Strawberry Fields

LEAVING HOME, GOING HOME

2005-05-18T11:31:00.000-04:00

My time in Iraq is coming to an end. I’ll be leaving to return to the U.S. and to wait for my husband to come home this summer.

I’m sad to go as I have made great friends here and forged wonderful memories. Despite the news from here, we have managed to have fun and do a bit of sightseeing. I’ve gone on boat rides and picnics, went hiking and swimming. Amidst the misery, there is joy.

Still, I leave feeling angry, disgusted, upset and totally disheartened by what has been happening. Since the new government was sworn in on April 28, hundreds of Iraqis have been killed by suicide bombers, car bombs, drive-by shootings, roadside bombs, assassinations. One of my co-workers’ cousin was killed a few days ago by masked gunmen because he worked for the Americans in the Green Zone. One associate who was visiting from Baghdad was talking to a co-worker about the situation in her city. “We like Americans but we don’t like the American soldiers because of the incidents that have happened. Instead of being friends, we are now enemies. I feel sorry for them when I see them patrolling and I think they look sad, maybe because they are missing their homes. And maybe they feel like they are unwanted here because they are foreign occupiers.”

A former colleague who recently went to Baghdad told me of narrowly missing death. He had just driven away from an area where a car bomb exploded a few minutes later. Then he went to an office and two hours after he left, two of the employees there were shot to death. “I think Iraq has a bad future. Nothing good can happen here,” he told me. He and another co-worker are thinking about leaving Iraq because “things will not get better.”

I desperately want to feel hope for this country and to see some good. And there are happy stories, but the tales of destruction and murder seem to outweigh them. Even my husband can’t take it anymore. He recently told me he can no longer endure the chaos and killings, and he is now drained of compassion, of any feeling at all for what is happening here.

And the answers I hoped to find in coming here are still elusive. Sometimes I think America’s invasion of Iraq and its handling of the post-war period have set off a chain of events that can’t be stopped. It seems the insurgents have an endless supply of people who want to do harm. And it only takes one person to kill 60 some people, as happened recently in Irbil. Of course, it is innocent Iraqis who end up paying the biggest price.

I know there are some who will say I’m not seeing all the good that has happened since America ousted Saddam. Or I’m ignoring the freedom and democracy that Iraqis now enjoy. But I have had the good fortune of living among the people. I work with Iraqis five days a week and we hang out socially nearly every day. I’m in their restaurants, markets and tea shops. When I leave here, I will feel like I am leaving my home.

And I will continue working for the organization that currently employs me so I will still have a deep connection to Iraq and its people. I’m also hoping to be back to Iraq for a visit within the next year. My wish is when I return, I will visit a completely different country from the one I left . But my heartache for what is happening here prevents me from being optimistic. I’ve talked to my Iraqi friends about this before: When will it be Iraq’s turn? When will its people find happiness?

I hope the answer is soon, very soon.

A LITTLE HELP FROM MY FRIENDS

2005-04-25T14:29:00.000-04:00

It was a gorgeous summer night and a slight breeze provided the needed escape from the heat. We were out in the garden behind our office, waiting for dinner to be served. It was a special occasion, as one of my American colleagues wanted to bring a piece of home to Iraq. She is Jewish and as part of Passover, she decided to have a seder ceremony and included some of our Iraqi friends. She told ancient stories of oppression and liberation. We had roasted lamb and everyone’s glass of red wine was continually topped off. It was definitely a unique experience in Iraq and it made me feel hopeful that this kind of event could take place in an Arab, Muslim country.

Then I got a call from my husband. After a few minutes of catching up with each other, he told me the news. A good friend of his, his former squad leader, was shot in the neck by sniper fire on Sunday evening. He was stabilized enough that he could be flown to Germany for further treatment. My husband was with him when he was shot as they were all on patrol together. Just before the sniper fire, my husband’s friend was talking to him about his stepdaughter’s birthday party. He also has a small son, who is a toddler. His wife was told the news through a phone call and she was making arrangements to fly to Germany.

The last two weeks have not been good in all of Iraq: more than 50 bodies found floating in the Tigris River, 19 bodies found in a stadium in Haditha, 11 dead as a helicopter is shot down, explosions in Tikrit, Basra, Baghdad, an Associated Press cameraman killed in Mosul. One foreigner I know who has been working in Iraq for a long time keeps talking about the inevitable civil war.

