December 6 2004 (day of departure to Iraq)

I am walking into the unknown.
A step I cannot take without your strength.
Give me your discernment with prisoners,
help me to implement true justice,
be an instrument of peace at the same time.
Release any fear that harbors within, for it is not from you.
Protect me, guide me, teach me and work in me.
May we find peace and look to You for hope.
Now I commit my spirit unto You.

December 11

We caught a ride to the battalion interrogation facility (BIF) today. This was the first time I saw actual detainees being held and questioned. It’s frustrating how ignorance holds back progression in this country.

“Oh this detainee was driving an unfamiliar vehicle as an ambulance so we pulled him over. He had medical supplies so obviously he was treating insurgents in the area.”

Now this man is zipped tied, blindfolded and taken to our compound while everything is taken from him…his clothes and all his possessions. After a series of interrogations a decision is made whether or not he has any intelligence value. If so then he is sent up to a larger detention facility and perhaps even Guantanamo. If he has a trial then he could be in custody indefinitely, all the while his family doesn’t know what happened to him, and he misses work in the process. Even if the circumstances of capture are ridiculous (which from the files I have read most are), just because some infantry grunt wants to seem productive. This doesn’t bring progress to a nation.

Having a difficult time being here already, supporting what? Exactly. Nobody seems to ask why, so I can’t even relate to dudes. And if you do speak, suddenly you’re this super left wing liberal mole within the system.

18 December 2004

Just returned from staying three days out in Baghdad…along highway 8, the deadliest stretch of road in the country right now. It was strange, the anticipation and anxiety of going out. Driving around the streets I couldn’t help but be glued to this 3 inch thick bullet proof glass as we drove around the city. Mixed emotions, I’m sure matched by the people. Mixed expressions on the faces of locals, some disgusted, some encouraged. Either way we were the spectacle on the streets of Baghdad.
It’s strange because most of me has no support for this war (or occupation), but I see how the absence of Saddam’s regime is giving the people hope that they have never known before.

After nightfall we convoyed without lights to a pre-designated abandoned embassy where we pulled security for the night. I’ve never stood behind an automatic grenade launcher defending my life and the lives of others in order to get a couple hours of sleep. I prayed nobody would enter the compound. This world is such a bad place.

28 December 2004

It’s still overwhelming to be here, the fact that I’m even in the Army. I miss being at the orphanage in Thailand, laughing with kids, knowing that my energy is being investing in love, hope and future. I can’t say that here.

Guys in the Army in funny. Everybody wants muscles.

How do you measure a man?
From his biceps or his brain?
Which endure, which one will cure?
How do you measure a man?
By his things or by his friends?
Which one will care?
Which one will die, bare…
cold, alone and miserable?
His heart or his house?
Clothes, fashion, image
are poison to the soul.
Unlock the cell that we call home.
Freedom.

29 December 2004

Words cannot describe the devastation of land and loss of life to the shores of Southeast Asia these last few days. For some reason I’m obsessed with the news and updates coming from there. The deadliest tidal waves in human history. The worst natural disaster ever known. I got a letter from Kate back in Thailand where she had friends that died. Bodies washing up on the shore, cities destroyed. Why can’t we be there instead?

January 4th 2005

I am alone. Death has never been so close to me. We convoyed out to pick up a group of detainees and on the way we came across an element that had been struck by an IED. We pulled over and a group went to check on the situation. I was ordered to get out and pull rear security, so that no other cars turned down and add to the chaos. I ran out with my weapon and stood behind the convoy. After a few minutes passed a beat up car with a young man driving seemed to have accidentally turned down our road. It was obviously a mistake because he braked hard and looked terrified when he saw us. As he was turning the wheel to turn around, a young SPC in the turret unleashed six to seven rounds in the side of the car. No warning shot. No chance to survive. The boy falls into the passenger seat. I ran over the vehicle and helped the platoon sergeant pull him out until the medic came. He’s young, small, maybe 110 lbs. Doc pulls up his shirt to bandage the wound. I look down and see blood pumping out. Look away…you don’t want to see this. My disbelief forces me to look again. No I see pieces of the boy’s stomach falling out beside him. Shock shoots from my toes to my heart…please God don’t let this boy die. Not like this. His eyes roll back and he starts foaming at the mouth. Although I don’t speak Arabic, and even though there were no words exchanged…I could hear his screams: What is this happening to me?! What did I do?! Why does this hurt so much! I stood there looking at his stomach pouring blood beside him and watched the life disappear from his eyes. Dead. Dead. Dead.

Anger, sadness and confusion all overwhelm me. I heard the platoon leader talking to the platoon sergeant and the company commander about the incident. Then I hear a voice inside my head, inside my heart. “Are you going to say something?”
All around me infantry guys stand around as if nothing happened. As if an innocent boy wasn’t just killed. As if his family won’t mind the carelessness of the situation. I tell the platoon sergeant that he needs to tell his soldiers to analyze the situation better. After the quick glares, he replies, “what the fuck do you know about convoy ops? You’ve never been rammed by a vehicle trying to kill you, you fucking cherry” So I said I wasn’t trying to say I had, but I saw the situation unfold and the loss of life was completely unnecessary. The platoon leader looked at me like he wanted to kick my face in. I walked away.
Nobody understands. Neither side.

Too many questions. Too many losses. Just one voice but a voice to be spoken.

January 29th 2005

Talked with the chaplain tonight. It’s hard coming from home and having such a solid group of dudes who understand you. I always feel like I can’t communicate my past well, or the things I’m going through. Almost that nobody understands.
I don’t see the difference in soldiers holding a gun and taking casualties in the name of, and fundamentalist Moslems with a bomb strapped to his chest. This isn’t what we’ve been created to do. How can he not see that?

February 6th 2005

Twice too many times now I have stood over a dead man since being here. The first times ever. Death is a natural part of the life cycle, but not for this. This time an American soldier, whom I had seen walking, talking, living just a day prior. As they wheeled him out for us to say goodbyes, my gut felt floored. This guy has a life, ambitions, a family back home and I’m looking at his yellow lifeless body, victim to this mess of a situation we are trapped in.
As we said our goodbyes, his wife and child probably lay quiet in sleep safely back in North Carolina.
Death.
Death.
Death.
I don’t understand many things. I don’t understand mankind. I don’t understand destruction.

March 2 2005

All these rusted up military vehicles here in Mosul is making me think again. Life is so brief, so quick, and it’s happening right now. Every run down vehicle here has a story of its own. Now silenced and neglected in our time of war.

It’s so overwhelming, that a man and all that he is-his story-can be silenced by on tiny little bullet. One wrong turn on the highway, by one ignorant soldier. Life is changed forever, in an instant. You’ve given us freewill and this is what we choose.