Thoughts from Baghdad

On the road to Motown

Tue, 23 Feb 2010 08:30:42 -0500

I wrote the blog piece below a few months ago for the State Department’s official blog, DipNote, and wanted to post it here for those who might have missed it.

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The State Department's Foreign Service Institute (FSI) is where American diplomats come to learn the tools of their trade. A wide range of courses prepare Foreign Service Officers (FSOs) to engage the media, speak, read, and write in numerous languages, and to draft efficiently and think critically about political, economic, and human rights issues. Yet, in all the courses taught at FSI, there is a common thread: cultural competence. This critical component of diplomatic engagement is best gained when FSOs can communicate in the language of the host country. Currently FSI hosts over 1,000 students studying more than 70 languages. From Azeri to Vietnamese – and every language in between – FSI is preparing diplomats to engage foreign audiences to explain America's policies as well as our values.

It's a unique environment to study language. Each day, before 7:00 a.m., you can find students sitting in the FSI cafeteria with coffee in hand pouring over flash cards in Spanish, conjugating verbs in Farsi, practicing introductions in Czech, and explaining trade agreements in Chinese. Before I began studying language at FSI, I often found it strange when my colleagues would roam the halls between breaks, talking to themselves. That is, until a teacher stopped me in the hall one day recently to ask me (in Arabic), "Who are you talking to?" "Atakalem ma nafsi." (“Talking to myself”), I told her.

The Arabic Language Department at FSI is busy churning out students to staff our embassies across the Middle East and is always finding new and innovative ways to teach. Recently, I was able to attend a one-week, Arabic-language immersion course for advanced students. Accompanied by two professors, six students, who are headed to various countries in the Middle East, piled into a van to make the long drive from Washington, D.C., to Dearborn, Michigan, where the largest population of Arabic-speaking Americans and Legal Permanent Residents live in the United States. The trip was a fantastic (and very cost effective) opportunity to utilize a great American resource in our own backyard: an Arab-American community eager to assist U.S. diplomats in preparing to better understand the language, cultures, religions of the Middle East.

The group visited an evening Bible study session at a church, attended afternoon prayers at two local mosques, met with university students, and even worked behind the counter of one of Dearborn's finest Middle Eastern bakeries. In all of our interactions, the group found proud Americans of Arab descent eager to speak with us about our upcoming diplomatic assignments. "You are great representatives for America to work in the Middle East," one parishioner from a Chaledean Church in Dearborn told the group. "You know the language, and even more than that, you understand the culture. This serves America well," he noted. Among the many meetings with civic, religious, and law enforcement leaders, the group also attended a celebration of Lebanese Independence Day sponsored by the Lebanese Consulate General of Detroit.

While all of my colleagues (author excluded) did a tremendous job of speaking Arabic, non-stop, for the entire week, one of my Foreign Service colleagues distinguished herself as a truly outstanding linguist. Headed out on her first overseas assignment next year, Samantha Kuo took the trip's coveted “Linguist of the Immersion” award by handling the most difficult of all tasks: driving over 1,000 miles to and from Michigan, all the while taking her queues from our vehicle's GPS system . . . in Arabic. Not one wrong turn, not one missed exit; there and back again . . . quite an accomplishment, Sam. Driving around Saudi Arabia should be a breeze.

Oops . . . then again . . . maybe not.

The movie’s not over

Sun, 14 Feb 2010 08:48:43 -0500

It’s been six months since I returned from Iraq, and the transition back to a normal life in the United States has been a smooth one. As is often the case with many of my colleagues (both civilian and military) returning from Iraq and Afghanistan, I had just as many mixed feelings about being home as I did about leaving. Despite all the creature comforts of life in the U.S., full nights of restful sleep remained elusive during the first weeks back. Thoughts of projects I was unable to bring to closure, ideas that never quite came to fruition, and friends still in harm’s way consumed my thoughts during those sleepless nights. Soon enough, however, the normal patterns of life returned.

I married the amazing woman I left behind more than a year and a half ago, and began anew, a dream deferred. Reconnecting with family, friends, and everything I missed, I felt that surge of appreciation for home you feel when you’ve been away from all that you know and love for a long time - nothing like a tour in Iraq to help you appreciate all that we have in America. I also had a chance to participate in the State Department’s Hometown Diplomat Program and returned to my old high school to talk to kids about the Department and my year in Iraq. Happy, settled, and ready for the next challenge, life’s good.

I’m now spending my days as a student at the Foreign Service Institute (studying Arabic once again) and sleeping soundly through the night. Completing this last overseas assignment reminded me that some Foreign Service tours fit neatly on the shelf of memory without the slightest effort. An intricately woven basket from the walled city of Harar in eastern Ethiopia hangs proudly on our living room wall and serves as a reminder of that wild and wonderful adventure. Grilled steak tips dipped in chili powder, freshly baked bread, and a cold beer at an open-air restaurant in this historic Islamic city was a culinary delight not to be missed. That same evening, feeding a docile but very wild pack of African spotted hyenas - by hand - might have been one of the more foolish things I’ve attempted in life. But I survived it, snapped a few choice pics, and lived to tell the tale. As Foreign Service tours go, Ethiopia receded nicely into the distance.

Iraq, on the other hand, has not faded so easily. Perhaps over time my experience there will find its proper place on the bookshelf of memory and I will do what most weary travelers do when they recall places of interest from their past: remember the good times, laugh at the bad times, and regale the children I'll have one day with stories of when dear old dad went to war. So, why hasn’t Iraq made its way to my display case? Why have I not moved on to the next country, the next experience? Because a few months ago I signed up to go back to Iraq for another year.