My husband called me this morning before he went out on patrol because he knew I needed to hear from him, and I think he wanted to hear a friendly voice, too. But what also provided me with comfort was my Iraqi friends who, after hearing the news of my husband’s friend, told me they were there for me if I needed anything. They also expressed disgust at the recent violence and one of my Iraqi friends, who is not religious, said he would pray for my husband’s friend. I guess we all get by with a little help from our friends.

A NEW BEGINNING

2005-04-06T04:21:00.000-04:00

Work has prevented me from updating the blog for a while. But I had to write today to talk about the celebration on the streets here. Today, Iraq has a new president and it is a Kurd. Jalal Talabani’s ascendancy from a freedom fighter whose people had been oppressed for decades to leader of a new, democratic Iraq is truly inspiring. On the streets here, the party began in the late morning with residents honking their car horns, displaying pictures of Mam Jalal and waving the Kurdish/Iraqi flags. After two months of political deadlock and negotiations, Iraq is finally moving forward with its democratic experiment. With a satisfactory grin, my co-workers this morning talked about how Saddam was allowed to watch the parliamentary proceedings today that anointed Talabani.

Despite the jovial mood, my Iraqi friends also warned me that the real fight is still ahead: the Constitution. Indeed, the formation over a government was held up by disagreements between the Kurds and Shias over the status of Kirkuk and other issues that will now have to be dealt with in the Constitution. There are also questions of whether Islamic law will be included in the Constitution and other possible contentious issues. And of course, the violence continues.

But tonight after work, I plan to join the celebration on the streets with my Iraqi friends. One of them said “We will tell our children about how we suffered under Saddam, the first Gulf War, the uprisings that followed, the fall of the Saddam regime and the democratic elections. And now we will tell them about the day a Kurd became president of an Arab country. Things are changing.”

ALL QUIET ON THE WESTERN FRONT

2005-02-06T03:36:00.000-05:00

I just finished reading All Quiet on the Western Front, the classic novel of a German soldier’s experience in World War I. It’s an amazing account of the foot soldier’s war, and what the knowledge of possibly being killed in the next second does to a man. As the main character says, “life is simply one continual watch against the menace of death.” The author, Erich Maria Remarque, was himself a soldier in World War I and was wounded five times.

I was particularly struck by the chapter in which the main character talks about his time being at home during leave and how he felt so awkward and out of place to return to the civilized world. I couldn’t help but reread that section because I will soon see my husband back in the U.S. for his R&R. It will be the first time we will be in the same room since he left for Kuwait in May 2004. And I wonder if he will have the same impressions described by Remarque.

In the book, he says: “There is nothing he likes more than just hearing about it. I realize he does not know that a man cannot talk of such things; I would do it willingly, but it is too dangerous for me to put these things into words. I am afraid they might then become gigantic and I no longer able to master them. What would become of us if everything that happens out there were quite clear to us…I find I do not belong here any more, it is a foreign world…I prefer to be alone, so that no one troubles me. For they all come back to the same thing, how badly it goes and how well it goes; one thinks it is this way, another that…They talk too much for me. They have worries, aims, desires, that I cannot comprehend…I would like to be here too and forget the war; but also it repels me, it is so narrow, how can that fill a man’s life, he ought to smash it to bits; how can they do it, while out at the front the splinters are whining over the shell-holes and star-shells go up, the wounded are carried back on waterproof sheets and comrades crouch in the trenches.”

I’ve talked to my husband about this, if it would be better if he didn’t come home, if it would be too hard then to face the patrols, the raids, the IEDs, the fighting. After he’s worn civilian clothing again and can eat a meal without a rifle by his side, will it be too much to put his desert boots back on? Or will it be a relief to go back to Iraq because that is the world he knows now, to return to the camaraderie of his fellow soldiers, eating MREs and sleeping on top of an armored humvee. And of course, I wonder how he has changed, and if he will feel alone and isolated, even from me. He assures me that he wants to come home, even with the knowledge that the stay won’t be permanent.

