6 May 08

Dear all,

For some I'm sure my paucity was a welcome change. But I gather it was an incomplete finale to a series of paragraph-length sentences. So I'll try again.

We returned back to the States 6 days ago, hitting the ground about a week shy of 15 months. Although our departure last year made me feel like we were paying homage to a Joseph Heller novel, our return home was short and sweet. Of course, the government did seem obliged to remind us multiple times that we were still public servants, and our time was theirs to waste. For example, the Air Force insisted we show up at customs 8 hours before departure, while only allocating 15 minutes for each of us to unpack and re-pack our belongings. And I thought the Army had a monopoly on 'government efficiency.'

We flew back in civilian planes, which were simply outstanding. I enjoyed most of the trip, minus a couple hours of an Ambien-induced stupor where I argued with my boss about having to cook my own breakfast. Evidently coach seats now come with a skillet and apron, or something like that. Otherwise I felt like a king: The stewardesses brought us drinks and meals almost continuously, and movies played non-stop. Even better, not only did I have minimal responsibility, but I also was forbidden from doing much more than sitting comfortably in my seat.

Our introduction back to the States was magnificent. I can think of no better word to describe the happy outpouring of emotion that greeted us as we walked off the plane. It seemed like everyone's excitement to return was magnified by the wild relief of those receiving us, and their unbridled openness about releasing their emotions. It's humbling to be part of a large group suddenly free of longing and concern, which until minutes before had been tucked away neatly beneath the surface. When we got back we were home; nothing else mattered.

My guys have surprised me a bit this week. I expected them to be wild, acting more their age than anything else. I'm sure most bars have the recipe they're seeking, but for now, their most common behavior has been one of exhausted relaxation. I think that for most of them, they're just happy to be home.

Back in Afghanistan things are more of the same. One of my interpreters sent me an email me this morning to say hi, at the same time reminding me just how versatile 27 exclamation points can be.

Evidently the enemy paid close attention when we switched out, and they have caused a ruckus for the new guys. Part of me takes that personally; I came to know that area better than I know my current home. But as strange as it is to say to myself, for now that's not my problem.

Besides, I've got fights of my own to deal with here. Early yesterday morning I challenged my washer and dryer to a no-holds barred death match. My washer succumbed early this morning, but the dryer kept kicking until after dinner this evening. Eventually though, I won. And as I reminded myself afterwards, those are the victories for now.

Many people have asked if I'm done. They want to know if this is it; if my deployment is over and I'm home for good. I wish the answer was that convenient, for more reasons than just pleasant conversation. But that's not the way this war works. As long as 15 months may have seemed to me, it's not as if the enemy is taking a break. But as long as I'm off, one of my friends and comrades is shouldering a larger part of the burden. I'm not sure what my immediate future will bring, but the nature of this profession really limits the possibilities.

Thank you all for your support. Like I have said before, to try and express genuine appreciation over email would be a disservice to each one of you. It will take some time to adequately return the favors, but I've now got time to try.

Best to all,
Moti

9 April 2008

Dear all,

The other day we stopped at an ANP checkpoint and a couple police started walking towards my vehicle, waving and laughing. It took a few minutes before I realized that I had worked with them months before. I guess it's a sign that we've been here awhile, when locals in an area spanning hundreds of kilometers now recognize my face on sight.

One of my friends said that this place has become his home. As strange as that still seems to me, there's more than a kernel of truth in that sentiment.

7 years is a long time. Certainly, it's enough for us to have become something of a fixture in Afghan society. The other day I stood next to a police chief as he asked a group of 30 children why they weren't at school. One of the smaller kids piped up and said there were no teachers. The police chief said he'd bring the teachers if the children promised to attend class. With a sideways glance, he then said that he'd bring book-bags and pens, and the Americans would bring chocolates and cookies. The children exclaimed enthusiastically and said they would come. A few echoed the English words they all seem to know: pen, chocolate, and MRE.

Most of the days are like this one. Some are not. The other day a bad guy blew himself up in our neighborhood, and actually I felt pretty happy about his error. He was emplacing an IED, and due to his fortunate mistake he is no longer part of this world. My only complaint is that he didn't take more of his colleagues with him. I did feel a brief sense of regret for the loss of human life, but I find genuine sympathy for the enemy to be elusive.