The calculus in deciding to return for a second time is a complicated equation that includes many of the same numbers and variables that led me to volunteer the first time. The U.S. Mission in Iraq still needs dedicated professionals who care about what happens to Iraq and Iraqis. Iraq needs diplomats and development professionals who want to be there and, more than that, who’ve been there before and understand the lay of the land. As America’s attention span for Iraq has shortened and shifted eastward toward Afghanistan and Pakistan (or to whatever crisis has our attention today) the challenges of Iraq still require our very best efforts. I wrote last year that we were not finished in Iraq and I still firmly believe that. A journalist who has covered Iraq extensively over the past few years recently recalled the words of the former United States Ambassador to Iraq, Ryan Crocker, who said, “just because you walk out of the movie doesn’t mean the movie’s over.”  If Iraq is, indeed, that movie, the reels are still spinning, the lights are still dimmed, and I am headed back into the theater.

As I prepare to roll the dice once again, my biggest concern this time around is actually not for my safety, but for something a bit more nuanced: will going back, this time to Baghdad, dash what optimism I gained in my first year?   I left Iraq in July of last year exhausted, but upbeat, inspired, and very hopeful. If you’ve read my previous blogs you know that my experience in Iraq was overwhelmingly positive.  Nestled away in my quiet province in the south, many of the problems Iraqis faced at the national level didn’t reach me. Living in a majority Shia province, the sectarian divide didn't rear its ugly head in my neighborhood. Muthanna didn’t have oil, so the political and physical conflicts that come hand-in-hand with the oil’s curse were, similarly, not an issue I dealt with. I focused on provincial-level reconstruction and explaining to the people of Muthanna what we were doing to help them in their own backyard.    I now wonder if I will find hope and inspiration in Baghdad. I wonder if the monumental challenges of Iraq, as seen from the nation’s capital, will provide me with opportunities to still be hopeful and inspired.

An Assistant Secretary of State I once worked for scolded a colleague of mine for including the word “hope” in a set of talking points for official use. “Folks,” he said sternly at a morning staff meeting, “here in the Bureau of Near East Affairs, we "urge," we "applaud,” we "condemn." Sometimes we even "strongly condemn." But, we don’t "hope." If you want “hope,” go to church. "Hope" is not a policy.” He was quite right, of course. Hope is not a policy.  Luckily, this blog isn’t about policy, so I’m free to hope for the best.

In this next job in Iraq, I’ll be tasked with doing a fair amount of talking on behalf of the United States (clearly, not a problem for those who know me). Yet, I will bring to Baghdad one of the same strategies that served me well during my tenure in Muthanna: listening - really listening - to Iraqis. With all the messaging, all the talking points, and all the press briefings I’ll work on, my ability to listen to what Iraqis are saying (and what they’re not saying) will, again, help me better understand the complexities of Iraq.

So, with that, stay tuned for more Wing Tips in Baghdad . . .

Minds with money, hearts with respect

Wed, 29 Jul 2009 03:46:13 -0400

It’s tough to sum up a year in Iraq in one final post. As I’ve written before, the best summary of my time in Iraq actually lies in the telling of the tale. With more and more diplomats serving on PRTs in Iraq and Afghanistan, my experience is not uncommon. Yet, I can’t help but feel there were, indeed, many unique aspects of my time in Muthanna. Unique because in the human terrain of our sleepy little province in the South, our team broke new ground with Iraqis. Certainly our team provided Iraqis with many of the same types of assistance that PRTs did and do in other provinces. But, the relatively permissive security environment allowed us to develop relationships with Iraqis that my colleagues in other provinces were just not able to do.

With all that I’ve observed and shared this year, there were also many, many stories I was not able to blog about because Iraq is a still a land in conflict. There were Iraqis whose pictures I wanted to post — perfect images that needed little to no accompanying text — and prose I wished to write but would have put Iraqi lives — friends’ lives — in jeopardy. While I could not tell their stories on the pages of this blog, I’ve carried them back with me, and there is no doubt they made me a better a diplomat and, dare I say, a better human being.

As I cleaned out my desk on that last day, my colleague and friend Albert Hadi and I stood in the middle of our office gazing at the wall of photos, flyers, and articles our PRT had generated over the year — evidence of many of our public diplomacy efforts. As we reflected on the year’s accomplishments, Albert said quietly, “You know, we win the minds of Iraqis by building things like schools, bridges, and roads, but we win their hearts by building relationships and giving them respect. We won hearts here this year.” He was quite right.

This year we had, indeed, won hearts in Muthanna by leading with respect and engaging Iraqis as equals. We earned the admiration of our Iraqi colleagues by demonstrating a respect for their history, religion, culture, and sovereignty. At a time when Iraqis are yearning for a more normal relationship with the United States, I believe our civilian-lead engagement and assistance were critical components to building sustainable bridges (both figuratively and literally) between our two nations. Reflecting back on the year, I can’t help but feel optimistic that the seeds of democracy and normality we helped to plant will eventually grow into trees of prosperity that will bear fruit.