Other army wives who have seen their husbands on R&R have told me how agonizing it was to say goodbye the second time. But it will be different for us, I know. Because when he goes back this time, I will also be leaving and the two of us will be returning to Iraq. So perhaps during this R&R, both of us will be feeling a bit removed from our American surroundings. And in that shared feeling of disconnect, we will find our way to each other again.

FINALLY

2005-01-31T11:43:00.000-05:00

It’s over and the world hasn’t ended. Seriously, Iraq’s first democratic elections in decades went relatively smoothly, all considering, and it was inspiring to see. Despite the suicide bombers and attacks on polling stations, it looks like Iraq’s voter turnout will be about the same as that of the last U.S. presidential election. Before I went to work, I stopped by a polling station. It was early in the afternoon and hundreds of people had already shown up to vote. I saw one elderly woman who was helped to the ballot box by her daughter. And I heard stories of some Iraqis crying as they cast their vote. I also heard of one 85-year-old man in southern Iraq who left his home for the first time since the fall of the Saddam regime to go to the polls.

An Iraqi colleague, the one who I wrote about earlier who was treated badly at the U.S. embassy, was the first in line at his polling station. He arrived at 6:30 am, a half hour before the polls opened. And he still has the ink on his finger. We joke that he will never wash it off. When we arrived at work, I congratulated all my Iraqi colleagues for their participation in democracy. It was truly a historic moment and seeing them with their ink-stained fingers made me have faith in humanity.

Of course, there is still more work ahead. But I don't want to focus on that now as I'm sure that will be a subject for future postings. I just want to concentrate on the positive. Besides, whatever obstacles are presented in the future, Iraqis can take strength from what they witnessed on election day.

DEMOCRACY IN ACTION

2005-01-28T06:37:00.000-05:00

I have some positive news to report for once. For the last few days, I’ve been feeling increasingly depressed over Iraq’s prospects. It doesn’t help that lately, part of my job has been to keep track of all the election-related violence happening in Iraq. So it’s been about polling stations being hit by grenades or mortars, elections workers quitting en masse because of threats and dozens of Iraqis killed in the last few days.

So after another 12-hour day at work, I was heading home for some much needed sleep when we drove out to the main road and saw a commotion of a traffic jam and car horns honking. Hanging out windows and on the back of pickup trucks were ordinary people and political activists carrying banners for various political groups. There were also people standing along the streets, cheering everyone on. It was the last day for campaigning but it looked like a big block party, and the celebration lasted past midnight.

As I observed the scene, a few tears dropped from my eyes. I was just so happy to finally see a positive result from this so-called democracy we have brought to Iraqis. Of course, I was brought back to reality today as I heard of a car bomb killing four Iraqis in Baghdad. And who knows what the day after the elections will bring. But for that one moment, I felt a measure of hope.

IN THE MIDDLE

2005-01-18T03:02:00.000-05:00

I'm sorry it's been so long since I last updated this blog. I’ve been working nonstop for the last few weeks, leaving me too exhausted to do anything else but eat and sleep.

But despite the tiredness, my work has been rewarding. As with everyone else here, we are all gearing up for the elections and we expect to be working like madmen from now until the final results are in. My boss, an Iraqi expat, has bought two cases of Red Bull in preparation for the election bonanza. He also keeps joking about the civil war he thinks will erupt once the votes are counted. Soon Iraq will have a new government that is supposed to be representative of the people and there are Iraqis who feel quite hopeful that the post-election era will be an optimistic one. But there is talk of banning driving and the use of cell phones in the few days running up to the elections because of worries over suicide bombers and roadside bombs detonated by cell phones. I still feel lost as to a solution to it all but a recent incident provided some insight as to where misunderstandings and miscommunication can lead.

For work an American, a Brit and I had to travel to another Iraqi city and stay overnight at the U.S. embassy compound there. Our driver/fixer, who is an Iraqi, stayed in the compound with us. As soon as we arrived at the guarded gate, he was treated as a second class citizen. His security check took much longer than ours and he was given a red visitor's badge while we were given black badges. His red badge meant he could not walk around by himself and had to be accompanied by one of us. While we were allowed to bring our cell phones with us, he had to leave his in the car, even though he desperately needed his phone for work. The security precautions were understandable, especially given what had happened with the suicide bomber at the military base in Mosul. Still, aside from security issues, he was not treated as an equal. When we met people at the compound, some didn't bother to introduce his/herself to my Iraqi colleague and skipped over him during hand shakes. They treated him as if he wasn't even there. Others noticed him after they had been talking to us for a while and finally said hello after 15 minutes of conversation that didn't involve him, even though he speaks and understands English. The Americans staying at this compound were so removed from the local population because they weren't allowed to leave the embassy area, and their reaction to my colleague reflected this isolation. Their interaction with Iraqis seemed to be limited to the cleaning staff, guards and others, meaning they hardly talked to Iraqis throughout their day.