Despite obstacles like that idiot, long-term success is more attainable than Afghanistan has ever known. This country currently receives more aid and support than at any time in its history. Its welfare is one of the focal points of most recent NATO summits, and it has the best soldiers in the world fighting on its behalf. It is building the foundation for a society guided by freedom, justice, and the rule of law. And while this foundation has proven to be costly, it carries a price tag that must be paid at some point.

Then again, the backdrop for my perspective is the United States, which provides the source for my confidence. Whatever the talking heads may say about our economic crises and political bankruptcy,America still represents the hallmark of humanity's potential. Our neighbors aren't doing too poorly either, at least by the rest of the world's standards.

Yet Southwest Asia is a different neighborhood. Afghanistan is one of the poorest and most underdeveloped nations to reside in the 21st century. Plus, 2 of its most influential neighbors are Iran and Pakistan, which are hardly bastions of peace, justice, and freedom.

Maybe this neighborhood creates skepticism, for many people over here don't quite grasp the reality of their opportunity. We built an outpost recently (I'd add that my guys put it up in record time), and the land-owner materialized after a couple days to complain. He was old—probably in his 60s— with an 8-inch beard and cracking leather skin. He objected that he wouldn't be able to harvest his wheat now,and wanted rent money. I explained that we were on his land because his government wanted to increase security, but we would nevertheless provide compensation. He grumbled a little, but seemed satisfied that we were willing to help him.

Then I went further, and said that if there weren't these issues with security, his economic opportunities would be endless. He might not need to spend 16 hours each day in the sun, breaking his back and burning his skin. He could send his 7 children to school, instead of tethering them to his fields. He could even experiment with modern farming methods, which would allow him to grow more wheat than all of his neighbors' fields, combined. Dreams don't always register though. The farmer scoffed when I talked about sending his kids to school, and recoiled when I suggested new farming techniques. I felt like I may have been telling him to pack his bags for a trip to Mars. Evidently the ceiling for his ambition was to maintain a tolerable standard of mediocrity.

There is, however, a population sector that seems to get it. Perhaps it's a universal truth, but the local children don't seem to have been born defeated.

A while ago a group of 50 kids showed me the results of a recent visit from enemy fighters. They pointed out a charred spot on the ground, where masked men had burned the kids' jackets, books, and shoes. As I looked at the burn pile one of the children shyly asked me for a pen. I asked him why, when the enemy would just burn it sometime in the future. In response he pulled a pen out of his pocket, which we had brought to him a couple weeks before. He refused to hand it over when the Taliban came to the village, and he said he would do the same thing in the future. He smiled shyly, and put the pen back into his pocket.

Had I been born as an Afghan child, I hope that I would have been as brave as that kid. It's not easy to stand against cruel and uncompromising fanatics, especially when your elders take the path of least resistance. But kids like that represent the future, and between their courage and our help, things continue to grow more promising over here.

Moti

21 March 2008

Dear all,

It's been a little while since I've written. I hope no one has been too worried.

Sometimes this place leaves me at a loss for words. Whether it's the routine days or the extraordinary ones, it can be difficult to find room for commentary.

Lately I've found my mind wandering to mundane things back in the States. Paved roads, carpets, supermarkets. No surprise on the last one, at least for those who know me. But the fact is that we've got it pretty good where we are. Lots of other guys have it far, far worse. I guess I like to put a positive spin on my wistfulness, and view it as an indication that I'm learning to appreciate the small things in life.

That was actually one of the two main reasons I joined the Army. I was24 years old and still couldn't appreciate just how good my life was.I figured that I needed some kind of a jolt to make me receptive, and the Army would do the trick. The second reason was more important (I wanted to serve my country and help win the war against radical religious fanatics), but the first was salient nonetheless.

Anyway, before I joined I was excited that I had finally steered my life with a purpose that made me proud. Yet not everyone shared that view. I remember one day in particular, sitting in the Athenaeum at Claremont McKenna College, finishing my dinner and waiting for the evening's speaker to mount the podium. The woman who sat to my left must have been in her 60s, and we had only exchanged pleasantries throughout the majority of the meal. As I started my dessert, she asked—almost as an aside—about my post-graduation plans. I told her I was going to serve in the Army, and she looked up at me, aghast. Her surprise, however, was not due to the fact that our country was at war with violent and radical people. No, she just couldn't understand why I'd choose the Army, when she was certain I could have done so much more in the civilian world.

