Christmas Without Nora; A Christmas I Would Rather Forget For All Time
27 December, 2003 2200 Continued…
“You’re doing great work here,” he said sincerely. “What you are doing for these people is providing them with a wonderful future and opportunity. You are making a difference in these peoples’ lives.” He continued on, but I can’t recall the exact words. I remember that when he was done speaking, I felt better about being in Baghdad.
It’s difficult to believe that the very people he spoke about helping were also the ones that killed him. You have to keep helping though – because even though 1 out of 10 hate you, that still leaves 9 who love you. Not only that – but we got ourselves in this situation, and we’ve got to resolve the matter. If you get discouraged – you leave those 9 people to die at the hands of killers. The U.S. government entered a contract of death when it decided to attack Iraq without provocation. The U.S. killed thousands. The terrorists are killing. It’s violent. It is evil – the whole situation here. When you see the money being spent on contracts here, the lavish living conditions of U.S. personnel, the virtual free for all party the Department of Defense is throwing here. People are getting rich on this war. Iraq is crippled. Most of the soldiers don’t understand why they are here, they aren’t inspired or feel any duty to mission. We do feel duty to each other and to getting home alive. Some feel we have a purpose here. Some don’t care where they are, as long as they are getting paid and get to yell at people and point guns at them. I have my own purpose for being here – to try to help and learn and know God’s plan for me here. I’m learning a lot.
There was a Christmas dinner at the chow hall. We ate well, but I was in a solemn mood. The managers were playing heavy metal music and showing a slide how from 1-7 Infantry. Everyone looked uninterested and trying to focus on their own conversations. I noticed a contractor laughing it up on a cell phone near one of the speakers cranking out the Christmas heavy metal. It seemed like he was talking to someone with the hopes they would hear the big party in the background. The soldiers weren’t partying though, just trying to forget about Iraq. I was grieving for CSM Francis, and reality about war was descending on me.
The night before, I learned a lesson, and a mystery was solved. How would Christmas be without you? I found you were with me, and the true spirit of Christmas. I was alone, I sat in my room, lit my Advent candles and opened the presents you sent. You sent a tape telling the story of our love. It was the best present I ever got. I sat there peacefully and listened to your voice and smiled and laughed, got teary eyed, talked back to you. I sat there, alone, in the soft glow of candlelight – and felt you with me, and felt the thankfulness and joy and hope Christmas should be. There was a sense of hope and peace, and thankfulness for Jesus in my life and your love. It was a very simple Christmas. But, it was a Christmas that would find me only a few months from going home. Your love is with me Nora. It’s with me. I love you, and I’ll be with you always.
Death of a Great Leader on Christmas Eve; Tears for Christmas in Baghdad
26 DEC 03 2300
Yesterday was Christmas – and one I’ll never forget. I’ll never forget the whole week. It’s been a holiday of bitter sweetness and deep reflection on the subject of death. We lost our brigade sergeant major on Christmas Eve, CSM Francis. At the time he was killed by an IED, SGM Walker and I were at Alpha Company at the Martyrs’ Monument – along with the lieutenant colonel, SGM Sanders, and Santa Claus (a plump enlisted man from the scout platoon). The lieutenant colonel and Santa flew in on a Blackhawk helicopter. We picked them up on the helipad. Just a few days before, the same Santa was at our NCO dinner – as well as CSM Francis – one of the only sergeants major that I deeply respected. I didn’t write in my journal about that dinner night, but oddly enough – I wanted to write about what he said to us in his quick Christmas speech.
“Knights, these dinners and the events that you plan are all signs of a great organization. Good organizations take time to get together,” he said. He had a stoic face, a chin that struck forward in anticipation, a look of deep preoccupation behind his eyes – but always positive. He had an air of thoughtfulness. I remember him offering me a ride in his van when we were getting ready to deploy to Kuwait. He stopped along side me in his Army van (he would just drive alone around post in Friedberg to see what was going on) and asked if I needed a ride. “Hey specialist,” he asked, “You need a ride?”
‘Na, Sergeant Major,’ I responded, noticing he was the new brigade sergeant major – and relieved that I recognized him and saved myself some embarrassment. ‘I’m just going to the back 40 (field on the backside of our base where we were lining up trucks).’ I didn’t think I had much farther to walk. (I’m pretty upset right now, I could cry – I am a bit. It hurts.) I didn’t want to inconvenience him. I guess he caught on to this.
