Embedded

  I was starting to follow the Iraqi logic, despite how obtrusive it was to our mission in Iraq. Being lazy made perfect sense in the Iraqi environment. Imagine being raised in a Bedouin tribal culture, immersed in a searing desert environment where the next fight for survival could be at any moment. For any chance at survival you would make sure you didn’t waste time or energy on frivolous activities. Wasted effort meant more water lost, more resources expended, and less readiness for an inevitable conflict. This attitude, I began to realize, pervades everything Iraqis do. Their laziness is an adaptation, a survival mechanism they use to cope with an extreme environment.

  To get a better understanding of why Iraqis are so lazy, lack desire, and have no initiative, I approached our terp, Moody, whom I considered a sage on Iraqi politics and culture. “Jamaaaalll, come on in!” Moody shouted, as I entered the terp’s swahut. Lebanese music videos were blaring on the television, and the smoke from Moody’s hookah pipe engulfed his head. “Jamal, sit down, chill out, stay a while my friend.”

  After a round of small talk I started my interview. “Moody, I’m going to be frank here. Why in the hell are the jundi so lazy?” Moody smiled and said, “Jamal, the answer is simple. Their country is at war, their families are in constant danger, they are not paid much, they live in Al Anbar, their work sucks, everyone is corrupt, they don’t get a chance to see their families often, their relatives and friends are dying everyday, and there is no real incentive to even be alive. Would you be very motivated in this situation?” Before I could even answer Imus mysteriously popped out from under his bed sheets and said, “Jamal, if I already live in hell, why does it matter if I live or die? I do not care. Why would I put effort into anything?”

  “Thanks for your two cents, Imus,” I replied. “You can go back to bed now.” I turned toward Moody again. “Moody, seriously, how can these guys be so lazy? Do they not have this same sense of patriotism or pride in their work as Americans? How can we get them motivated? Colonel Abass told me that in the old Iraqi army soldiers were more motivated.”

  Moody broke things down like an economist. “Jamal, American soldiers are idiots when you think about it. Americans use pride, patriotism, and all that shit so they can pay their soldiers less money. And at the same time, the government is able to get them to do a very dangerous and crappy job. Think about it.” Moody looked at me then continued. “Colonel Abass is correct—at some level. In the past there was a lot more pride and sense of patriotism in the old Iraqi army, but let me tell you that Iraqi soldiers were still lazy back then. It’s just that at that time Saddam was able to use fear to motivate the jundi. If they didn’t perform their duties, they were pummeled or their families were beaten.”

  I asked, “What’s the solution?” Moody said, “Solution to curing Iraqi laziness? Ha!” He paused. “You want more soldiers? You want them to work harder and get more done?” He raised his voice and proclaimed, “Pay . . . them . . . more!”

  I laughed aloud. Moody was spot on. “While I think there may be five idealistic patriots roaming the Iraqi countryside,” he ranted, “my guess is that the rest of those who join the Iraqi army don’t believe in the government or the country. All they care about is getting a paycheck, feeding their families, and being a respected member in their tribal community. The Iraqi army is nothing more than a mercenary force made up from local tribes who are hired by the central government to do its bidding. The way to encourage mercenaries to do a better job is to pay them more money. It’s pretty simple.”

  “Militias? What about militias?” Mark stumbled from his rack and into the conversation. “Mark, what’s going on, brother?” I said. “We weren’t talking about militias, we were talking about how the Iraqi army is made up of mercenaries.” Mark replied, “Oh . . . well, I feel stupid.” I comforted him. “Sit down, man. Let’s talk about militias, I guess it’s related and you seem excited about the topic.” Mark eagerly jumped up to join the conversation.

  “Mark, Jeysh il Mahdi [the Mahdi army], what’s their story?” Mark replied, “The Mahdi army? Oh, it is run by our good friend Muqtada Al Sadr in the Sadr City district of Baghdad. I love those guys!” I sneered at Mark and said, “You love the Mahdi army? The same guys who are causing many of the problems in Iraq?” Mark retorted, “Problems? Man, those guys kick ass. In my neighborhood in Baghdad they are the only reason my family is still alive! They walk around my neighborhood and make sure no Sunni or other troublemakers are in the region. If someone from outside the local area is in town and can’t explain why they are there they are shot.”