Things took a turn for the worse when my Iraqi colleague's red badge had fallen out of the plastic sleeve. While some security personnel went to search for it, another joked that they would put my Iraqi colleague in a cell for the night. My Iraqi colleague didn't find that to be funny and we told the security guy that Iraqis didn't find anything amusing about that kind of "humor." By this point, my Iraqi colleague was fuming and he reacted to this comment with a stoic look. During dinner, he kept looking around at the American faces and said he didn't want to be there. Although this was his homeland, he felt unwelcome in those surroundings. Later, he vented his anger to me and said that the people in Baghdad were right, that they should kill all of them, meaning the American military. I told him not to say that because that meant he wanted my husband to be killed and many of my friends' husbands to be killed. He looked at me with surprise, as if he hadn't made that connection of linking my husband to the people who were treating him badly. He said he didn't mean it that way but he knew that I thought he had gone too far.

The next day, he apologized to me for his comment and said he didn't want anything to happen to my husband and he hoped we were reunited soon. He said he was angry and he didn’t realize what he was really saying. Later when I was talking to my husband on the phone, my Iraqi colleague made a salute gesture, meaning he wanted me to say hello to my husband from him. I appreciated it, because I knew he wanted me to know how sorry he was for his comment.

In those moments, I feel like I'm stuck in the crossfire of a gun battle. I can relate to both sides and understand both points of view. But still, I don't know how to reconcile those views. I know that the security guys at that U.S. embassy compound are probably good guys at heart, just as I know my husband and his fellow soldiers are decent human beings. Yet, I also know that my Iraqi colleague couldn’t see that side of them during his dealings with them. All he could see were foreigners in his homeland who made him feel like he had done something wrong.

P.S. I received this email message and wanted to pass it on, as I also feel quite strongly about this issue: Senator Joe Lieberman (D-CT) and Senator Jeff Sessions (R-AL) are introducing legislation later this month to increase the death gratuity paid to families of servicemembers killed in combat to $100,000. These benefit changes would cover all servicemembers regardless of rank, and would apply retroactively to cover those lost in Operations Enduring Freedom and Operation Iraqi Freedom. http://www.thequonsethut.com

NEW YEAR WISHES

2004-12-29T03:06:00.000-05:00

Yesterday I visited Halabja, where 5,000 people were killed in 1988 when Saddam unleashed chemical weapons on the town near the Iranian border during the Iran-Iraq war. At the museum commemorating the victims of the attack, there was a photo exhibit that showed the horror of that day. There were scenes of bloated bodies, deformed figures that no longer looked quite human. Other photos showed victims whose skin on their nose or hand had been partially burned off by the mustard gas. It was a reminder of the terror that Iraqis lived under not so long ago (although some would say they are still living under terror). And in Halabja, the past is not forgotten as a sign at the entrance of the town reads, "It is not allowed for Baaths to enter." The chemical attack in Halabja is a stark symbol of the good that American has done in getting rid of Saddam and his lackeys.

Still, I have conflicting feelings about our presence here. While I was browsing at a grocery store on Christmas day, two Iranians tracked me down and tried to have a chat in their limited English. They requested that President Bush next send the American military to Iran to oust the regime there. I appreciated their sentiment and knew their lives must be miserable in Iran if they thought they would have a better life in Iraq. Still, I couldn't help thinking: be careful what you wish for.