“Na, hop on in, I’ll take you up there,” he said waving his hand to motion me forward. I ran up and jumped in. He slowly pulled forward, his chin out, starring straight ahead. We didn’t speak, but I appreciated his gesture. I didn’t know if I should say anything – it’s always a question of wait until spoken to, or speak first. From now on, I’ll speak first. We pulled up to the field and he stopped. I got out.
‘Thanks Sergeant Major, I really appreciate it!’
“No problem! What’s your name again?”
‘It’s Specialist Thompson, Sergeant Major.’
“Well, Specialist Thompson, you stay safe and have a good day.”
‘Thank you Sergeant Major, you too.’
“You bet.”
He seemed like such a nice guy, a grandfather figure. He had a wide, hardy smile – a smile that betrayed perseverance through field rotations, hard times, all kinds of weather, pain and happiness. A smile that said something was real about this man. He never showed his teeth when I saw him. It was the smile of a thoughtful and considerate man. When I look back, that chin of anticipation, that look of preoccupation, is haunting. It’s a face that almost looked as if it knew his fate. Maybe it’s my imagination, but I can’t erase this impression from my mind. It doesn’t seem real that he’s gone – and on Christmas. I just want him to come back. Going back to the NCO dinner night, I remember him giving a great, short speech that implored my applause and actually made me proud to be in Baghdad helping. He put our mission and purpose in a positive context – at a time when all you hear about is “kill” and “attack” and “raid.” More about this later.
Encounter with the Man Who Tried to Kill Me; A Sobering Conversation With Iraqi Friends; Thoughts About Death
December 20, 2003 2003
I just finished exercising. I’ll continue with my memory of the attack now. Well, the prisoner escaped for sure. Sergeant Siegel and I cleared some abandoned buildings to see if he was hiding, but nothing came of it. So after an amazing twist of luck, the detainee escaped without a trace – well, he did leave a hole in the window where he tore out a bar. This was the same method used by the last escapee. He got caught though. Support[1] guys in the Army just sit around and collect their combat pay – some lazy ass people. Oh well. I just hope the guy was innocent, but and Iraqi friend told me, “If he was innocent, he wouldn’t have tried to escape.” I don’t know if that is true or not, but he was already beaten, and probably didn’t want to get round II. If he wasn’t guilty, no worries. If he was, then he knows our facility and the faces of the IP men who handled him.
Going back a bit, I remember that night of the attack when we were sitting outside of the New Baghdad police station when Sergeant Siegel was bringing out the blindfolded man. Some men were sitting and standing at the end of their driveways. One little boy was standing amongst them and he saw the man blindfolded and being handled by the soldiers. He looked frightened, so I walked over to him and knelt down to him. Then men smiled nervously. I stretched my hand out and he hid behind one of the men’s legs. One of them said something in Arabic and the boy came around and shook my hand like a little urchin. I stood up and said goodbye to the men and placed my hand over my heart. I strode over to my truck and got in before Sergeant Siegel could say anything to me about me talking to the Iraqis. He hates them. “They’re fucking animals,” he always says.
‘I didn’t go see Robin Williams at BIAP on the 16th so Nora wouldn’t get worried. I ended up getting bombed anyways that night.’ ― Me to my mom.
Well, I need to follow up on some stories. “So we’re down at the market,” Foley said to me smiling while peering through his thick issue glasses, “it’s nighttime and we’re burning the market stands that are up on the wall we built up. All of a sudden this drunk Iraqi starts talking to us. Well, all of a sudden, his hand falls off!”
“No shit,” we said shaking our heads.
“Yo, it fell right off and made a clanking sound when it fell. We just laughed at him. He was wasted.” It was just another night in the city. It’s true that something strange happens every night.
Now there is an increasing interest in golf here at the TOC. “Let him know if he can arrange that for us, he’ll get a free bucket full of balls to drive at the Knight golf course,” Knight 6 said to LT Guerin about the regimental commander. Well, he was joking, but they’ve built a driving range on the roof of our headquarters (with a net to catch the balls). So there is still some sense of country club living here.
Well, the day after we caught Saddam, I talked to one of my Iraqi worker friends. ‘What did you think about Saddam on TV?’
“Thompson,” he motioned toward the sky, “I thank God! Thank you Thompson, thank you for coming here!” I was not expecting this reaction. He’s a squatter, living poorly, and he was so happy about Saddam being caught. He stood there holding his broom (he was sweeping a muddy road) and then grabbed my arm. He went towards the American flag patch on my shoulder and kissed it. His buddies were grinning ear to ear. I’ll never forget that.