I can understand how this war can come to seem tedious. It gets that way for me sometimes, and I'm one of the people over here. But this war isn't tedious. In spite of everything, I think it is pretty damn important.

The other day one of my friends found an IED the hard way. I had gone to a couple military schools with him, but had seen more of him in the States than I had over here. For most of this deployment, we may as well have been on different planets. Still, that event hit pretty close to home. Not only is he also a lieutenant, and not only was that the second IED to hit one of us, but more important, there was no happy ending. He ended up in decent shape, but some of his companions were nowhere near as lucky.

Another day some nearby ANP had a similar dose of bad luck. Except that their Ford Rangers aren't as prepared for bad luck as our 16,000 pound humvees. Sometimes it's apparent the enemy plans for that weakness. Other times he's aiming for no one but us. Whatever his plans that day, it didn't turn out well for anyone involved.

Sometimes the days can be down right nasty, even without dealing with a hostile and cowardly enemy. The other day we drove through an especially smelly bazaar, in which—as usual—green vegetables lay in the dirt, week-old raw meat played host to hundreds and hundreds of flies, and the single source of running water served both as a toilet and a sink for everyone in the area. Last year that scene would have been shocking. Now it was as normal as a sign advertising gas for 4 dollars a gallon. In fact, what startled me was how much the area had been cleaned up in the past year. But that's this job. We plant ourselves in the dredges of the world so that everyone back home can live divorced from this reality. I'm not complaining though—I signed up for this, and would sign up just the same if I had it to do over.

We had a BBC news crew come to our base the other day. They were filming a television special on PTSD and other behavioral health issues in the military. On camera, one of the reporters asked me why Soldiers struggle in this environment. The only thing I could think to say was that this is not an easy job. The reporters then asked how we cope with the difficulties. I told them that as hard as some of the days may seem, the good ones can be equally rewarding. Whether listening to a district leader exclaim memories of fighting next to me against the enemy, or watching children buzz with delight as we handout pens and notebooks, many of the locals seem to realize that this is the best opportunity they've ever had.

I think it's funny when people say we're doing reconstruction in Afghanistan. That's kind of like saying you're reconstructing jet packs and space colonies—things that have never existed.

Nevertheless, I'm still pretty confident about our chances for success. After all, I believe we're on the right side of justice, and we've got the power to back that up. But there are times when this side of the world still makes me scratch my head in disbelief.

The other day one of the base interpreters ran all over looking for me. When he found me he was out of breath, hysterical and crying. He could hardly talk but managed to sputter that he wanted to quit. He said he hated us Americans and didn't want us in his country anymore. He said we were only here to insult his religion, and that made us even worse than the Russians. It turns out he mistranslated someone's comments and thought they had denigrated Islam. It took 15 minutes to calm him down, but he actually packed his bags and left later that day. He returned to the base shortly thereafter, when he realized he'd be killed if he continued his tantrum so recklessly.

Don't forget that when working for us that interpreter makes as much as doctors and lawyers in Kabul; we ensure our DFAC always makes food he can eat; we accommodate religious holidays with their vacations chedules; and a million other things of that nature. But I guess that all goes out the window if an infidel flinches while saying the word 'Muslim.'

The OIC met in Senegal recently, where one of their biggest concerns was the global 'disrespect' for Islam. They declared that substantively, they hoped to develop a legal plan to rectify this problem, dealing most acutely with the political cartoons in Denmark.

The Islamic nations all condemned terrorism, of course, but made special notes about the acceptability of fighting for just religious reasons. I wonder about our potential to help them fix their problems, when so many of them only seem concerned about what happens after they die.

Osama bin Laden said something similar a couple days later, at least in reference to the political cartoons and their intolerable blasphemy. I'd probably invite the wrath of Hades if I suggested this wasn't some inexplicable coincidence. Well, consider the invitations sealed and stamped. To paraphrase the editor of the Daily Star (a Lebanese English language newspaper) a little while after September 11, 'All Muslims are not terrorists, but all the terrorists have been Muslims.' His words, not mine. But that's kind of the elephant in the room, isn't it?

