by Pete Hegseth
That was the view from my small foxhole in a plywood shack in Samarra, with that black frame containing Teddy Roosevelt’s “Man in the Arena” quote hanging inside. By the end of our tour, after a ruthlessly effective insurgent-hunting approach led by courageous infantry companies (Bravo and Charlie Company especially) in our battalion—aided by months of cooperation with Mr. Assad and interaction with the population—what looked like a hopeless situation was actually blossoming with promise. Amid the chaos were the seeds of success. Yes, our battalion was caught between a conventional approach and a population-centric approach, but with more troops, realistic rules of engagement, and a clearer mission set, we could execute a more successful, and even more deadly, counterinsurgency fight. Yes, Samarra was a restive town, but through careful study of atmospheric data our unit collected, we knew it had a “swing voter” population that was ripe for persuasion, or at least strategic alignment. And yes, 2006 held some of the deepest, darkest days of the war, but that darkness created the opportunity for a dawn that we had the ability to shape. The war was tough, but we could not afford to lose it.
Sometimes only those consumed in the darkest moments can see the tiny light at the end of the tunnel. And by the time I wrapped my arms around Iraq and started to see a faint light of hope, our rotation was over. A few weeks later I was home—where the view of the war was much different. When I came home from Iraq in the middle of 2006 and dropped my duffle bags in New York City, I picked up copies of a New York Times that on a daily basis dutifully trumpeted corrosive and entrenched myths about the fight. They said Iraq was descending into inevitable sectarian chaos, that the presence of U.S. troops only inflamed the situation, and that morale of U.S. troops was dangerously low and would soon break the military. Every myth has a grain of truth to it, as did these. Iraq was violent, but it wasn’t inevitable; U.S. troops were targets, but didn’t have to be; and the mission was tough, but the troops were far from broken. Right around this time, the New Republic quoted a Democratic campaign adviser as saying, “The war in Iraq is over except for the dying.” That was the prevailing wisdom at the time, but it was dead wrong.
What do you do when you come home from war, as a small first lieutenant in a big army, and see that the domestic conversation is fundamentally divorced from the reality on the ground? I did the only thing I could, turning to my laptop and feverishly penning a thirteen-page after-action report titled “Lessons Learned in Samarra: How to Fix an Iraqi City.” I circulated it with anyone who would read it, including—through the father of a friend’s wife—members of the Iraq Study Group, a high-profile panel appointed by Congress to assess the situation in Iraq and make recommendations. I’m not sure if they ever read it, and judging by their recommendations, it didn’t impact them either way. But I had to do something.
It was an empty, powerless, and ever-present feeling, fresh back from the battlefield and knowing we could win in Iraq, but wondering whether our leaders would ever have the stomach for it. Iraq was winnable, but were there enough leaders still around in America who believed that it was “right to prevail”? I believed, as Teddy did in 1910, that “the answer from a strong and virile people must be ‘Yes,’ whatever the cost.” But I just didn’t know. I had long thought President Bush had the ability to be the resolute leader needed for a long and difficult war, with my journal from Guantanamo Bay two years earlier reading, “Bush is a leader and will see Iraq through—will see the whole War on Terrorism through.” But I now questioned that. All the tea leaves pointed to overwhelming public pressure and a midterm election pushing him toward the exits in Iraq. With the inside game feeling hopeless, I went public with my lonely fight—submitting an op-ed to the Wall Street Journal in September 2006. It ran on October 3:
More Troops, Please
I’ve heard President Bush repeatedly state he will send more troops to Iraq if the commanders on the ground ask for them. I think, having returned home from Iraq two months ago, that there must be a breakdown in communication somewhere along the line. Maybe units on the ground are painting too rosy a picture for the generals. Perhaps the generals aren’t asking because it goes against the “can do” ethos of the Army. Possibly the military is being squeezed by the Pentagon to do more with less. Or maybe the White House doesn’t want to admit more troops are needed. In any case, while I do not have the answers nor do I seek to place blame, it is painfully obvious there’s a disconnect.
I volunteered to serve in Iraq because I believe in our mission there. I share the president’s conviction about the Iraq war—we can and must win, for the Iraqi people, for the future of our country and for peace-loving people everywhere. But I’m frustrated. America is fighting with a hand tied behind its back. Soldiers have all the equipment we need—armored Humvees, body armor for every body part, superior technology, etc.—but we simply do not have enough troops in Iraq, and we need them now.
After witnessing two national elections during three months in Baghdad, my Army unit moved north to Samarra, where we spent eight months sowing the seeds of progress. While we had success in uprooting the insurgency and building the local government, it wasn’t enough. We had just enough troops to control Samarra and secure ourselves, but not enough to bring lasting stability or security. “Not enough” became the story of my year in Iraq.
The future of Samarra, and Iraq as a whole, ultimately lies in the hands of her people—their sympathies are the ultimate prize in this war. No matter how many insurgents we kill, city leaders we meet or policemen we enlist, it is all for naught if we cannot provide security and stability. Tribal sheikhs told us that even within Samarra—deep in the Sunni triangle—a vast majority of people just want peace and order and will side with whoever can provide it. Right now Samarrans rightfully question who that will be.