I would be remiss in ending this blog if I didn’t extend my thanks to you — the reader. Wing Tips has been in many ways my diary of my year. Of all the coping mechanisms available to me, blogging turned out to be the most therapeutic. Writing helped me process the tumult and tempest of this year in a way that allowed me to keep my family and friends informed, and to tell stories of Iraq most folks had never heard before. I’ve yet to go back and read the blog from start to finish — I suspect I’ll grimace at how naive I was when I first arrived — but I look forward to doing so when I have a bit more distance from the experience. Yet, the blog accurately charts the peaks and valleys of my journey.

So, with Iraq physically behind me (but still very much with me intellectually and emotionally), I end with one final photo. It’s of a gift I received from the group of women artists I worked with throughout the year, and is the most meaningful physical remembrance from my year in Iraq. No award I could have received from the State Department for serving in Iraq would have meant more to me than the plaque below.

Thanks for reading and sharing it with others, and stay tuned for more Wing Tips on the Ground in 2010 from Oman.

A wisp of clouds or darkness falling?

Sat, 11 Jul 2009 12:42:31 -0400

I had hoped to end my time here in Muthanna on the highest of notes. With the exception of a few poorly aimed rockets, a rather menacing heckler at a public diplomacy event, and one or two errant shoes thrown at my motorcade shortly after former President Bush’s last visit to Iraq (thankfully, Muthanna’s finest shoe-thrower had bad aim), my time in Muthanna has been – from a security standpoint – relatively uneventful. So many of my greatest fears about serving in Iraq have not come to fruition. I’m not out of the woods yet, but with a few weeks to go, the sweetness of departure is already dancing on the tip of my tongue.  One year ago this week I was back in Washington in a training course for people headed to PRTs.  I recall a Foreign Service colleague tell us that we should be prepared to deal with the death of a team member during our tour. It was a real possibility and we should be ready for it when it happens. She then said to us, “You will have members of your local staff killed. It’s terrible, but it is part of working in Iraq.” I shuddered at the assertion thinking back to the bond I had developed with some of my local staff at the US Embassy in Ethiopia during my first overseas assignment. Would I get to know my Iraqi locals as well as I did the folks in Addis Ababa? Serving in the crucible of a PRT, I've grown very close to some of my locals this year. I would have been devastated if her warning came to pass. Thankfully, it hasn’t.

Part of Muthanna’s great charm for me this year has been that it seemed very far away from the Iraq I read in the headlines. Car bombs, suicide bombers, beheadings, and other gruesome atrocities were all things that happened in other parts of Iraq - not in Muthanna. I would often chat with colleagues and friends back home about how far off the foreign-policy radar Muthanna really was. “Muthanna’s never in the news,” friends would tell me. My response: “ . . . and 'never in the news' is just fine by me.” While I have never let my guard down this year, Muthanna has been an oasis of peace in a desert of conflict, and I have grown comfortable operating here. Indeed, when I have exchanged stories with my colleagues from other provinces, I have often remarked that it is as if they are describing another Iraq - certainly not my Iraq.

I got to know Iraqis well this year in large part because I grew to trust them. I had opportunities to develop relationships with folks in Muthanna based upon more than just “here’s what the United States can do for you.” I’ve developed organic relationships with Iraqis - relationships that I hope will continue for years to come. My walk through a Rumaytha marketplace a few months ago was more than a commentary on the safety and security of Muthanna. It was an endorsement of the trust we had placed in our Iraqi hosts. Looking back, our “walk-about” was, perhaps, a foolish undertaking. The worst could have happened on that pleasant afternoon in Rumaytha, but it didn’t, and we finished out another day in Iraq feeling invigorated and further invested in this place so far away from home.

Yet, like almost everything in Iraq, circumstances can change in the blink of an eye. One moment the sky is blue, and the next, a sand storm has whipped the desert into an orange maelstrom of dust. So, too, has the security situation in Muthanna changed for the worse. The clear skies we enjoyed in previous months have been shaded by a dusty uncertainty. Recently, a United States soldier was killed by a roadside bomb - in Muthanna. The lethal threat that had spared my civilian and military colleagues for so long in this peaceful corner of Iraq had taken the life of a young man: Sergeant Joshua Soto. He was from a small town outside of San Diego and had served in Iraq before. During his previous tour he was wounded in action, but convalesced quickly and returned to duty, serving in the gunner position in one of his platoon’s vehicles. Sgt. Soto’s awards included the Bronze Star, two Purple Hearts, and numerous other accolades. He was part of a brigade that had only recently arrived in Muthanna to replace the 2-12 Cavalry.

I never met Sgt. Soto, nor have I had the opportunity to work closely with the soldiers of his brigade. But, he was killed in my neighborhood. He lost his life in a place that I have talked about with great enthusiasm over this past year. He died in Muthanna, a place where both civilian and military personnel have met with great success in the battle for hearts and minds. Not by kicking down doors, or arresting people in the night, but by bringing books to needy schools, by helping increase the amount of clean drinking water for rural residents, by helping build bridges, roads, and schools—by trying to make difference in the lives of the people here.

Maybe I sound naive about Muthanna. After all, it is still Iraq. I always found some measure of comfort talking to loved ones back home when I would say, “Don’t worry. I’m in Muthanna! Nothing’s going to happen to me here. Remember?  We dip sheep here!” Perhaps, as pessimistic as I am about so many of the smaller things in life, I wanted to be the eternal optimist about the most difficult of tasks. I wanted to believe that all of the engagement, the many hours spent speaking face-to-face with Iraqis, explaining who we are and what we are trying to do, could have prevented something like this from happening. Perhaps our work here already has. Our outreach and engagement is at times tough to measure. Were there would-be assassins who opted not to execute a plan because of something positive we did? Perhaps. Was surviving in Iraq - for everyone - just the luck of the draw? We routinely vary our routes and times, and I’ve always wondered if selecting X street instead of Y street to drive down saved lives on any given day.  It's an imponderable that can never be answered.