Later in the night, I went to go see Tariq. He was with Geedee (another translator) in the translator room. He had a gift for you from his mother (to thank you for supporting me and because I always make sure Tariq takes my bullet proof vest out with him on night patrol). They had him wearing some old flack vest, but that wouldn’t stop an AK-47 bullet. Most of the time, I don’t use mine at night, so why not give it to him?
Well, he gave me a watch and a necklace for you. That is really amazing too, because they don’t have that much money to give out. It means a lot. We started talking about when I leave Iraq. I told them I want to come back one day, because I’ll miss them. When you meet other people who speak the language of the world, you find it hard to say goodbye. I miss you though, and I need you Nora. We talked about how long it will be before Iraq is safe. They say 3 years or so.
We got into a long discussion about policy flaws and the long (extremely long – about 5 miles) lines for gas. Sometimes they got frustrated, “You have to wait for 6, 8, 10 hours just to get some gas! This does not help security – because under Saddam we had power, we had gas. It doesn’t help the U.S. when we have no power, no gas.” I heard him confirm all I had been thinking already. “We’ve got so much oil, but we are waiting all day for gas!” Some people wait for 10 hours, and your only other choice is to buy black market. I’ve never seen lines so long in my life. It has to hurt the economy, because people are missing work and goods aren’t being hauled. It’s not a good situation. About the only good thing is the cars along the side of the road prevent the IEDs from going off. “We need more police, and better pay – $300 a month for police. I promise that would stop most of the attacks. I can’t let my wife or daughter go shopping because it’s too dangerous. You see, Iraqis know Iraqis. They can tell who is lying and who isn’t, they can tell who is Iraqi and who isn’t. The U.S. Army can’t do that – they don’t know this place. We don’t even have electricity! It’s worse now than right after the war. What is changing?” He started to get upset and Tariq stared into a point on the floor, uncomfortable with where our conversation turned.
‘Well,’ I said trying to get back on track, ‘it will get better, I pray. I feel a bond with Iraq now, I feel like you are my brother. Hopefully our government will learn quickly from its mistakes. A lot needs to be done here.’
“Yes,” Geedee responded hopefully, “I hope so too, it will be good. You and Nora can come back as tourists.”
‘God, I would love that. I just wish I could do something more for you all. I love helping you all out – I think it is important. I just wish I had more influence to fix these problems,’ I said in deep in thought.
“Yes, one day you have to do that!”
How can I do that though, I feel passionately about fixing this place or helping people in similar situations. We could have saved Iraq from all this chaos months ago with less wishful thinking and more tough decisions. Again, you see so many opportunities for real change that get passed up.
A few weeks ago, an entire ICDC platoon quit at the MOO because they were pulling 24 hours at a time and had run down billets and no beds at all. We give them the bare minimum. Same with the Iraqi Army. Many of them have left too. So some big U.S. general puts his hands on his hips and says, “Well go away, we don’t need you anyways! You should be tripping over each other to join – it’s your patriotic duty!” But reality hits you and you realize they can’t feed their family on the pay. Well, the ICDC got their beds.
In Iraq, you see the importance of having a trade – as an electrician, a welder, a plumber. They are well employed. Ali our electrician was in rags when he first started working for us – now he has several people working for him. He’s got his own truck too. His son is about 15 and comes to work with the builders. He won’t go to school because he can make some money and he’s afraid to go.[2] When Ali told Sergeant Albert this, Sergeant Albert said, “Well, I didn’t like going to school either – but I went anyways.” Is everyone oblivious to what has been going on here? Ol’ Sergeant Albert. Going back to trade, it’s good to have because it’s always in demand. These jobs should be encouraged for our kids who don’t want or can’t go to college. It’s completely acceptable as a job and we should tell younger people that. It’s not a sink or swim world – every person has a role to play.
