A Day Like Any Other
March 8, 2008
Ask any soldier which movie best represents his deployment (s) in Iraq and, more often than not, he will say Groundhog Day. This war is not about fiery battles nearly so much as it is about repetition. Once in a while a day will be filled with excitement, but most days are filled only with the strange sensation of having done all of this before.
On a recent dismounted patrol with Lieutenant John Vickery and the Scouts of the 2nd Battalion’s Charlie Company, one of many Groundhog Day moments occurred. We were in Samarra, and Lieutenant Vickery was talking with residents of the city, trying to determine what was on their minds, how they felt about the city, their safety. During his last deployment, in 2005-2006, Lieutenant Vickery and the 101st Airborne Division’s 1st Brigade were in a different city, Kirkuk, but he was walking the streets and talking to people then too.
The Scouts went outside the city for another patrol the following day. Again, they left the safety of the MRAPs so they could talk to the people. Here, out in the open country, where they could not hide in a crowd, the residents were less inclined to talk, slower to warm up to the soldiers, if they warmed up at all. Nothing the soldiers hadn’t experienced before.
A few days later, I was out with the 2nd Battalion’s Delta Company. Further away from Samarra, the soldiers of Delta Company live at JSS (Joint Support Station) Love, and they too spend a lot of time talking to people. Again, our patrol took us into a sparsely populated area, with a handful of small farms and little else. Similar to the population in the farm country of Charlie Company’s sector, the people of this area seemed difficult to reach, as if being pulled in many directions and unable to find their way.
What was different this time was the proof that lay scattered across the wasted ground. Proof of an earlier far less civilized encounter. Proof that the farmland wasn’t just for farming anymore. What had once been a mud and straw hut was now a pile of rubble.
Increasingly, abandoned huts in these rural areas are being used as hiding places for insurgents, their weapons, and bomb-making materials. Delta Company soldiers and Iraqi soldiers successfully battled the insurgents at this location, and destroyed some of their hiding places.
For the people who live in the area, this must have been more activity than they were used to. But did the increased activity alter their routine here? Fear appeared to be keeping some closer to home. With nothing to do but tend the land and hope for quiet, the locals were probably also struggling to distinguish one day from the next.
Lieutenant Robert Baird and the soldiers of his Delta Company platoon tried to get a sense of how the residents in this remote place were feeling in the aftermath of the deadly gun battle. Living off the land, especially when the land is packed dust, is difficult in the best of times. When outside forces strike like a bolt of lightning it must seem like a bad joke. Indeed, some of the people Lieutenant Baird spoke with were not laughing. But what seemed like a significant battle to the soldiers may have been nothing compared to the daily battles each of these families faces.
Though some of the residents were standoffish, giving stock replies to Lieutenant Baird’s questions, others were more approachable. Maybe they felt lightning could not strike twice in the same place. Maybe they appreciated the attention, the novelty of being treated with respect and concern for their wellbeing. There is a difference, though, between being approachable and being helpful.
Several of the men the soldiers encountered were military-age males, which is one characteristic many of the bad guys share. These men may not be bad guys themselves, but they have probably considered how slim the rewards are for being good. They have probably thought about their survival and safety and realized how little control they have over either.
A teenage boy left the women of his family working among the rows of their crops when he saw the soldiers approaching. He cautiously made his way to the edge of the cultivated area where the soldiers stood. Lieutenant Baird tried to begin a conversation, but the boy was very ill at ease. He seemed reluctant to say anything, to answer the most basic questions. Maybe he knew something. Or maybe he had figured out that he was entering the hard years of his life, and he wasn’t ready for them. No more hiding behind adults. More was expected of him suddenly, from his people, perhaps from the insurgents who swept through the area, kicking up the dust, and now the Americans had to be added to the list too, people who did not even speak his language.
Lieutenant Baird could have made the boy’s life even more difficult than it already was. He could have continued to ask questions until the boy broke, or he could have raised his voice and tried to intimidate him into cooperating. Maybe that was how the boy expected to be treated because he had been treated that way, or worse, by someone who was there before us. But Lieutenant Baird gave him an out, and he took it. He let the boy know he didn’t have to talk to us if he didn’t want to, so the boy returned to the women in the field.
The boy walked away from the soldiers. Just like that.
What happened to the part where we ask a question, and he pretends he doesn’t understand, so we repeat the question, and he answers a different question, so we rephrase the question, and he repeats his answer to the question we didn’t ask, and he stares at us and we stare at him, and instead of feeling like we’ve learned something, we actually feel tired and as though maybe we forgot something we once knew, but we’ve chewed up some time and somehow that carries us forward. Weren’t we doing that anymore?
But Lieutenant Baird remembered something I had forgotten. This whole day could be repeated. Maybe the boy did walk away today, but tomorrow he might answer a question. He will realize he was given a choice, maybe for the first time, and he might feel more inclined to cooperate the next time. He might not answer the question we ask, but he will be ready to start something resembling a conversation.
Sometimes it is impossible to distinguish one patrol from another; they look and sound so much alike. It is almost as though a script is being circulated throughout Iraq that tells people how to talk to the Americans. This is fair. The Americans have a script of their own. What keeps it interesting are the little departures from what is expected: letting the boy walk away, or finding that rare individual willing to answer the question put to him. The only way to make it possible for those moments to occur is to try again tomorrow. And if tomorrow is just like today, the soldiers will not be surprised; they will simply try again the day after tomorrow. shelbymonroe@gmail.com
Ask any soldier which movie best represents his deployment (s) in Iraq and, more often than not, he will say Groundhog Day. This war is not about fiery battles nearly so much as it is about repetition. Once in a while a day will be filled with excitement, but most days are filled only with the strange sensation of having done all of this before.