Iraq is a series of high highs and low lows, and as I finish, I wish I was higher right now. Sgt. Soto’s death gives me pause, though. I didn’t know him, but find myself thinking often of the fact that he is survived by a wife and a nine-month-old son named Jayden. I imagine Jayden growing older and looking at his slain father’s Purple Hearts and Bronze Star, and feeling immensely proud. I wonder if he will resent Iraq and the conflict that cost him the man that might have taught him to throw a baseball. I wonder if, by the time he is old enough to fight, he will follow in his father’s footsteps and enlist.  I wonder if, when he is old enough to serve, we'll still be here in Iraq. Fighting on the same dusty streets, trying to convince a new generation of young men of the good intentions started by the previous generations soldiers and diplomats.

The death of Sgt. Soto also makes me wonder if, in my final days in Iraq, the calm I once relied on in Muthanna is now over. Folks I spoke with in Muthanna expressed shock and outrage over the incident, which came as some comfort. In talking with one resident I got the sense that she, too, wondered if the water of this wellspring of peace in the middle of the desert had begun to dry up. Was the attack a mere wisp of clouds, or is it a sign of darkening skies? Has the security posture in Muthanna changed?  Can one act of violence in a one-year period change everything?  No. I don’t think so. The nefarious efforts of a small few cannot and do not speak for the overwhelming majority of good people here. It should also not change the fact that the residents of Muthanna, by and large, have rejected and continue to reject the violence seen elsewhere. Yet, I cannot help but grit my teeth in anger over this.

Sgt. Soto’s death doesn’t undo the observations and feelings I’ve shared over the past year, but it does cast a shadow over my remaining days here.

Patron saint of diplomats in Iraq

Fri, 26 Jun 2009 10:46:56 -0400

I will complete my year in Iraq in less than one month, which means that I should be gearing up for a few “final thoughts” blogs about the past year. In many ways, the blog is already complete. Iraq has been a series of great personal and professional challenges, and I am really glad I volunteered. It’s been a physically and emotionally draining experience, and while I am a better diplomat for it, I am exhausted and ready to return home.

By no means has my year in Iraq been unique. State Department Foreign Service Officers have consistently answered our nation’s calls to serve in Iraq, Afghanistan, and many other hot spots around the world. I’m proud of their efforts and count myself fortunate to be a member in their ranks. As I finish up, I am reminded of the year I joined the State Department: 2003. It was the same year the United States launched Operation Iraqi Freedom. I was a newly-minted diplomat and had just been assigned to the US Embassy in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia. Back then, a career in the Middle East was the farthest thing from my mind. I followed the news coming out of Iraq in 2003 and heard about colleagues who’d volunteered, but I was focused on understanding Ethiopia and the complexities and challenges of that country. With some Japanese-language ability under my belt, I hoped to finish my tour in Addis Ababa, and spend the rest of my Foreign Service career on the Pacific Rim, bouncing back and forth between the Middle Kingdom and the Land of the Rising Sun. So, after Ethiopia - and a few years in Washington - I headed East. But rather than going Far, I stopped right in the Middle.

At the end of my Iraq marathon I cannot help but think of the many bureaucratic and political hurdles that made the year such a challenge. My struggles here always reminded me of a figure from Greek mythology, Sisyphus, whose never-ending punishment by the gods I pondered often during the course of the year. I don't mean to imply that serving in Iraq was a "never-ending punishment," but if volunteering can be considered a "good deed," then here at the State Department no good deed goes unpunished. More than just a Greek tragedy, Sisyphus has become my patron saint -- the patron saint of US diplomats in Iraq. There were many days when I stood at the top of the hill watching the boulder roll back down, and wondered if rolling it back up was even worth the time and effort. I would ask myself that proverbial question my good friend and former PRTer in Baghdad, Conrad Tribble, mused during his own year in Iraq: “I feel like I am making a difference, but is any of this really making a difference?” Yet, each trek back up the hill revealed something new about Iraq. Each journey forward showed me a bit more about how to do my job better. Each time I pushed a bit harder, I was able to learn something new about myself.

At the end of my tour, I had hoped to accumulate enough wisdom and experience to make a few big-picture pronouncements on Iraq. But from my vantage point at the provincial level, I'm not certain I'm in a position to do so. That said, I do believe the United States should remain diplomatically engaged in Iraq, and that we should continue to provide development assistance to the Iraqi people in the years to come. Afghanistan and Pakistan were featured prominently in a recent speech on public diplomacy by a senior State Department official, but there was no mention of Iraq. As much as we’d all like to be done here, we’re not. Not by a long shot. To think otherwise would be making a tremendous mistake. I may not be in a position to answer all the big picture questions, but I feel that I've accumulated enough "street cred" after a year spent on a PRT to have my say on this one. Afghanistan was given far too few resources and attention the past few years, and we now face some very tough choices on how best to program military and civilian resources. But, it is precisely at this moment, as US troops are redeploying and are leaving Iraq, that we must keep our attention on the more "normal" parts of our relationship with Iraq. Cultural exchanges, English language programming, training and development assistance across all levels of civil society, are essential for our continued engagement.

