallah" was meant for, if anyone, or even if it warranted a response at all, here's what I do know. Christian or Muslim, our mutual God is willing. I have every certainty of that.

But, are Iraqis willing? Not simply Iraqis as individuals (I know plenty of Iraqis of good conscience who are), but Iraqis as a people, and as a nation. Iraqi men and women of faith, our spiritual cousins, fellow "people of the book"...are you willing?

A Question

I'm discovering there is a rhythm to my days here in Baghdad. (A rhythym to everything except the weather. That's just hot. And a couple of variations of hot. Hot with hot wind. Hot with no wind. That's pretty much it.)

There are highs and lows. The pace is either breakneck fast and agonizingly slow. And when I sit back and think about it, I have a sense of both certainty and wonder.

There are days when I am fascinated by my surroundings, and those when it feels like just another day on the job...almost like I traded 23rd St in Washington for Haifa St in Baghdad. Except, or course, for the dual weapons I carry, the body armour, and blast walls.

Even on those days, I feel completely engaged in the mission. But, there are moments when I sit and close my eyes and ask myself, "my God, what have we done here?"

It's not that I think our mission is wrong or unjust. I have all faith that our mission is both right and just. I have no illusion that a pullout would bring peace to anyone (other than the American antiwar movement), but I understand that Iraqis in their hearts want their country back.

But, sometimes, circumstances just compel the question.

This weekend as I came to work, I found a picture on our building's front door of a young man who worked in a maintenance job in our compound. In the photo, his face is solemn, and his eyes are too serious for his age. I couldn't read the Arabic below the picture, but that didn't matter. I knew that he had been killed.

On Friday he was riding his scooter home, when he was dragged into the middle of a street in his neighborhood and shot in the head by the militia.

Shot in the head. In the middle of the street.

Killed by men who screamed for everyone to watch and learn what happens to Iraqis who work with the Americans. But this young man wasn't working "with" the Americans. He was, simply, a janitor. And more than that, he was a son and brother trying to support his family. The people I know who knew him said he was very sweet and kind. And they said he lived in fear. Last year, an American in the office gave him $1000 to move his family to safety. But he still lived in fear.

And so how could I not ask myself...my God, what have we done here?

Is today's Iraq our fault? No, it's not, or at least not entirely. It's also the fault of Saddam and a regime that corrupted every level of Iraqi society. And it's at least partially the fault of the world's great nations, who sit back and watch the slaughter, but do very little to make a difference in the lives of Iraqis.

So let's put the blame squarely where it rests. The violence that scars Iraq is Evil at work. Proper noun, capital "E" Evil.

It wasn't very long ago that I wasn't such a big believer in evil. Maybe that's my mainline Protestant upbringing at work, but I simply didn't grow up motivated or in fear of Evil as a force in my world.

But there is Evil in the world, and that is what is at work in Baghdad. I sit safely behind blast walls while Evil seeps all around this city, poisoning the lives of the Iraqis who want to realize the promise of the liberation paid for with American and Iraqi blood. But Evil stands in their way.

Did we create it? Of course not. Did we unleash it? Maybe.

What all people of faith and good intentions struggle with now--on all sides of the political debate--is, how do we stop it?