  I immediately asked, “Well, what happens if I just want to hang out or check out your neighborhood.” Mark replied, “Jamal, there is no ‘hanging out’ in Baghdad these days. Anyone who says they are just visiting is a terrorist.”

  The talk of militias got me thinking: How many of our jundi on leave go back home to moonlight as militia members? Are we simply training the Mahdi army? I asked Mark, “Dude, what percentage of our battalion is Mahdi army or part of a militia? I see Muqtada Al Sadr pictures on the jundi’s cell phones all the time.” He responded, “Well, I do not know the exact portion, but my guess is there are many. I have spoken extensively with Qatan, Sermen, Ayad, and Badr on the subject and its seems the general assessment is that at least half of our battalion probably moonlights in a Shia militia when they go home on vacation.”

  I retorted, “Mark, there is no way, man.” He replied, “Jamal, there is a way—think about it. You are a young military man, strong, trained, and so forth. How can you not join a militia when you get home? Your family and tribe would be ashamed if you did not help the local militia. You think it is coincidence that all the militia members on television look just like jundi in civilian clothes?” Defeated, I replied, “Yeah, you are right. I guess I just haven’t connected the dots until now.”

  Mark continued to describe the militias. His basic point was that the militias did a good thing for the communities because they provided security and kept outsiders from causing problems in the neighborhood. In effect, they were the neighborhood watch with AK-47s and RPGs.

  After gaining insight into why the militias were so revered by the people in Iraq, I understood why it would be difficult to get rid of them. From the local Iraqi perspective, when the central government told the militias they needed to disband, they were effectively telling the local citizens that they were taking away their security and letting them be slaughtered. The central government’s claim was that the Iraqi security forces would take care of the job, but this was nonsense or the militias wouldn’t have been needed in the first place. It appeared that part of the final solution in Iraq would involve accepting militias in Iraq.

  Somehow our conversation started with why Iraqis are lazy, moved to militias, and ended up on the discussion of oil. Whoever coined the phrase “It’s all about oil in the Middle East” was a genius. It is all about oil. Mark, unlike other Iraqis, spoke about oil in a positive light. “Jamal, we have the ability to produce three million barrels of oil a day and have over one hundred billion barrels in the ground,” he told me. “If we can produce three million barrels a day, 333 days a year, we are pumping out one billion barrels a year. If oil stands at eighty dollars a barrel, that equates to eighty billion dollars in revenue a year for Iraq.” He explained further. “Let’s say it costs twenty dollars a barrel to get it out of the ground. In the end, Iraq has sixty billion dollars in profit. Iraq only has a population of around twenty-three million these days. What this means is that we could pay every single Iraqi almost thirty-five hundred dollars per year. It is insane that we continue to fight and bicker.”

  “Dude,” I said, “that is insane. These jundi make four thousand dollars a year [outstanding pay in Iraq] and their life sucks. Now tell me this, are you saying that if everyone in Iraq just stopped fighting, went to their homes, and engaged in a national oil effort they could double the average Iraqis wage [perhaps two thousand dollars a year]?” Mark replied, “That
is exactly what I’m saying. Pretty crazy isn’t it? The problem is I’m a Kurd. We understand this logic. The Arabs, not so much. They will never trust each other to do something like this.”

  Regrettably, I think Mark’s assessment is correct. In the midst of everyone trying to get their fair share, they will forget to share.

  Iraqi Bloodlust

  There are no days off in Iraq. Some 122-mm mortars hit the Iraqi army side of the Barwana FOB on one of our supposed days off, liquidating one jundi and mutilating another. We were immediately dispatched to retrieve the body and calm the jundi at the Barwana FOB. We mounted the trucks and prepped our gear.

  I was furious that the insurgents had killed the jundi, but my anger was contained. In contrast the jundi were hell-bent on revenge. On the trip to Barwana they engaged two vehicles because they “looked suspicious.” In both cases it was obvious the jundi were acting out of character. Normally they respected civilians and granted them the benefit of the doubt, but when they were wired, everyone was an insurgent and deserved death.