A few days ago I flew back into Iraq for the last time (or, at least the last time this time around . . .). My final R&R was restful and much needed. It was also a tempting reminder of the life I can’t wait to “re-begin,” as well as begin anew, back in the U.S. The first time I left the United States for any extended period of time was 12 years ago. I was headed off to Japan, ostensibly to teach English and learn all there was to know about the culture that had so deeply fascinated me on a previous trip there. In reality, like all good travelers who are wise to listen more and talk less, I would discover more in those two years about myself and what it meant to be an American than I did about Japan. The perspective of traveling outside one’s own country offers such a great vantage point to look back and see one’s home from a new perspective. While I was much more impressionable (and liberal) 12 years ago, I encountered many of the same feelings of discovery, and even a few new ones, during my time in Iraq. My interactions with Iraqis have sometimes revealed to me things about America that I hadn’t previously considered.

Earlier this year I read a fascinating book entitled Angler by Barton Gellman. It was, hands down, the best book I’ve read this year (perhaps even during the previous year as well). The writing was superb, the subject matter compelling — I was literally unable to put it down. One day, after completing an especially suspenseful chapter, I had a meeting with the director of Muthanna Television. While we didn’t know each other all that well, I had a pretty good sense of him from a number of earlier encounters, one of which was my during first television interview in Muthanna. As we sat together, I told him a bit about the book I was reading. I told him about how Gellman had written a series of articles for The Washington Post about the Vice Presidency of Dick Cheney, and that these articles were the basis of the book. As my Iraqi friend flipped through the book he noticed a small sentence on the cover: Winner of the 2008 Pulitzer Prize. I told him what little I knew about the Pulitzer Prize and he listened in amazement. “That a journalist in America could a write a book like this, about a Vice President while he was still the Vice President, and be awarded the highest award for journalism . . . this could never happen in Iraq,” he remarked. He was quite right. An Iraqi journalist who attempted to write a book like this might find himself in hot water - quite literally. As we spoke about Angler, we actually talked very little about the former Vice President. The book had come to symbolize something more to us than Gellman's narrative. It was a sterling example of American free speech, something I’m afraid we sometimes take for granted back home. “What a country America is. I hope to see it someday, God willing,” he told me. What a country, indeed.

The kid’s alright

Thu, 25 Jun 2009 06:29:21 -0400

When I sat down for my last eleven-hour flight to Kuwait (transiting back to Iraq from my final R&R in the U.S.), I was prepared to be uncomfortable for the entire trip (budget cuts forced the State Department to do away with business class for its diplomatic rank and file . . . sigh). As I settled on which book and magazines I would read during the long journey, a cacophonous family of countless children came pouring onto the plane. With an empty seat to my right and left, I braced for the worst. I quickly reached deep into my backpack to retrieve the tactical earplugs that have served me well during my many flights aboard Black Hawk helicopters high over the deserts of Iraq. Though I feared even the earplugs’ ballistic technology would fail to protect my tender ears from the onslaught of these hellions. As their exhausted mother directed them to their seats, I wondered which child would become the bane of my existence for the next eleven hours.  While I pondered this question, a young boy scurried around to the other side of the plane and quietly sat down next to me.

He must have been around eight or nine years old, and as he settled into his seat, he quietly and carefully surveyed his surroundings.  He was dressed smartly in a black suit his mother had no doubt made him wear for the long flight to Kuwait.  With an oddly-colored clip-on tie and matching pocket-square peeking out of from the breast pocket of a blazer that didn’t quite fit him, he was an adorable sight to see. Looking down at his ticket, I caught a glimpse of his name: Ali. From listening to his mother try and corral his siblings, I knew Ali was Arab, and I looked forward to a little light banter with my young traveling companion. I broke the ice with a friendly, “How are you?” in Modern Standard Arabic, unsure which part of the Middle East or North Africa he hailed from. His one-word response immediately put a grin on my face. “Zain,” he responded. It was the Iraqi dialect word for “fine.”  The word is also used in other parts of the Gulf, so I asked where he was from. “Iraq,” he said.   How fortuitous for me, I thought.  “Are you Arab?” he asked. My accent and appearance had fooled him initially, but I wondered how long that would last. “No, I’m American,” I responded, in Arabic. He seemed a bit confused by this, and after a few minutes, the game was up. The moment I made my first inexcusable grammatical mistake (no doubt using a verb form that referred to him as a her), Ali’s brow furrowed, and in that special way only a child can say it, he paused for a moment and said, “Hmmmm. Let’s speak in English now. Your Arabic isn't very good.  I speak English, you know . . .” Ouch.

I wanted to ask Ali all the political wonk questions I always ask Iraqis, but recognizing he was not yet 10 years old and probably didn’t care what Iraqis thought of the recent political unrest in Iran, I felt it wisest to just help him plug in his headphones and find the cartoon channel on the seat-back TV in front of him. So, I did just that.

Some time into the flight, I awoke to the turbulence of the North Atlantic - not a comforting feeling given the recent Air France tragedy. As I scanned the darkened plane, hesitant to look at my watch, lest I find that only a few minutes had passed since I dozed off, I found my traveling companion’s sleeping head nestled between my left shoulder and the seat. In the midst of his restless sleep, Ali had begun an epic match of ping-pong . . . with his own head: bouncing back and forth between the shoulders of the two men seated on either side of him. The turbulence soon subsided and Ali was resting peacefully again on my shoulder.