The end goal in Samarra is for Iraqis to do everything for themselves. But their government and security forces are not ready. Insurgents use death threats and murder to assert power over anyone working with the City Council or joining the police force. This atmosphere forces moderate Samarrans to keep their mouths shut, and their silence abets the insurgents who live and fight in Samarra. Despite killing scores of insurgents, we are unable to provide lasting security, and so the Samarran street slips away.
Two things are to blame for our predicament, one a corollary of the other. The first reason is that we did not have enough troops in Samarra. The skill and courage of 150 American soldiers prevented chaos, but was never enough to fully secure a city of 120,000 people or maintain the rule of law. The soldiers in the city were preoccupied with defending themselves and conducting night raids, and were therefore largely unable to regularly patrol during the day—thus giving insurgents reign to move freely and intimidate the local population. A visitor in Samarra on an average day would be hard-pressed to point out a single American Humvee traversing local neighborhoods. The same is true for Baghdad.
Our four-vehicle civil-affairs patrol was often the only American presence deep inside the city and we were frequently greeted by locals with the question, “Where have you been?” Americans can’t of course be omnipresent; but we should at least be there when it matters. When Americans are there, either the insurgents are not or they are on the losing side of a firefight.
Second, because of a lack of troops, American military leaders are forced to make a choice between mission objectives and self-preservation. Many of our leaders are opting to guard supply routes and coagulate on sprawling military bases, rather than consistently moving into dangerous areas and fighting the insurgency. In our case, we had 500 soldiers stationed outside Samarra who made infrequent trips into the city center. There is little reason why most of these troops were not stationed inside Samarra, canvassing every neighborhood with platoon-sized patrol bases and suffocating insurgent operations. Rather than take the risks necessary—like small patrol bases and frequent foot patrols—our unit opted to secure itself and its supply routes rather than commit resources inside the city. And wh
ile this approach is safer in the short run, it only prolongs mission accomplishment, ultimately endangering more troops. We often speculated our unit would be back next year, driving the same streets with even fewer guys.
In due time, the Iraqi Security Forces will take over Samarra, but they are not ready yet. If the Americans left today, the Iraqis would be co-opted by the insurgents—who are utterly ruthless, willing to kill family members of policemen or decapitate Iraqi soldiers to preserve disorder. It will take time. Both the Iraqi Army and Samarra Police need to get bloodied a bit and bounce back, proving their strength to the people. They will eventually be ready, but until then, security belongs to us.
I also understand calling for more troops is contrary to conventional thinking inside government and the military. Supporters of the current approach argue sending more troops would further inflame anti-American sentiment, incite more violence and retard independent progress. My experience suggests otherwise. American troops are tolerated, even welcomed when they effectively provide security; but their presence is cursed when it does not accompany progress. Violence persists not because American troops are present, but because our presence is futile. Many local leaders asked us, “How come the most powerful country in the world cannot defeat local criminals and thugs?” They suggested our failure was part of a larger conspiracy to keep the Iraqi people suffering.
I have not lost the optimism that sent me to Iraq. We did make gains. Our 10-man civil-affairs team established good relationships with brave Iraqi leaders and sat across from them as equals. I watched city leaders battle insurgents, not only with guns but with newspapers and economic development. By the time we left, the City Council was meeting on its own accord and with increasing legitimacy, forming committees to oversee fuel allocation, new construction and security. Increased home construction was evident and local markets were open.
Even the security situation inside the city improved. Previous summers in Samarra had been extremely violent, but the summer of 2006 was different. Days passed without a significant attack inside the city. Less than 150 Americans, along with Iraqi counterparts, controlled a town of over 120,000 Sunni Arabs through targeted raids and sniper operations. One local insurgent even begged city leaders for amnesty in exchange for good conduct. Our unit killed or captured hundreds of insurgents, knocking the wind out of the local insurgency—but never crushing it.
I believe, as the president noted, that “the safety of America depends on the outcome of the battle in the streets of Baghdad.” Why then do we have just enough troops in Iraq not to lose? Most of the people I’ve spoken with since coming home—those both for and against the war—believe we must finish the job in Iraq. Americans understand a defeat in Iraq would have horrible consequences for America and its allies for decades to come. America has the capacity to win and the will to support a winning strategy.
Why then are we pursuing a bare minimum approach?
Three months later President Bush rejected that bare-minimum approach—announcing a 21,000-troop surge, putting General David Petraeus in charge of it, and giving them a new counterinsurgency mission. Although I’ve been told my op-ed was circulated inside the White House in the fall of 2006, it was certainly not the impetus for the new approach. Fortuitously and simultaneously, courageous military leaders and thinkers whom I hadn’t met at that time—among them former Army general Jack Keane, American Enterprise Institute scholar Fred Kagan, and foreign policy savant Vance Serchuk—were pushing for the same approach. They had seen what I had seen, as had many others on the ground in Iraq: that the war was still winnable and that losing it would be a disastrous choice.