  The return trip home was no less heated. Immediately after loading the angels into the Kraz and exiting friendly lines at the Barwana FOB, radio traffic spewed over the Iraqi net: “We are taking fire.” The Iraqis quickly engaged a vehicle on the side of the road. Doc, the world-class Navy corpsman he is, lunged from the side door of our Humvee as it was still rolling to a stop and sprinted to the scene to administer first aid. The jundi had fired indiscriminately into a vehicle and three rounds had shredded an older man’s legs. Despite the patient’s profuse bleeding, Doc promptly stabilized the civilian and saved his life.

  The event happened so quickly it was hard to decipher the situation. Luckily, at the time of the incident another group of Marines were watching over the scene. The squad leader radioed to our truck, “Shadow, what the hell are your Iraqis doing? The lead Humvee just started firing on a vehicle.” Major Gaines replied, “They told us they were being fired upon.” The Marine on the hook responded, “Negative, Shadow. They fired at vehicles on the west side of the road with civilians. Unprovoked. We’ve been watching the entire incident.”

  I looked at Gaines. “Sir, these guys are insane.” Gaines nodded in agreement and replied on the radio, “Roger, we’ll address the issue with the jundi when we arrive to Camp Ali. Report the incident as you saw it to your higher headquarters. Sorry about the mix up.”

  We did a quick turnover with the Marines on location and forced the jundi to get out of the scene. At this point they were just loose, loaded cannons on the road. The longer we had them outside the wire in an emotional state, the better chance we had at landing a headline on the CNN nightly news.

  As if the Iraqis hadn’t caused enough chaos on the convoy, the excitement continued. While on Route Raptors, a military-only route along Lake Qadisiyah, the convoy came to an abrupt halt. Before I knew it the jundi were on their feet chasing down a vehicle. By the time we got to the scene the jundi had five young Iraqi males lying flat on the desert floor with their hands tied behind their backs. I addressed the situation with Captain Natham, the convoy commander. “NaQeeb Natham, Shaku Maku? Leysh nugof hinah?” (Captain Natham, what’s going on? Why did we stop here?) He responded irrationally. He and the jundi felt these kids were responsible for firing the 122-mm into the Barwana FOB. In my mind these kids were obviously a group of brothers who had been fishing throughout the day and were on their way home. Nevertheless, after a long discussion it was determined that the young men would be taken back to Camp Ali for further interrogation. We were completely against the idea, but sticking to the adviser code we let the jundi carry on with their actions.

  Upon our arrival to Camp Ali the intensity and emotions were electric. The battalion mosque was playing martyr music over the loudspeakers and everyone in the camp came to see what was left of the bodies. I looked at Staff Sergeant Haislip and said, “Good God. I didn’t even know this many jundi existed on the camp!” Amid the mourning I was tasked with transferring the innocent detainees to the detainee questioning area. This was not a trivial task, as we had to wade through a hundred revenge-minded jundi who needed a scapegoat for their anger. We gingerly made our way through the traffic. Without my presence I’m sure the detainees would have been beaten on the spot.

  Once at the questioning area I addressed Natham. “You guys will treat these detainees fairly, right?” Natham smiled. “Of course, Jamal,” he said. “We will take care of them.” I usually trust Natham, but this was one case where I was not convinced. I left the questioning area for a few minutes, planning to return to see what had transpired between the jundi and the detainees.

  I returned to see the young boys with two by fours resting across their backs and the jundi yelling at them to give them information. At the beginning of my deployment I would have gone crazy and done something useless, like tell the jundi to stop what they were doing. Instead I simply spoke with Riath, one of the jundi involved in the questioning, to see how he was doing. My intent was not to actually have a conversation but to let the jundi in the area know that I was watching them and that they would need to refrain from being violent.

  After the angels were transported to Al Asad, emotions died down. The detainees (who had no information) were released and received full apologies from Natham. Everyone was back to being friends. It was as if a light switch had turned off. Uncontrolled emotions can be dangerous.