I know Saddam was a tyrant who needed to go, as Halabja indicated, and the Americans have brought some positive change. But my friends here, those who are very Westernized, speak fluent English and have many foreign friends, have a lot of criticisms. They talk about Americans being so good at winning wars, but not at winning the peace. And their dreams of what Iraq would be in a post-Saddam era have been dashed. They talk about suffering from depression and how not much has really changed: the electricity supply is still unstable, the water supply is inadequate and things needed for daily life, like gas, are still scarce. On Christmas, we spotted a gas station that was actually open. We didn't mind waiting in line because we were just so happy that the gas station was even open. Gas shortages have kept petrol stations closed for several days. Now the elections are the biggest news, but the largest Sunni party has just pulled out of the polls, there was an assassination attempt against the leader of the biggest Shiite party and election observers are now going to observe the elections from the safety of Jordan. And the problems are all amplified by the lack of security.

We do joke around pretty often and our days aren't all doom and gloom. On Christmas, we decided we wanted a change from kebobs and we would instead have a Mexican/Tex-Mex dinner. So we cobbled together enough ingredients to make fajitas, Mexican rice, refried beans and chili. But even our humor has turned pretty morbid. The local staff and I joke about kidnappings and suicide bombers. For Christmas, an American friend contemplated whether it would be safe to go to church, as that could be a target for insurgents. We talk about ways in which we can break up our routine, just in case someone is watching us. And all my Iraqi friends want to do is leave Iraq.

One friend was telling me about her artist friend in Mosul who is a very well regarded figure in the creative community in Iraq. This artist hated Saddam with a passion and was very happy when the Americans came. But his thoughts of the Americans changed one night when American soldiers raided his home at 4 am. Instead of knocking on his door, they landed on his roof and put a small explosive on his door to open it. The artist and his family, which included his year and a half old daughter, had been sleeping and were petrified to see the Americans storming through their home. They destroyed furniture and pointed their guns at him and his family. He told my friend he was so scared that he almost peed in his pants. The soldiers eventually left and because they didn't find anything, they returned the next day to give him more than $2,000 in compensation. But the artist cared little for this money as his love for Americans had hardened into hate. He told my friend that if anything had happened to his daughter during the raid, he would not have thought twice about strapping some bombs to himself and hunting down American soldiers to kill.

The soldiers were just doing their job, but still the Americans just lost one more friend and they can't afford that loss. And this artist wasn't a former Saddam loyalist or Baath party member. Instead, he was reacting as a father and as an innocent man.

Now that I'm here I'm even more at a loss for an answer to all of this. Instead, my mind is full of "should've, could've, would've" scenarios and I wish we could turn back time and restart the post-Saddam era. But obviously, that is not a possibility and all we can do is go from here.

So here's to the new year bringing some measure of peace and stability to this country whose people have waited too long for the rights of humanity and deserve more than what they have received. And here's to the safe return of all the soldiers stationed across the world.

GREETINGS FROM IRAQ

2004-12-20T11:20:00.002-05:00

I finally found some time and energy to update the blog. I've been here for about a week now but in some ways, I feel like I've been here for a year.

But first I should tell you about my week prior to my arrival. I spent several days at a hostile environment training course run by ex-British military guys. On our first day as we were riding in a vehicle, our group was "ambushed" by guys carrying AKs and wearing black ski masks. Black hoods were placed on our heads and we had to lay face down on the forest ground. All of our possessions were taken from us and we were forced to lay there for about 10 minutes or so. It was a "sink or swim" introduction to the course, but I welcomed it as kidnappings are a major concern in Iraq. We spent the rest of the week learning about first aid (how to treat a person whose hand has been blown off by a landmine), weapons and ammunition, the differences between various mortar rounds, and how to roll/crawl during mortar attacks/gun battles. I've actually shot an AK before, but am by no means a ballistics expert so all the information provided was greatly appreciated. By the end of the course, my clothes were splattered with mud and fake blood. During one of the first aid scenarios, fake blood squirted into my eye.

I suppose it was a good way to begin my trip, but a bit surreal. I then drove to Iraq through the Turkish border, which gave me the opportunity to see more of the Iraq countryside. The geography here is amazing. There are jagged, rusty colored mountains with dusts of snow on top across from rolling hills draped with carpets of moss. It is definitely a lot colder here than I thought it would be and since we don't have a proper heating system, I take a lot of breaks to huddle around the kerosene heat lamp in the office.

