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The Glass Factory
My Battalion plays a large role in strengthening the economy in this area. We are helping to re-open a large glass factory, which is a symbol of commerce and a way to get people working so they won’t accept chump change to fire a rocket at us. This factory is part of my horizon. I see it’s smokestacks in the distance every day. I’ve heard that some of the Sheiks and Tribal Leaders say they long for the day when smoke drifts out of those stacks once more, because it will mean they have taken control of their city again. The factory has been shut down a number of times in the last five years, mostly because of workers there who were involved in terrorism and violence. Soldiers in my Battalion have spent a lot of time coordinating with the factory managers, and compensating factory workers for loss of wages. We certainly weren’t the ones to shut the factory down. That happened before we even got here.
We used the factory as a staging area to recruit local citizens into the Police Force for the Al Anbar Province. The Americans were helping, yes, but it was ’s Ministry of the Interior that was offering these jobs, and there were Iraqi soldiers working alongside the Americans this day. We more or less hosted a job fair, in which men went through a screening process, including a physical training assessment (very basic – running, push-ups, sit-ups), a literacy test, and an interview. If they made it through all the stations, they were “accepted” into the Police Academy. They would attend training in their nation’s capital and then return to the streets of their own Province as Police Officers.
I went down to the factory to help, because there was such a big turnout. A radio call came in requesting additional support, so we geared up and jumped in a Hummer. The first two days, a couple of hundred Iraqis showed up. But this day there were 700 men waiting outside the gates by 0800 in the morning. Before I got involved in the interviewing process, a Captain I work with and I walked around the area checking on some of our men and helping in any way we could. At one point we were 10 feet from the front gate to the factory, outside of which the suburbs of Ramadi began.
There was a Marine Captain managing one area, where the interviews were being held. I asked him if he needed any help. He said Hell yes, so another LT and I set up an additional interview room in order to expedite the process. We were sitting on an old black leather couch with a table in front of it. The interpreter sat to my right. The room had once been some time of an office during the Saddam era, where men with families did their work and made phone calls and earned a wage. Who knows what conversations took place within those walls – people making dinner plans or speaking sternly to their children. Now there were two Army officers, and Iraqi interpreter, and local Iraqi men meeting in a quiet room in the midst of a large-scale military operation. The interpreter would bring the men in four at a time, and I would motion for them to stand before us and hand us their files. We would then read their names back to them from the file, to make sure they hadn’t gotten mixed up. I’m sure we butchered some of the names, but we did the best we could. The first two groups weren’t very smooth, but once I got used to the questions it sped up quite a bit. I immediately decided to try and be professional, polite, and kind.
We asked them questions regarding their place of birth, military experience, medical history, work history, and special training. We also asked whether they would continue their work as a Police Officer if they or their families were threatened. The answer to this one was always a unanimous YES, with a lot of nodding and determined looks. A few stared at me in an intense manner that made me slightly uncomfortable. A lot of them had been in Saddam’s Army. About half of the men I interviewed personally had been I the Republican Guard between 2002 and 2003. They were unemployed and did not own homes. And I am willing to bet my next paycheck that some of these men have fired mortars or accepted money to shoot at us before.
There were Soldiers, Marines, and Iraqi military all over, with their weapons at the ready, pulling security. But I was one of the first faces they would see during the process of enlisting in the Police Force and coming back to work in the Al Anbar Province, so the Marine CPT and I had decided we should be as personable as possible. We kept our body armor on, but we had our helmets off, and our rifles were within arms reach just behind us and to the right. We did not want to appear intimidating. As we’d finish the questions there would be a few minutes of silence as the Iraqi men watched us transcribe their information onto an Acceptance Form. As I prepared the form and had the men sign their name, I said to the interpreter, “Tell them they have been accepted. Congratulations, thank you, and we’ll see you on your report date.” Then he would tell them the date and time to show up, and I would hand them their packing list, smiling and nodding at them. I received a lot of smiles, many friendly nods and waves, and countless upturned thumbs. It was compelling work, and I’m glad I went down to help. It was fulfilling to interact with Iraqis on such a personal basis.
The next morning the sun looked just like a song. I could almost hear it- one of those classic tunes that starts off slow and low, the drums kick in, thumping along with a twangy guitar riff, and then the crescendo, and you’re right in the middle of it, moving your head with the rhythm, oblivious for a moment of all that may be wrong in the world. The light was so vibrant it disintegrated shadows with a force like the day it was born.