Nora, I miss you. I miss having you by my side. You feel dead when away for this long – but you know it will be over, and you have to believe in love. It’s scary being gone sometimes, but now we’re just focusing on getting home. Being gone like this is like being in a desert – away from you, distant from God, and feeling almost heartbroken. The only thing that makes you take another breath is knowing that you are coming home. You can’t be scared to die, you stop thinking about it and just wait for the next explosion – you expect it every time you go out. That way, when I come back alive, I’ll be thankful. I just trust God. You have to always trust God and keep your guard up. That doesn’t just go for Baghdad – it goes for life in general. You learn about death here, about how life can just vanish, how man can be so brutal, like animals. Then you learn that God has given us the secret to peaceful living – especially through Jesus, but here all you find are the rules of man. God is there to heal the wounded and bring the dead into that other world. Dying can’t be the end, it’s just an end to a stage in being. Your chance on stage – that is life. God is there to greet you once the curtain closes. I can’t believe I haven’t been killed yet with all of this activity going on. I trust God, and I know I’m coming home. Shadow of the valley of death, but bombs go off, and not a single scratch. God is real. Nora, I live for you. Your love amazes me. I WILL ALWAYS DANCE WITH YOU AS LONG AS I LIVE.
The battalion did a great thing during the Christmas season, something it didn’t have to do at all. It held a Christmas party for the families of ICDC members and our Iraqi staff. Many of the ICDC lived right next to us, and some of us were familiar with them and their children. They were like family. The battalion had a soldier dress up as Santa Claus and entertain the little Iraqi children. They also played a piñata game. The setting was very nice, and the event was catered. You could see the gratitude on the faces of the families there, and especially on the faces of the children. Whoever planned that party did a great thing. We were treating the Iraqis with dignity and respect.
During this stage in the conflict emerged the use of surface to air missiles. Several aircraft had been hit, including a C-17 transport plane. IED attacks were also on the rise. Understanding the growing ground threat (IEDs, RPG attacks, etc.), many units had affixed steel plates to their Hummers. Some soldiers paid out of their own pockets for Iraqis to attach steel plates and gun turrets to their vehicles. You have to remember that our Hummers had been driving through the Baghdad mine field for months with absolutely no protection at all. They were facing the daily threat of direct 155 millimeter artillery explosions. Such a hit (caused by a 155mm round rigged for roadside explosion) would send hundreds of heavy, razor sharp shards in all directions. Our aluminum alloy, 2 millimeter thick Hummer skin was no match for such devastating weapons. Most of the time, doors were taken off of vehicles to allow soldiers to better protect the flank of the vehicles and allow the ballistic protection vest to better face the side impact threat (soldiers sat facing directly to the side). Many times, the automatic, belt fed machine guns on top of the vehicles were held there by a cloth strap wrapped around a bipod. It was not unusual to see a machine gunner sitting in the back of a Hummer in a folding metal office chair that had been tension strapped to the truck bed. This was the dawn of the so called “Mad Max” era.
Sergeant Major Walker and I agreed that we should get some armor of our own. It was better to be safe than sorry. It had gotten so bad on Canal Road alone, that it was only a matter of time until you would be hit, or so it felt. It was possible to hear of two people dying within two days on a 5 mile stretch of road. Now imagine you have to drive that road everyday, as did Apache Troop soldiers and scouts, for instance. There were some days where you had been at a location 20 minutes earlier, only to come back to the TOC and hear that an IED just exploded at that location and killed a soldier. Why wasn’t it me? Well, we decided it wasn’t going to be us, not without armor anyways. We went to Assad the welder, and began cutting diamond plate steel for the doors. Assad went ahead and cut thick steel floorboards simply out of his concern for us. He was worried about me, and told me always that he was praying for me. When the truck’s armor was complete, we drove around with a little more confidence than before, but inside I knew it would not stop much. Knight 6 was one of the last people to employ armor, and did so only after his enlisted men pestered him about the dangers of not having the protection. I don’t know if he believed God was protecting him, or if he was practicing good leadership in not protecting his ass when not all of his soldiers could have armored vehicles – perhaps it was both.
[1] Support is the term used to describe those supporting combat operations. That could be chow hall workers or truck drivers. Not all were lazy, but many did predictably mediocre work. Many congregated at BIAP and were rarely in danger, with the exception of drivers.
[2] Some schools became battlefields in the public relations games between rival local factions. Some militias would guard schools without authorization in an attempt to rally public support for their group. Some said the schools weren’t protected enough by the U.S. and had to be guarded by someone. In response, the U.S. increased their presence at the schools and escorted children to school.