At the end of the flight, I bid Ali farewell and watched him rejoin his noisier siblings a few rows ahead. As I gathered my own belongings, I relished the few words we exchanged together. It made me think back to my numerous school visits in Muthanna, and the many children I met on the streets of Samawa and Rumaytha, who were always inquisitive and desirous of conversation. Speaking to Ali - in Arabic - reminded me of two important things: first, I should clearly study more. And, second, learning another language opens new doors of dialogue that bridge the divide between cultures. The little Arabic I brought with me to Iraq this year has been one of the most important items on my packing list.  My understanding and use of the language during my year may not have had a major impact on the trajectory of our policy, per se, but in many smaller ways it was one of my most important tools for breaking the ice, demonstrating respect, and affirming my interest in Iraq and Iraqis.

In the years to come, no matter where I am in the Arab world, when someone asks me how I am, I will always look forward responding as my seat-mate Ali did, “Zain.” In memory of an incredible year in Iraq.

A packing list & the perfect but unblogworthy avocado

Tue, 23 Jun 2009 19:58:26 -0400

I originally posted the packing list on a separate page of my website, but thought it best to make it a permanent part of the “Wing Tips in Iraq” blog. As my year in Iraq comes to a close, so too, will this installment of my blog.  WingTipsontheGround has been the receptacle and vehicle for so many of my observations and experiences during this incredible year in Iraq, and I am excited to have a written record of this once-in-a lifetime experience. I wasn’t sure how the blog would turn out when I started writing in July of last year, but I’m happy with the soon-to-be finished product, and hope it's been informative for all those who've logged on. There is, of course, much more to say about Iraq, and I hope my colleagues who follow me in Muthanna, and all across Iraq, will continue to blog and tweet about their own experiences on the ground.

When I make the transition from heroic diplomat in Iraq back to paper-pushing bureaucrat in Washington, DC, I fear my life will, again, become unblogworthy.  What I ate for lunch might be fascinating to me, but you’ve got better things to do than read about my guacamole. Cutting into the perfect avocado while home on my last R&R may have reminded me how much I miss my life in the U.S., but it certainly shouldn’t become the center-piece of this blog. You logged on to read about Iraq, not about the glorious alligator pear that, over the course of two days, ripened into a creamy, spreadable, verdant delight. An avocado so delicious that putting it in a salad alongside lesser vegetables would have been an insult of the highest herbivorous order. An avocado so perfect we were compelled to eat it with only a dash of Camp Salt and a few strategically-placed drops of balsamic vinegar. Your visit to Wing Tips is to learn about what’s happening on the front lines of diplomacy, and there is scant room in a blog about Iraq for this fruit of the gods . . . unless, of course, I am complaining about the KBR chow hall and the urgent avocado-deficit facing our men and women in uniform. Now, that might be blogworthy . . .

So, with all that avocado talk out of the way, here’s the reprint of the Iraq Packing List.

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A few readers just so happen to be headed over to the sandbox this summer, so I thought I’d offer some advice on what to bring. Before I begin, two things: First, this list is not meant to be all-inclusive, but should get you started in the right direction, and second, my advice is directed at those who are going to serve on PRTs, rather than in the cozy confines of the embassy up in Baghdad.

It has been said - and I wholeheartedly agree - that not all Iraq assignments are created equal. Unless you’re going to use it for swatting flies, you won’t need a tennis racquet on a PRT. Nor will you need a bathing suit. They may have a pool up in Baghdad (sigh), but the only water down here comes in pallets for drinking or in trickles from a broken shower-head.

You could, however, bring your golf clubs. Believe it or not, there’s a driving range on Tallil Air Base. My boss and I drove out to the range one afternoon to check it out and sure enough, there it was. Nice, I thought . . . until I realized after hitting the bucket of balls into the desert, I would be responsible for picking them up by hand . . . in 125-degree heat. Until the U.S. military kicks in for a ball-retrieving cart, I’d suggest leaving the clubs at home.

So, without any further delay, here are some thoughts on what you should (and shouldn't) bring:

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1. Only bring what you can comfortably carry (or at least schlep uncomfortably). This is the most important piece of advice I can offer for those coming to a PRT. You don’t want to be “that guy” who arrives on the tarmac and needs help with his bags. You signed up for Iraq, not a Carnival cruise. You’ll be tempted to bring a lot with you, but it's better to send stuff ahead (linens, clothing, books, toiletries, etc.). Paved roads are a rarity at PRTs, so that rolling suitcase that moves so quickly through the airport in Kuwait or Amman will be useless in the deep gravel of most FOBs. I would suggest getting a backpack that’s small enough to qualify as a carry-on, but large enough to hold clothes for four to five days (see photo above). If there’s a sand storm and you’re stuck in Kuwait for a week, you’ll be happy you brought clean clothes.

2. You’re a diplomat, not a security contractor. Dress like it.
Although you won’t be wearing a suit every day, there will be times when you’ll need to dress the part (on average, I wear a suit about once a week). You are representing the United States of America, and may be giving weekly interviews on Iraqi television. I’m not suggesting you bring all your Thomas Pink shirts and ties, but if you wear French cuff shirts back home, bring a cheaper, no-iron version with you. I purchased a brown summer-weight suit that was reasonably priced, but still looked good. I would avoid charcoal gray and navy suits. Those colors are certainly more professional, but will be difficult to keep clean - there’s no dry cleaning. It is always dusty in Iraq and a brown suit will look better when the sandstorms come (plus, the brown suit jacket works well with khakis when you want to go business-desert-combat-casual).