The new Army manual on counterinsurgency says we're essentially doing 'armed social work.' That analogy certainly fits. I remember working with embittered teenagers and thinking they were a handful; it's unsettling to think we're in the same boat here, but with an uncompromising set of religious beliefs thrown into the mix.

Recently we drove around searching for a burnt cell-phone tower. The bad guys have taken to intimidating cell phone companies, forcing them to shut down all traffic from Kandahar to Kabul every afternoon,straight through until morning. Then again, since the 2 main companies in Afghanistan have headquarters in Iran, there might not be as much forcible coercion as the locals seem to think. Anyway, we found the remnants of our enemy's presence in a densely populated area. The whole platform had been torched, and the metal foundation was so badly burned that it looked as if it was made out of balsawood. Yet the enemy's credibility remains unimpeachable, even though such barbarism is routine for them. The locals accept what the zealots say: That we're here to corrupt their religion, steal their women, and brainwash their children. I guess the fact that we're the ones trying to repair their cell phone towers can't compensate for our religious inferiority.

There's always a flip side though. At the base of the tower an old man pointed to his eyes and asked me to fix them. I told him I wasn't a doctor but he said that didn't matter. 'You're an American. You can do anything.'

I laughed at him as he earnestly repeated himself. I told him he was wrong, and even Americans have limits. I said that we've been trying to help them for over 6 years, and we'll continue to try for many,many more. But ultimately it's his country to fix, and the US Army can only do so much without the help of him and his villagers. He mumbled something about being afraid, and how it's our responsibility to provide security. And he walked back to his home, with his family and his friends at his side. I got in my humvee and drove away, an outsider headed to a temporary base in a foreign land.

Best to all,

Moti

1 February 2008

Dear all,

The word 'infantry' just doesn't seem to cover everything we do here. Over the past couple weeks we escorted doctors and medics all over our area, to treat ailments ranging from TB and polio to impotence and measles. Our mobile footprint was relatively light, but the impact was tremendous. We distributed thousands of dollars in medical supplies, comparable amounts in humanitarian assistance, and even more in medical expertise and personal care. The force behind this operation was almost exclusively American, with all providers, medicines, and direct support coming from us, the one and only 'Great Satan'.

Yet as usual, everywhere we went we tried to avoid credit or praise. We prepped our Afghan counterparts before missions, stocking their Rangers with massive amounts of provisions. In the villages we stood aside and watched while they distributed aid to the locals. When I spoke it was only to confer praise on the local Afghan leadership, and to highlight their role in bringing doctors to the district.

That's our life over here. It's not always like this, with the environment so permissive. But when it is, this is what we do. We're here to help these people, in more ways than I could have imagined.The other day the police chief told me about his broken glasses, and asked me to get him new ones. Although his request was absurd (I'd have a better chance of getting a Pizza Hut delivery), it was an affirmation of the type of role we play here. For our local colleagues it is a matter of routine to submit any imaginable appeal to the Americans.

That routine indicates the depth of our investment here, which we've built with the most precious things possible: Our blood and our treasure. This is no exaggeration. One of my guys back in the States, with traumatic brain injury from an IED, literally left some of his blood in Afghanistan. Similarly, the medical supplies we provided over the last 2 weeks represented a tangible amount of American treasure. They didn't appear out of thin air; rather, they came directly from American taxpayers.

But I didn't come to Afghanistan for a thank-you card. Nor do I expect the Afghans to jump around and wave American flags. I do, however,expect them to honestly acknowledge our investment.

Recently one of our units killed some bad guys. Foreign though it might be to some, for us this is more than just a newspaper article. For us their elimination means fewer explosions, and for the locals, a respite from terror. Unfortunately, however, there have been allegations that during the mission, some Afghan Security Forces were killed.

Leave aside the questionable circumstances surrounding these allegations, and the myriad challenges the security forces here bring upon themselves. Also suspend the countless complications of fighting a war against an enemy who enjoys reception within the populace, which enables him to masquerade in civilian clothes, hide in religious sanctuaries, and travel in medical vehicles.

In spite of all that, any possibility of incidental casualties is unfortunate. But that's the nature of military operations, here or anywhere else. Even in an optimal environment, war is not neat, or contained.

After that mission, a substantial number of people decried the collateral damage as a microcosm of our presence over here. The NYT quoted a particularly galling Afghan MP, who said, "Another big cruelty was made by American forces this morning." As if the effects of our presence are routinely cruel. Talk about throwing the baby out with the bathwater.