How to Get Hit With an IED; How to Let the Alleged Bomber Get Away
19 December 03 2200
I’ve been very busy over the past few months, but now I want to explain what happened in the IED attack I was in the other night. I was driving HQ-3[1] with SSG Siegel, Nelson, and Villarreal in the back pulling security. It was around 2000 and dark in Baghdad. We were checking to make sure Alpha Company was properly conducting their observation points. An OP consists of one tank along the roads and highways there bombs are now a severe problem. Many lives have been taken on these roads. We are finally starting to move from spotting IEDs to preventing their placement. It only took us over 40 IEDs in our sector to trigger a plan to prevent them from taking any more American lives.
One main road in our sector goes through town and past a large market, the market USAID is promising to fix. On this road we were traveling, HWY 5, as we’ve done before. I had my 9mm pistol in one hand and the steering wheel in my other hand. You have to drive like that. If you don’t, someone may approach you and stab you in traffic. I make sure my pistol can be seen to dissuade anyone who wants to come near. On HWY 5, a few days before, a G.I. was killed along with two Iraqis (including a photo shop owner who was developing some film that I turned in – I got it back 7 days later). It’s a very urban and built up area. As we were driving, there was a sudden crack and boom and indescribable shock through everything – and grey. I saw grey again, just as I did in the grenade attack. It was on my side of the truck.
“IED!” Sergeant Siegel yelled. “NELSON! NELSON!” Sergeant Siegel and I yelled.
“He’s OK,” Villarreal responded shaken. This is all happening in a 5 second time window. Major Ramirez and Foley were in front of me in an armored Hummer, and I was in an open, light Hummer. Foley slowed down as I hit the gas, and I almost passed him. He sped up again and soon we were rolling down the road. As all this was going on, Sergeant Siegel was yelling,
“THOMPSON! ARE YOU OK?! ANSWER ME, YOU OK?!” I was breathing shakily, and wasn’t sure if I was OK. I couldn’t feel my left leg at all and I was deaf in my left ear. I distinctly remember the strange, new taste in my mouth. I knew something wasn’t right. It was a chemical and metallic taste. I knew the explosion was very close to me and I would probably have some shrapnel in my thigh or elsewhere. As I was accelerating the Hummer, I checked the side of my vest (there are no plates in our vest there). I clearly remember thinking, ‘You are probably hit, but it’s good you can’t feel it yet – make sure you aren’t losing blood.’ I knew my left leg was numb, and I knew that couldn’t be right. I knew my mouth tasted funny and thought it was blood or some fluid caused by injury. I was shaking from the shock of adrenaline that took over my body, just as happened in the grenade attack. You have to control your breathing. Foley was driving the truck in front of me and had the exact same reaction, minus the taste of the blast. As he was regaining awareness, he slowed down a bit. As soon as the explosion went off, I slammed my foot on the gas. I thought, ‘Get out of the kill zone.’ Kill zone is an ambush term. Get away and out of the explosion site as soon as possible. An RPG attack or small arms fire could follow. God, I can write all day about it, but you can’t adequately describe what it is really like to get hit. I didn’t think of God and dying until after we pulled off the road about half a kilometer away. Sergeant Siegel evaluated all of us for injuries quickly.
“Thompson,” he said, “I thought I lost you, I thought your face would be blown off. The blast was next to you, I could see the debris pass as I looked over at you.” I stood spread eagle as he checked carefully to make sure I wasn’t hit.
Foley came over to me as we looked over our vehicles to find any damage. We were in an urban canyon, and had to keep our weapons at ready position and scan the rooftops. If two or three people wanted to, they could have killed us by firing from the hundreds of anonymous positions. People looked at us nervously. One man came up to our truck and I had to yell at him and raise my pistol to get him away from our trucks. We were calling up our grid location on the radio and trying to piece together what happened.
“I can’t feel my leg,” Foley said rubbing his left thigh.
‘Na, me neither, it must have been the blast,’ I said while scanning all the people around. I could see the Kiowa scout helicopters coming to provide cover for us. They suddenly passed over very low. You can’t see them though, just hear the all too familiar bumble bee drone of their rotors. My left ear was numb. I made a circle with my thumb and forefinger (we call it the circle game) and Foley looked at it (the object of the elementary school game is to fool someone into looking at the circle. It’s a long tradition in S-3 for as long as I can remember). ‘AHA! Combat circle game!’ I cried. We both laughed wholeheartedly. We knew how lucky we were to be alive. Sergeant Hugo was the gunner on top of Foley’s vehicle and also with me when we got in that grenade attack (so was Major Ramirez). So this time, we were not as shocked, because we encountered it before. We were still shocked a bit though.