You’ll spend the majority of time, however, in “desert tactical gear.” But if you are like me, you may just succumb to the temptation of purchasing a bit too much of it. Yes, the 5.11 Tactical pants are comfortable, durable, and made with generous cargo pockets, but once you go back to being a regular person in the US, are you really going to wear your Tacticals to Target? Probably not. Buy what you need, but don’t go overboard. Purchase lightweight, breathable clothing that will offer some UV protection. Patagonia, Mountain Hardwear (my personal favorites), and LL Bean make great shirts and pants that will serve you well on base and in the field.

3. Footwear - Bring Wing Tips, Wear Boots: Boots are really the best footwear for Iraq. I bought a pair of Ecco boots six years ago, and proceeded to march myself around Ethiopia, Uganda, Kenya, South Africa and Namibia . . . and now Iraq. Nothing beats a good pair of boots. PRT work will take you from meetings on base to meetings deep in the desert. Trudging through deep sand in the summer, and deeper mud in the winter requires boots. You'll also want to bring a pair of dress shoes. You may not wear them often, but it’s good to have them on hand. I went up to Baghdad for a conference and felt a little out of place with my boots and tactical clothing. If you're going to play the "Wing Tips on the Ground" role, you've got to at least bring ‘em.

4. Get a good Multi-tool. My significant other’s family bought me a Leatherman multi-tool as a going-away present, and in the course of nine months, it’s been the most valuable piece of equipment I've had here. If you need a simple repair, chances are high that you will be repairing it yourself. A good Swiss Army knife will do, but a multi-tool will do even better. I’ve used it to hang a white board in my office, turn the dial on an otherwise inoperable dryer in the laundry room, trim my mustache, repair a fixture in my hooch, secure Christmas lights on the exterior of my trailer, and cut the first piece of my birthday cake. Just don’t forget to send it to yourself or put it in your checked baggage. TSA’s not going to cut you a break if you tell them you're headed to Iraq and were just following the Wing Tips Packing List.

5. Get Skype.  Wish your loved ones could join you for that office barbeque in Iraq, but a little thing called “war” is standing in the way? No problem. Skype is the answer. It's free, it works, and is the best way to remain connected to family. Download it today.

6. Don’t bring the entire Library of Congress with you. While you will have a lot of down time, you won’t always have the attention span to read. I brought a number of books with me, thinking I’d be a voracious reader over here. But, I’ve only started reading most of them recently. Bring a book with you on the way in, and ship others to yourself when you know you'll read them.

7. Bring a Sleeping Bag/Travel Pillow. Our men and women in uniform are the best trained in the world, but after observing the rank and file for almost a year, I’ve noticed they all possess an even greater gift: they can sleep almost anywhere. You, too, will learn this skill. I brought a sleeping bag with me and have never regretted it. KBR provides sheets and blankets, and though they are laundered, it’s nice to be able to sleep on your own bedding. Likewise, if you are stuck in Kuwait for five days and living in a tent waiting for a sandstorm to break, it’s nice not to have to wonder if KBR really did wash those "clean sheets."

8. Bring an iPod and laptop.  Download as much music as you can. Fill that iPod until notes start pouring out of it. You’ll have lots of downtime waiting for flights, waiting out sandstorms, or just waiting for the year to end. Nothing makes passing the time easier than listening to music. The Foreign Service Institute also has two great Arabic (Iraqi dialect) CDs you can download to your iPod.

I bought a MacBook before I left and have taken it with me everywhere. As a PD officer, I've often starting writing stories for the DipNote, State Magazine, or my own personal blog, in the back of Humvees and MRAPs, and flying high in the sky on Blue Birds and Black Hawks. Likewise, if you are stuck in Kuwait, Amman, or Baghdad, there is often WiFi, and remaining connected is much easier when you've got your own gear.

9. Duct Tape. This is an odd one, and you need not bring it with you, but every good diplomat in the field worth his salt should carry duct tape with him. Here’s an example why: During Ambassador Crocker's visit to Muthanna, we held a press conference for him and the Provincial Governor. As I set up the two flags, the Governor's personal assistant shot me a sour glance: the American flag was too high - higher than the Iraqi flag. We could not have a press conference if the American flag was higher than the Iraqi flag. Luckily, duct tape saved the day. I taped the flag to another flag stand, positioned it at the right height, and all was well with the world. You don’t need to bring it; you’ll be able to buy it here.

10. Shower Shoes. When you walk out the door headed to the airport to begin your Iraq adventure, you’ll need your ticket, passport, travel authorization, and most important: shower shoes. If you’re serving in Baghdad where every diplomat is assigned a butler (not really), you won’t need flip-flops because you’ll have your own bathroom. If you’re coming to a PRT, you may be sharing a bathroom trailer with 300 other people, and some of your dear colleagues may believe in the George Costanza philosophy of “pipes and drains.” Bring your shower shoes. You won’t regret it. The shower stalls of the rank and file can get pretty rank and foul . . . Trust me on this one.

11. Pick up a carabiner. While your service in Iraq probably won’t include any mountain climbing (though, you will often feel like the year is one long trek up Mount Everest), the carabiner is the perfect gadget for securing your helmet when it’s not on your head, or clipping your camera or sunglasses case to your vest. Additionally, when riding in helicopters as often as you will, it’s always nice to be able to clip your backpack to your seatbelt strap. If the helo banks suddenly and you’re not holding on to your bag, you’ve just given one lucky Iraqi a brand new laptop . . . in pieces.