On a recent dismounted patrol with Lieutenant John Vickery and the Scouts of the 2nd Battalion’s Charlie Company, one of many Groundhog Day moments occurred. We were in Samarra, and Lieutenant Vickery was talking with residents of the city, trying to determine what was on their minds, how they felt about the city, their safety. During his last deployment, in 2005-2006, Lieutenant Vickery and the 101st Airborne Division’s 1st Brigade were in a different city, Kirkuk, but he was walking the streets and talking to people then too.
The Scouts went outside the city for another patrol the following day. Again, they left the safety of the MRAPs so they could talk to the people. Here, out in the open country, where they could not hide in a crowd, the residents were less inclined to talk, slower to warm up to the soldiers, if they warmed up at all. Nothing the soldiers hadn’t experienced before.
A few days later, I was out with the 2nd Battalion’s Delta Company. Further away from Samarra, the soldiers of Delta Company live at JSS (Joint Support Station) Love, and they too spend a lot of time talking to people. Again, our patrol took us into a sparsely populated area, with a handful of small farms and little else. Similar to the population in the farm country of Charlie Company’s sector, the people of this area seemed difficult to reach, as if being pulled in many directions and unable to find their way.
What was different this time was the proof that lay scattered across the wasted ground. Proof of an earlier far less civilized encounter. Proof that the farmland wasn’t just for farming anymore. What had once been a mud and straw hut was now a pile of rubble.
Increasingly, abandoned huts in these rural areas are being used as hiding places for insurgents, their weapons, and bomb-making materials. Delta Company soldiers and Iraqi soldiers successfully battled the insurgents at this location, and destroyed some of their hiding places.
For the people who live in the area, this must have been more activity than they were used to. But did the increased activity alter their routine here? Fear appeared to be keeping some closer to home. With nothing to do but tend the land and hope for quiet, the locals were probably also struggling to distinguish one day from the next.
Lieutenant Robert Baird and the soldiers of his Delta Company platoon tried to get a sense of how the residents in this remote place were feeling in the aftermath of the deadly gun battle. Living off the land, especially when the land is packed dust, is difficult in the best of times. When outside forces strike like a bolt of lightning it must seem like a bad joke. Indeed, some of the people Lieutenant Baird spoke with were not laughing. But what seemed like a significant battle to the soldiers may have been nothing compared to the daily battles each of these families faces.
Though some of the residents were standoffish, giving stock replies to Lieutenant Baird’s questions, others were more approachable. Maybe they felt lightning could not strike twice in the same place. Maybe they appreciated the attention, the novelty of being treated with respect and concern for their wellbeing. There is a difference, though, between being approachable and being helpful.
Several of the men the soldiers encountered were military-age males, which is one characteristic many of the bad guys share. These men may not be bad guys themselves, but they have probably considered how slim the rewards are for being good. They have probably thought about their survival and safety and realized how little control they have over either.
A teenage boy left the women of his family working among the rows of their crops when he saw the soldiers approaching. He cautiously made his way to the edge of the cultivated area where the soldiers stood. Lieutenant Baird tried to begin a conversation, but the boy was very ill at ease. He seemed reluctant to say anything, to answer the most basic questions. Maybe he knew something. Or maybe he had figured out that he was entering the hard years of his life, and he wasn’t ready for them. No more hiding behind adults. More was expected of him suddenly, from his people, perhaps from the insurgents who swept through the area, kicking up the dust, and now the Americans had to be added to the list too, people who did not even speak his language.
Lieutenant Baird could have made the boy’s life even more difficult than it already was. He could have continued to ask questions until the boy broke, or he could have raised his voice and tried to intimidate him into cooperating. Maybe that was how the boy expected to be treated because he had been treated that way, or worse, by someone who was there before us. But Lieutenant Baird gave him an out, and he took it. He let the boy know he didn’t have to talk to us if he didn’t want to, so the boy returned to the women in the field.
The boy walked away from the soldiers. Just like that.
What happened to the part where we ask a question, and he pretends he doesn’t understand, so we repeat the question, and he answers a different question, so we rephrase the question, and he repeats his answer to the question we didn’t ask, and he stares at us and we stare at him, and instead of feeling like we’ve learned something, we actually feel tired and as though maybe we forgot something we once knew, but we’ve chewed up some time and somehow that carries us forward. Weren’t we doing that anymore?
But Lieutenant Baird remembered something I had forgotten. This whole day could be repeated. Maybe the boy did walk away today, but tomorrow he might answer a question. He will realize he was given a choice, maybe for the first time, and he might feel more inclined to cooperate the next time. He might not answer the question we ask, but he will be ready to start something resembling a conversation.
Sometimes it is impossible to distinguish one patrol from another; they look and sound so much alike. It is almost as though a script is being circulated throughout Iraq that tells people how to talk to the Americans. This is fair. The Americans have a script of their own. What keeps it interesting are the little departures from what is expected: letting the boy walk away, or finding that rare individual willing to answer the question put to him. The only way to make it possible for those moments to occur is to try again tomorrow. And if tomorrow is just like today, the soldiers will not be surprised; they will simply try again the day after tomorrow. shelbymonroe@gmail.com
posted by Shelby Monroe at 9:40 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home