We waited for back up to arrive from Apache scouts (Blue Platoon and Sergeant Grey, the Brit). The Iraqi police then told us that they had the bomber in custody. We noticed a lot of IP activity after the explosion, but thought it was just in response to the explosion (that was heard miles away at the monument). They said that they had plain clothed IP officers on the street due to the IED attacks on these roads. They found a remote detonator on the man they found. We went to the New Baghdad IP station in a convoy with IPs. There the suspect was beaten ‘till he was bloodied. I didn’t witness this. I don’t know if our guys beat him either. All of us guys waited outside of the IP station while Sergeant Siegel and Major Ramirez were inside with the prisoner. Eventually they came out. Sergeant Siegel had the prisoner by the neck, and the prisoner looked stunned.
“I’ve got the detonator,” the major said. Here was a guy they said tried to kill us. Of course, there is a great deal of doubt as to if he was really the attacker – because it sounded a little too good to be true. Maybe a device was planted on him. Maybe the IPs wanted some recognition. Anyways, I wasn’t sure if they got the right guy. His life was changed forever though – or would be. Wrong place, wrong time.
‘Well, the court system will determine if he’s guilty or not,’ I said. I was trying to rationalize that even if he was plucked by the IPs, if he truly didn’t do it, he would be released.
We got back to our base, and since this suspect may have attacked Americans, the Army gets to hold him in its war prisoner program.
Next morning:
“The prisoner escaped! Get your shit and help find this guy,” someone yelled into the command post. Yup, the bomber escaped! Come to find out they put the guy in jail and then went to play X-Box video games in another room. Well, they last checked the cell at 0100 and then again at 0700. So the prisoner had 6 hours to escape.
[1] Most vehicles in our unit have a number designation. The number assigned to the vehicle identifies who it belongs to. In this case, the number 3 designates the operations leader as the owner.
I'm Hit With a Bomb - Again.
16 DEC 03 (Actually 17 DEC 03 now, it’s 0100)
It happened again. A bomb went off along the roadside where Foley (in the lead vehicle) and I (in the trail vehicle) were driving. It’s the second time I’ve been attacked by a bomb or grenade. I’m exhausted right now so I don’t want to get into details now. I just finished calling you and I didn’t mention this so you wouldn’t get upset. I love you Nora – we’ll be OK. I will say that I distinctly remember the taste of explosives vapor in my mouth, the numbing of my left leg, and going deaf for a few minutes in my left ear. The explosion was tremendous. I’ve been so lucky. If it were 155mm I would have been killed. God is watching over me. The suspected bomber has been arrested. More on that later. I love you Nora. So dearly!
Saddam is Captured: I Witness the Reaction
Learn more in the book American, Interrupted at http://www.american-interrupted.com14 December 2003 2230
“We got him,” Paul Bremer said very matter of fact at the CPA press conference today. Saddam Hussein is now a U.S. prisoner. It’s a day of historical significance to myself and the greatest example of poetic justice that I have yet to encounter. I couldn’t help but be overjoyed, yet reserved. I wanted immediately to confirm the rumors going around about his capture (as this rumor has gone about before). I logged on to our secret internet news system run by the CIA that I read daily to get a better picture about what is going on in the Middle East. I read enough leaks from the Iraqi governing council to believe the rumor to be true. Also CJTF had “Operation Red Dawn” listed on the significant events tracker, but reporting only that two Iraqis working for Target #1 (code for Saddam) were captured on 13 DEC at 2004 hours. I was pretty sure that he’d been captured. I waited until the media began to leak the information on TV.
Saddam being captured was wonderful, he being responsible for so much waste, so many lives lost senselessly (as I see the countless names of Martyrs at the monument inscribed in stone) and a rule of terror. Now he’s captured! I am happy not out of vengeance or excitement, but rather for Iraqis – the real victims of this madness. I’m just sorry the country is in the state it is in over his rule and our war being here.
The sure confirmation came when Bremer addressed a press conference. We all watched FOX news on TV in the command center in anticipation. There were no hoots, no yells, no celebration in our TOC as the news was delivered. As Bremer said, “We got him,” I snapped a photo of the reaction at the command center. I don’t know exactly why everyone didn’t react joyously to the news. I know for myself that there is nothing to celebrate here until peace and stability come to Iraq. We know that Saddam is gone, but there are still fuel shortages, high levels of crime, foreign Jihad fighters, religious fanatics, crippled infrastructure and so on. I feel a bit of obligation to this country, I care about it, and I think these problems are far deadlier than Saddam. BUT, his capture is good nonetheless.