That is simply ridiculous. If cruelty were our routine, I would hope we could execute it better than this. Cruelty would be razing the villages we regularly provide with piles of aid. Cruelty would be treating people like our enemies do, where different races are sub-human, and women and children are not even part of the equation. Cruelty would be leveling this country with some of our thousands of nuclear missiles, and choosing to forgo the costs of a slow and painful reconstruction. If cruelty was our method, it would certainly not be limited to the collateral damage of a precision military operation.

Instead, such criticism is no more than abject political opportunism. And in a strange way, it reminds me of the various pundits and intellectuals back in the States, who chirp endlessly about the immaturity of the people we are trying to help. They lament our foolish attempt to bring democracy to a foreign land, and scoff at our naiveté for trying to give freedom to those who are not ready for it.

Those attitudes are wrong. A picture of America as a nation transfixed on committing cruelties is as ridiculous as a picture of Afghanistan as a country ill-equipped for democracy.

In some perverse way, the MP's comment reinforces just how asinine those attitudes can be. Just like a recent German Prime Minister who based much of his political life on anti-American posturing, this Afghan MP has begun to realize the potential of freedom. That his freedom manifests itself in a foolish political rebuke is unfortunate, but does indicate that even here, ideas like free speech and an open media are infectious. As much as those comments make me recoil,tolerance of imperfection is very good for this country, especially in the political realm. As Madison reminded us, if men were angels, we wouldn't need government.

That we recognize our imperfections is a sign of our personal strength. That we strive to improve on them is a sign of our moral courage. That we help others with this struggle is a sign of our country's greatness. For here we are shepherds, lighting the way for the Afghans to stand firmly on their own, to realize the endless limits of human potential.

What a job for a grunt.

Moti

10 January 08

10 January 08
Dear all,

Sometimes I wonder if my time here is enhancing my humanity, or diminishing it.

More often than not, the distinctions in this place are pretty easy to spot. We build schools, they try to burn them down. We support Afghanistan's leaders, they try to isolate and intimidate them. We give out HA freely and without strings, they threaten to cut off children's knees and burn warm clothes during winter. As I said, usually it's pretty easy.

Every so often though, something blurs the picture. The other day we caught a real bad dude, and a strange thing happened: As I questioned at him, he began to cry. He only allowed a single tear to appear, which I interpreted as a subconscious recognition of his own mortality. But it was a tear nonetheless. And despite the fact that he is a cold-hearted enemy fighter, I started to pity him. At the time a part of me even felt what seemed like sympathy. Looking at him, I did not see a source of terror and destruction; instead I stared at a pathetic human being. Even more bizarre, his frailty made his person seem distinct, strangely separated from his actions and beliefs.

Da Vinci said that he who does not punish evil commands it to be done. I agree with that statement, but when I looked down at Johnny Taliban I was momentarily captivated by a shattered individual. I briefly felt removed from my position as an agent of good, and a destroyer of evil. Evidently, however, that old boy was not intentionally sentimental. Just a few hours later he had replaced his tears with wretched insults, even as our medics labored to keep him alive.

Nevertheless, our medics continued to toil. For ultimately, he was still a human being. And it says something that that although he chose to spend his life working to kill and destroy, we not only spared him, but we saved his life. Perhaps that's a sign of our humanity.

Later that night, while being impressed by our medics' ingenuity and fortitude, I began to wonder about our actions; if our pretensions of humanity had prevented us from fully administering justice. Maybe it's a flaw that we value human life without exception. Let's be honest: When we preserve malicious human life, we consciously spare destructive individuals so they can hurt us again in the future. Is that humane? Is it helping us win this war?

Take away all the speculations and theoretical mental exercises. This was a simple matter of us and the enemy, in plain flesh and unforgiving reality. Here was a guy with direct responsibility for blowing us up; a guy that would have done it many times more had we not gotten him. There's nothing forgiving about a pile of explosives triggered to destroy unsparingly. Not in the wildest stretch of the imagination.

I've often wondered if the enemy ponders this subject himself. I asked Johnny Taliban that question as he lay on one of our stretchers: If I was in his shoes, after he managed to blow me up, would he give me the same treatment?

At least that answer is clear enough.

Moti