But our voice was the overwhelming minority. The Iraq Study Group called for gradual withdrawal. The Joint Chiefs pushed against more troops, and for “employment programs.” The outgoing U.S. ground commander in Iraq, Peter Chiarelli, naïvely wanted to pull troops out of the city centers. White House hopefuls Hillary Clinton, Barack Obama, and Joe Biden all opposed the surge and fell over themselves in a de facto race to see who could oppose it the most adamantly. Each quarter echoed the same tired argument: “there is no military solution for Iraq.”
As Teddy Roosevelt said, “War is a dreadful thing,” but losing is worse—and President George W. Bush understood that, and did what courageous leaders do. He gathered all the facts—good, bad, and out-of-the-box—and made a tough call, for a course of action that would produce the best long-term outcome for America, a fragile Iraq, and the larger fight against violent Islamists. He did not put his finger in the wind. He did not consult his pollsters. And he did not stick his head in the sand and bow to the inevitability of conventional wisdom. He changed course, doubled down, and went for the win. He provided what every soldier wants from his or her commander in chief: moral clarity, resolve, and the resources to accomplish the mission. I’ve never been more proud of a president than when Bush announced the Iraq surge on January 10, 2007.
JULY 2007 | WASHINGTON, D.C.
Six months later, I found myself at the end of a stately hallway in the Russell Senate Office Building, as a young Senate intern fumbled for his key to room SR-289, eventually letting our motley crew of three dozen Iraq War veterans shuffle into the conference room. Our group’s matching tan shirts and bad military haircuts gave us away as the Capitol Hill amateurs we were. For many, it was their first visit to Washington, D.C. For most, it was their first visit to Capitol Hill. For me—a first lieutenant, a fresh Iraq War veteran, and the leader of this misfit band of insurgents—it was my first official meeting with a U.S. senator. As Politico noted the next day, our small, nonprofit veterans organization—Vets for Freedom—had “scant money to spend and no contracts with professional public relations firms.” Founded the year before by a combat-wounded Iraq War Marine to support the war effort, the founders and leadership of Vets for Freedom were feisty and focused. But make no mistake about it—we were rookies.
The vaulted ceilings and oversize conference table created a crammed and nervous energy in the standing-room-only confines. For a few minutes our group of young combat veterans, most who had met just the night before, sat alone and made standard military small talk. Army guys told the Marines not to grunt too much, asking if they could read the books on the table. The Marines asked the Army guys why they weren’t wearing their signature reflective safety belts. And the Air Force guys stood proudly behind their signature, lavish military dining halls. The familiar banter revealed a confident, if unfamiliar and uncertain, sense that permeated the packed room.
We were fish out of water. But we were right where we needed to be.
Then in walked Senator Lindsay Graham. And with that, the room erupted into spontaneous and thunderous applause, something I had never witnessed before (and have never seen since). Veterans young and old rocketed to their feet, yelling “Hooah!” and “Oorah!”—shaking the senator’s hand and slapping him on the back as he shuffled his way around the room. The response was unplanned, and Senator Graham’s reaction was genuine; he was clearly surprised, heartened, and grateful.
The reaction was precipitated by a heated and high-stakes debate the senator had had two days before on NBC’s Meet the Press with Democratic senator Jim Webb. With both sides interrupting each other and passions running very high, Senator Graham stuck to his guns, saying, “History will judge us, my friend, not by when we left, but by what we left behind.” And when Senator Webb asserted that the troops no longer wanted to be in Iraq, our new favorite senator responded with a truism that resonated with all of us. “They [the troops in Iraq] want to win. Let them win,” he said. “They go back [to Iraq] because they see the face of the enemy that we’re fighting . . . they don’t want their kids to go back, they don’t want their grandkids to go back. Bin Laden said this is the ‘third world war in Iraq.’ They go back because they know the consequences of losing.” A decade later, it’s even more clear how tragically correct he was.
Senator Graham did not know any of us, and none of u
s had ever met him. But we knew each other. We didn’t know where he stood on other issues, and we didn’t care. There was an instant kinship on this critical issue at this precarious moment. There was a mutual respect and a mutual fortitude that had nothing to do with political parties, politics, or personal ego. This was about a complicated and controversial mission that was critically important for the future security and standing of the United States. We weren’t here to lobby for a loophole, special interest, or preferential treatment. We were there for our war, and for America’s future.
When the room finally settled, the senator sat at the head of the long conference table, and with a clear sense of the moment, spoke to our deepest passions. In a soft, feisty, South Carolina drawl and with a determined grin on his face, his first words to our group were, “Gentlemen, welcome to one of the last places in the United States Senate where you can still use the word . . . victory.” And with that, the room erupted again.
Senator Graham, a colonel in the Air Force Reserve, was speaking for us. And we were in Washington, D.C., to have his back, and the backs of anyone else who would stand with us—Democrat or Republican. We had his back because he had the back of the warfighters currently on the battlefield in Iraq. But he was a rare breed. At that moment, the world and most in Congress were saying that the Iraq War was hopeless; some said we had already lost. We adamantly disagreed, and believed that winning the Iraq War was not only still possible, but in fact vital to the long-term security and credibility of America. In the words of Senator Graham that morning, “Al Qaeda wants us out of Iraq ’cause we’re kicking their ass.” It felt like us against the world; and in many ways, it was.