Oscar

I just read "The Picture of Dorian Gray." A treatise on pleasure. Everyone is beautiful and selfish or ugly and envious. Either way you die young or unrequited or victimized. Oscar uses words like pomegranate, sphinx, and vermillion--which I haven't heard in a while. His characters are dukes, lords, and countesses. No corporals or sheiks.

I remember a documentary film about soldiers in Iraq. Their commander said he was reading "Harry Potter" books as a way to temporarily escape war and reconnect with his children in America. I don't have kids. And I've never been much of an escapist. But "Dorian Gray" is definitely impossible in Baghdad: for G.I.s and Iraqis alike.

Everyone's preoccupied here. On one extreme you have duty and fraternity. On the other: survival, loneliness, and boredom.

Rebuilding Iraq

I recently wrote a letter to the editor of the Christian Science Monitor about a ridiculous story: "What Would Really Rebuild Iraq".  I'm sure you've heard of the writer, Walter Rodgers, he provided legendary coverage of major world events such as Jimmy Carter's concession and the Falklands War.  Rodgers was also an eyewitness during the attempt on Reagan's life.  So he's been nearby when great things have happened.  He also loves stripes: 

His kind of journalism reminds me of why I love the New Yorker magazine so much.  I just read Paumgarten's article about elevators; it deepened my appreciate of the City and our urban culture--there was something revealing about his work.  Paumgarten, Frazier, Acocella, Sedaris, Buford: they are belletrists, not just writers.  They explain events and ideas; they don't just stand close by.

Anyway, back to Rodgers' opinions, we can talk style later.  I'll post my letter to the editor below.  It was published on the CSM website last week.

Dear Editor,

I was shocked to read Walter Rodgers and Yasmeen Alamiri's article lamenting school development in Iraq.  As a U.S. Army Captain in charge of projects for the Yusufiya area in South Baghdad I've had first-hand experience with local schools.  They're flourishing!  And the military, both Iraqi and American, is assisting the local government with repairing and securing schools.  As early as November last year our unit, 3-187th Infantry Regiment, paid over 140,000 dollars to renovate classrooms for over 300 students. Our unit has provided 10 other schools throughout the area with this type of assistance--which includes contracting, supervising, and paying for the work.  The Iraqi Ministry of Education has been conducting surveys, inventories, and providing equipment as well.

Supporting and enabling education and family is a priority for our unit.  We have built and repaired community centers, supplied food and clothes to needy families, dramatically improved sanitation, and installed an Iraqi staffed

radio station.  All this in addition to our regular patrols and combat operations.  Insurgents fear us not only because we are the 187th Infantry Regiment but also because we are part of the Iraqi families in our area.  We share meals together, we share hardships together, we are rebuilding Iraq together.

I'm not surprised Rodgers' evidence was anecdotal jokes and UN reports.  His other complaints about the dearth of chai and sheesha are just ridiculous.  Even in Yusufiya, a rural farm area, there's plenty chai.  In fact, if Rodgers is willing to visit I'll take him down the street to the house of Sheik Somer and we'll enjoy a cuppa.

The Monitor ended up censoring (editing) my last paragraph.  I guess Walter doesn't accept personal invites.  I looked on my computer and found a picture of us distributing new backpacks to kids last October.  We've spent almost 1 million dollars on schools in Yusufiya since.  As for the chai, you can see a picture of some at the top of this page.

Iraqi Priorities

The other day Wolfpack Company brought Emad and Somer to the ground-breaking of a new health clinic in Qarghuli.  Emad invited me to his house to meet his father.  We were about to eat lunch.  "Can he eat with us here?" I asked.  Emad explained his father was bedridden with cancer.  Though Emad lived an hour away, in another city, his father lived nearby.

"He wants us to visit?  but his dad's sick."  I asked my interpreter.

"just go, man.  he wants you to go."

"Where does he live?"

"Yellow house, after the bridge."  Emad answered.

Good enough directions for the infantry.

As soon as I walked into the courtyard I could see an old man prostrate on a mattress in the doorway of the house.  He managed to sit up and shake hands with us: 8 American soldiers and our two interpreters.  We filled the room.

"salaam alekum" peace be on you.

A television in the corner the only furniture.  We sat on the floor in silence.  A group of kids gathered at the door.  The father lay still; his wife fanned him with a piece of cardboard.  There was an IV port in his hand.

"Where did Emad go?"

"I think he went to get us drinks."

"Doesn't he want to talk to his dad?"

Emad reappeared with pepsi and glasses and ice and he went to each American: pouring a glass.

This is prevalent in Iraqi culture: the desire for you to meet their family, the insistent and  sacrificial hospitality.   Emad said almost nothing to his father.  Emad was busy serving us.