I wanted to see the reaction of the Iraqis at our restaurant. I know the new operator of our “Knight Lounge” restaurant from respectful interactions here and there, and he always greets me eagerly and kind.
‘Asalam Malekim,’ I said as we shook hand.
“Asalam Malekim,” he said at the same time – looking very excited I placed my right hand over my heart to show my respect. I was excited to see what his reaction would be about the news. He shuffled away to get me a pastry to eat. I tried to pay and insisted he accept my payment, but that is pointless here. After the second denial – it’s best to cease.
“No Saddam, Thompson!” he said trying to maintain his composure. He was so stoic, yet so elated, as if today was the day he’d never live to see. He asked me to take his picture next to the TV now showing Saddam, bearded and despot. I did, and he looked stoic as ever, posing like a soldier answering the call to duty. On the TV in the back room, Al-Jazeera was on and showing the video as well. Saddam being examined by a military doctor – he cooperating fully.
I watched carefully as some Iraqis came up to the TV to see if the rumors were true. They looked at the screen distrustfully for a moment, and then the video clip rolled again. I’ll never forget the look on their faces. Their faces drew longer, mouths opened, and seconds later, expressionless, open mouths slowly becoming smiles of victory, of justice. It was their moment, I thought to myself, to finally realize they are free from him at least. To see the faces of people coming to realize that 30 years of fear is over – as they realize it, is something I will never forget. I felt privileged to see that process, to observe it, because it’s a victory for common peoples – and those can be so rare in such pure form. One man became emotional and teary eyed, then went to get others. Other Iraqis, construction workers and teenagers came in to see the video showed on TV for themselves. They wore hopeful expressions, glancing to us for a signal of joy. I smiled back. Perhaps this will be a turning point in the war.
I remain positive about all of this, and hopeful for reconciliation – above all, reconciliation. This, I see, is also a moment to start an honest and combined, focused effort to bring real change to this place. My fate has brought me here, I have faced death here, and I want so dearly that only the best happen for Iraq. I even feel love for these people for reasons I can try to explain later, perhaps optimism and compassion better explain it. I love you Nora, and I can’t wait to get back to you. This life is so amazing.
You think about the politics of all of this and see that Bush has been extremely fortunate, over and again – despite his deceptive means for accomplishing an end. That creates a conflict, because you want to believe we’ve done the right thing – that maybe the “War on Terror” is succeeding, BUT the euphoria hides the realities of the present – that Iraq is unstable, there are foreign terrorist operating here, and the original reason for war was weapons of mass destruction. In principle, and I believe principles to be so very important. This war was begun on a lie, perhaps. Thousands of people have died in this war, lots of suffering, lots of deception, and I just wish there was another way to accomplish freedom. You get the impression that ulterior motives are at work here. All of this faded though, as a young boy ran up to me as I was walking back to the command center.
“Mista! No Saddam!” he said thankfully. He took my hand and shook it, with a wide smile of joy, and then ran off to go home, jumping and skipping along. These people’s lives are changed, they’ve cast off the chains put on them by this criminal. This is a good thing. I don’t know how long the euphoria will last – but it’s good to see these people realize they are indeed free from Saddam. I watched with joy as the Berlin Wall fell, I felt hope (even as a kid) when Boris Yeltsin climbed aboard an armored vehicle in Moscow and the Soviet Union fell before my eyes. I felt solidarity with the people of Serbia when they stormed the government and ousted Milosevic in Yugoslavia – and I feel so strangely for the future of Iraq – a deep friendship and shared struggle with them, and feel so privileged to be beside them as they see that they are free. It’s a human victory, not only an Iraqi one. We’ll see how this develops. I want to remain positive about this, lend Bush my consideration and watch carefully at how the government handles this situation.
Soon it will be time to go home to you, and way from this place. But a part of this place will never leave me. It’s only made me realize more that we are all part of the human family – I feel more and more justified in this view the more I see of the world. Peace lies in cooperation. My Catholic faith has taught me the virtues of love and forgiveness. I feel so optimistic about the future now than before. I love you Nora! I’ll catch up on the previous weeks in the next few pages. There is a lot to cover. Nora, I love you, and I’m so excited about coming home to you! I’ve never wanted something so much as to come home to you. You are such a blessing. I will love you forever – my destiny.
Learn more in the book American, Interrupted at http://www.american-interrupted.com