  Religious Matters

  I’ve told the Marines on the MiTT that regardless of their true beliefs, while they are in Iraq they will appear to be Christians who believe in God. Period. Apparently 2/3’s Fox Company Marines were never sent this memo. While in Barwana today a group of jundi approached me, obviously distraught, and asked me why the Marines don’t believe in God—truly the ultimate sin in the eyes of Iraqis.

  I was caught off guard. “Uh, minu gilitek hatha?” (Uh, who told you this?) Ali, one of the jundi in the concerned group, answered, “Huwaya Marines gilitna hatha” (Many Marines have told us this). The hamster wheel started spinning in my head. I needed to think of an excuse, and fast.

  Then it came to me. Deny, deny, deny. I told the jundi that they were having translation issues with the Marines and what the Marines were really saying was that they believed in God, but that they were having a difficult time figuring out how He fits into their lives. None of the Iraqis seemed to understand my fabricated explanation. Instead they asked me another question: “Jamal, where do you think children come from?” I refrained from telling them they came from a sperm and an egg meeting in the womb and then cells dividing multiple times until it formed into a functioning organism. Instead I told them, “From God, obviously.” Ali replied, “See Jamal, you understand. Why do the Marines not understand?”

  I couldn’t think of what to say next. I was stuck between a rock and a hard place. I wanted to be honest and tell them that not everyone in the world believes in God, but I also didn’t want to destroy any relationships or positive feelings the jundi had toward the Marines or the West in general. I decided to go the Arab route—I lied. “Well, I think a lot of the religious beliefs get lost in the translation,” I said. “I know all Marines believe in God. Sometimes, it just doesn’t translate perfectly when they are speaking with you and it appears that Marines have doubts in God. I would not hold it against them, because they are all believers.”

  The Iraqis seemed to like my explanation. As long as the Marines believed in God, they were decent people. I left the scene quickly and immediately wrote in my notebook: “For commanders: before you come to Iraq, you need to have a plan for how you will communicate your religious beliefs. The trick is to not tell these people the truth, but, rather, tell them what they want and expect to hear so it doesn’t take away from your ability to accomplish your mission. Iraqis lie all the time to ensure relationships run smoothly. Do the same. One of the ways you fight fire is with fire itself.”

  T. E. Lawrence, a British military officer famous for rallying the Arab tribes
against the Ottoman Empire in the early twentieth century, summed up this lesson nicely in article eleven of his “Twenty-Seven Articles” (Arab Bulletin, August 20, 1917): “The foreigner and Christian is not a popular person in Arabia. However friendly and informal the treatment of yourself may be, remember always that your foundations are very sandy ones. . . . Hide your own mind and person. If you succeed, you will have hundreds of miles of country and thousands of men under your orders, and for this it is worth bartering the outward show.”

  Beggars Everywhere

  There is one English phrase that every Iraqi knows by heart: “Give me.” The MiTT and I have come to realize that living on Camp Ali is a lot like being stranded on an island where two hundred beggars surround you and demand your only coconut on a daily basis. During training the culture classes always mentioned that Iraqis are into gift giving and are generous people. The instructors told us that if an Iraqi gives you a gift, you should give him something in return as a sign of respect. Likewise, if you give an Iraqi a gift as a friendly gesture, he will give you a gift in return. News-flash to future advisers: the gift-giving classes are complete bullshit. Iraqi soldiers want everything you own and have zero intention of ever giving anything to you in return. They are glorified beggars. For some reason the begging problem kept getting worse as we got closer to leaving. People only seemed to demand things; they never wanted to give anything up.

  One experience exemplified begging in Iraq. I was on my way to the Iraqi COC for duty when one of the civilian cooks came galloping to me. Somehow the guy knew my name, and he addressed me as if we were life longbuddies. “Jamal, how are you doing, my brother? How’s life?” Before I could respond he butted in and asked, “Can I have your camera?” I laughed at the audacity of his request. “No, you can’t have my camera. I need it. Sorry, I have to go to work.” The begging didn’t stop: “Can I have your hat?” I told him no. “Can I have your computer?” Again I said no. He asked, “Can I have the t-shirt you are wearing?” Flabbergasted, I replied firmly, “La! Iimshee!” (No! Get out of here!)