I was busily engaged in a bunch of tasks and ongoing projects. I was still thinking about the work I had done the day before, but I was also quite content to be doing what I was brought here to do - communications. I love my job and it’s vital to the mission. They didn’t ask for additional help down at the factory, though we had another big turnout. Close to a thousand men came out of the city, ready and willing to join up. These were the men who would re-claim their streets. These were the men who would stand up to the terrorists and help put an end to the violence in their area. There were two big lines snaking back from the front gate, teeming with life and Arabic conversation. Something positive was happening for them. Work was available. You could sense their excitement. There were Soldiers, Marines, Iraqi Army, and civilians all over the place.There were heavy security measures in place to ensure no one entered the facility with any weapons.
About mid-morning, a man was seen walking between the two lines of local Iraqis. The bomb-sniffing dogs were barking. If he had tried, that man would have never made it through the gate. Just then, someone detonated an explosive vest they had strapped to their torso - making history, meeting thier maker, and killing innocent civilians all with the push of a button. Was it the man seen walking between the lines? We can never be completely sure. What went through his mind? How far had he walked? How many people did he pass and make eye contact with? And what was waiting for him on the other side?
A lot of people I work with and care about were there. I won't discuss the specifics of what they went through that morning. It's not my place. I will tell you that my unit has lost one very brave soldier, and had a couple more injured. We have them all in our constant thoughts and prayers. Please keep them in yours as well. You can read the U.S. Army Central Command press release about the incident here.
Despite the fact that human beings were killed that morning, and others were injured, we finished processing the men who had put themselves in harm’s way in an effort to improve their own country by becoming part of the solution. The local Iraqis did not let fear get the better of them. And we did not give in – we continued the mission. There is no other alternative. That’s what we do.
"Success is not final, failure is not fatal: it is the courage to continue that counts." -Winston Churchill
I'm sorry about the soldier you lost and the injuries to the others. Will
keep you all & your families in my prayers. Y'all are doing such
worthwhile work - I'm just sorry it's so hard. Were I as eloquent as you,
I'd express this much better. Just know that we appreciate you, we're
proud of you, and we care.
Thanks Lieutenant K for telling your side of the story, often times I get
caught up in the numbers and facts instead of the lives. My husband is
over there with you and we (my two children & I and our families) are
constantly praying for God to watch over you and protect your brave souls.
I sometimes wonder why people are taken. It was hard to hear that someone
had died this far into the mission. I can't imagine how the family of this
soldier must feel. Thanks for your service and for your writing.
Many prayers for all of you and sympathies to the family of the fallen.
I'm at a loss for words, just....damn.
I am so glad that you were at the right place at the right time and that
you are ok. But, I am so sorry for the loss of your soldier, and I hope
the injured will be ok. I am sure your buddies felt like they were going
through a chaotic hell that morning. I can not even imagine. You all have
so much strength, courage and determination. You make us so proud. As
always, all of you are in our prayers .
LT, thank you all for your unstoppable persistence and dedication. You are
heroes in the best and truest sense of the word. We love you!
I am truly sorry for your loss of the Brave and yes, heroic soldier. My
prayers go out to the fallen soldiers' family, you and the soldiers around
you.
So sorry for the loss of one of your soldiers, my thoughts go out to their
family, and the families of all of our fallen and wounded.
Thank you for writing this blog. I believe that real good is going on over
there and have since the begining. I have had a cousin's husband deployed
over there and he is home now. A friend of my husbands is over there. He
is the one who told us about your blog when it was up for nominations. I
enjoy reading about your experiences and seeing a real picture of what is
going on over there. YOu and your men along with all the soldiers over
there are in our prayers and we pray that you stay safe and return home as
soon as possible. Keep up the good work. We know you are making a
difference.
How exactly right you write i can not describe. One piece is so much
diferent from the other, and yet you find exactly the right way and the
right style needed. Sometimes you write it as if you were not even involved
in it, using "he" instead of "I". Sometimes we can feel how much strength
you need not to open up completly to let go despair. Sometimes it made me
laugh or smile. Sometimes it made me cry. But it always did arouse
emotions. That s what art is about isn t it ? You just sit here, either
reading, or admiring a painting in a museum, or staring at a beautiful
monument, and you re oblivious to what s around you. You just feel a
turmoil of emotions and feelings. If that is what art is about, then you
are an artist.
Thanks for these 12 pieces of art.
Love from francoise.