12. Bring your own creature comforts, but don’t go overboard. Small things will go a long way in reminding you that you’re still connected to the world you left back home. Instead of bringing pictures in frames, I would suggest laminating photos so you can tape them to the walls of your hooch.

13. Pack your intellectual curiosity and at least a smidgen of Arabic. Iraq is a complicated place and this country needs diplomats who are genuinely interested in understanding the complexities as well as the nuances. You don't have to have a PhD in Iraqi history or Islamic studies to understand Iraq, but read up and be aware of what's going on (e-mail me if you want book recommendations). Iraqis will appreciate your being here so much more if you actually express an interest in getting to know them. Instead of saying "how are you?" in Modern Standard Arabic, use the Iraqi version, “Shloonak?”. You want to see Iraqis smile? Greet them in their own dialect. It's an obvious point, but a well placed "allah bil kheir" when sitting down will make all the difference in the world.

I was wrong: bring your clubs

Thu, 21 May 2009 06:27:31 -0400

If you’ve read my Iraq Packing List blog, you may have noticed a few thinly-veiled jabs at the life of diplomats in Baghdad. They were playful pokes born from an inevitable tension between those who live in the castle (the embassy) and those of us who live in the kingdom (the PRTs), amongst the people. Truth be told, it’s not much of a rivalry, as the folks working at the embassy probably don’t think of us out in the PRTs all that often. Much the same way New Yorkers feel Manhattan is the center of the universe, for many Iraqis (and the American diplomats who serve there), Baghdad is the center of Iraq’s universe. It’s where all the big decisions about the country’s future are made, a place where ministers, generals, politicians, religious leaders, business people, and intellectuals wheel and deal to forge a new future for millions of hopeful Iraqis. Baghdad is a vibrant city, and even though violence is still a tragic and daily fixture in the lives of Baghdadis, things are getting better.

For the diplomats assigned to the US Embassy Baghdad the opportunities to get outside the castle walls have increased in the past year. This means diplomats now have many more opportunities to get to know the host country — a critical component for practicing statecraft and public diplomacy.

The few times I have visited Baghdad during the year, I’ve relished the escape from Tallil, but at the same time, I invariably felt as if it would not be a place I’d want to work. During my brief stays, I’ve leveled an unfair charge at my colleagues: Serving in Baghdad is not really serving in Iraq. Perhaps at one point this statement had some merit. Years ago most American diplomats serving at the embassy had few chances to leave the confines of the mission walls. There were some who spent an entire year in Baghdad without once actually leaving the embassy compound. Of course, this has changed, and my most recent visit to Baghdad has shifted my thinking on the “real Iraq.”

Before my most recent trip to Baghdad, I sent a quick e-mail to one of my Foreign Service colleagues serving at the Embassy. He and I had been in Arabic-language training at the State Department’s diplomatic training facility in 2007-2008, and I looked forward to catching up on his experiences. He was kind enough to organize a dinner at a local restaurant outside of the embassy compound during my visit — a perfect chance to get out and be amongst Iraqis. There we were, dining in a local restaurant with other Iraqis around us. There were Christians, Muslims, Arabs, Assyrians, and Americans, all enjoying a pleasant dinner on a warm night in Baghdad. If this wasn’t Iraq, what was?

At dinner, my colleague discussed his travels throughout the country and the extraordinary experience he was having working closely with the Iraqis on some of the most pressing national issues. As I listened to his experiences, I was quite sure that I had been wrong about the Baghdad experience. Serving in Baghdad— though a far cushier lifestyle than the austere life of a PRTer — was just as “real” a life as anywhere else in Iraq. In fact, my argument that the Baghdad experience was “less real” was tragically flawed. It reeked, in the same way the rhetoric used during our own last Presidential campaign did, when some sought to divide the country between the “real America and Americans” and the rest of us (I think I was considered one of those “unreal” Americans, back then).

Baghdad is just as real as Muthanna. One may be vastly more conservative than the other, but both represent the Iraqi experience. Both are the real Iraq, and one is no more so for being rural and agrarian, and the other no less so for being diverse and cosmopolitan. While I’ll always relish the time spent in my sleepy province in the South — nestled deep in the Koran Belt — I haven’t given the big city experience enough credit. Baghdad’s alright with me.

. . . and how could it not be after playing a round of golf with friends in this fair city? It was hot and dusty, but what a unique treat on a sunny Baghdad morning. Having played golf in the US, Japan, and Ethiopia, this was certainly the first time I’d chipped onto the . . . uh . . . brown . . . (there wasn’t much green out there) with a machine gun nest and concrete blast walls just beyond the cup. With the iconic Swords of Qadisiyah — Saddam Hussein’s sculptural attempt at claiming victory at the end of the Iran-Iraq War — as the backdrop to our golf outing, I had to wonder if just a year ago anyone could imagine that a US diplomat would be playing golf in downtown Baghdad?

Later that evening, I checked the news to see if it had been a quiet day across Baghdad. It had. Hamdouli’allah.

When I got back to Tallil, I showed my golf pics to one of my colleagues who immediately snickered and said, “The golf course looks like a trash dump.” My response: One man’s dump, is another man’s Pebble Beach.

So, should you bring your clubs? You won’t need your driver, but if you’ve got an old sand wedge and putter, why not?