I am in an area that is safer than the rest of the country, but everyone is a bit on edge, especially with the elections approaching. So far, the voting process has been very disorganized and many election officials don't even know what is going on, which gives me little hope that they will go well. Still, some natives I have talked to expressed the importance of identifying themselves as Iraqis as opposed to their ethnic/religious group, which always lifts my spirits.

We have been talking about what we will do for Christmas, although there is no real sense of the holidays here. I've seen a few random Christmas trees, and we have one in our office. But other than that, Santa is MIA. We've also been told by the locals to not attend any parties where a lot of foreigners are gathering as we would be targets for insurgents.

I've managed to talk to my husband a few times since I arrived, but it's actually a lot harder for us to communicate with both of us in Iraq because the cell phone networks are unreliable. We've realized that we can really only talk at night, and that's only after a few tries. And it's strange to be several hours away from each other, but not be able to see each other. Still, we might as well be on other sides of the world as our days are so different. He's been spending his time searching for weapons caches and conducting raids while I'm planning training courses for the local population and visiting co-workers' families.

In any case, this is what I came here to do and I'm even more convinced that I made the right decision. I've been told countless times that the training I'm doing is desperately needed so I already feel like I'm making a contribution. And I've already met people who I know will be friends for the rest of my life. So although everyone stares at me like I'm an alien, I feel like I've already formed a bit of a family here.

LEAVING ON A JET PLANE

2004-12-03T10:26:00.000-05:00

This will be my last entry before I leave for Iraq. My next posting will likely be in about two weeks when I am “in country,” as they say in the military.

It’s bizarre now to read news stories about Iraq and know that I will be there soon. It’s surreal to hear my husband talk of his surroundings and know that I will be seeing what he is seeing.

My hope is to contribute, in my small way, to promoting democracy, freedom and accountability. And my personal wish is to understand and decipher the chaos and confusion I see. I hope when I leave there, I come away with some sense of understanding of why events unfolded the way they did and what the prospects are for the long term.

The future of the U.S. and Iraq are now inextricably tied. And my fortunes are now also connected to Iraq. So here I go…

WHAT HE CARRIES

2004-11-29T10:44:00.000-05:00

Tucked in a pocket of my husband’s desert combat pants is a small brown rock that has the Chinese symbol for simplicity etched into it in black paint. He carried the rock with him every day last year when he was first deployed to Iraq and he has it with him all the time this year.

I gave him the rock years ago, long before we began our overseas adventure, when other events were complicating our lives. The symbol meant that despite the events swirling around us, the space between me and him was simple. When we drowned out the stress and business of our lives and reached that quiet place where only he and I exist, the complexities of life disappeared. When it comes down to just us, our vision is clear, our feelings are pure and our lives are simple.

Although our circumstances have changed, the symbolism of that rock hasn’t. And I find comfort in that as I get ready to leave for Iraq for another chapter in my life. He carries the physical object of the rock in his pocket and I will carry the symbol of it in my heart.

FOG OF WAR

2004-11-22T10:21:00.000-05:00

I saw the movie Glory a few days ago. I never get tired of watching it. The film about the first black regiment in America's civil war always inspires me. Although there are moral quandaries presented, the men in the regiment, their leaders and their actions in battle are depicted as courageous, honorable and self sacrificing. They are the good guys and they are obviously in the right.

But war is never that black and white. Even when the good guys and the bad guys are clearly defined, the act of fighting itself is often muddy, ambiguous.

The most recently publicized reflection of this is the case of the journalist who recorded the Marine shooting a wounded insurgent in Falluja. Those who are angry at the journalist are upset because he caught it on tape for the world to see and supposedly, his patriotic duty was to hide what he saw. But soldiers face those moral dilemmas on a daily basis and they will face them in the future, whether the rest of the world learns about them or not. We want a sanitized picture of war in which our soldiers are clear heroes and can do no wrong. We want the gruesome visions of the dead and the morally questionable acts left in the shadows. But war is enacted by human beings so it is burdened by human fallacies, human emotions.

In Errol Morris' documentary The Fog of War, former Defense Secretary Robert McNamara of the Vietnam era describes the lessons he has learned. He says, "What 'the fog of war' means is: war is so complex it's beyond the ability of the human mind to comprehend all the variables. Our judgment, our understanding, are not adequate. And we kill people unnecessarily. Wilson said: 'We won the war to end all wars.' I'm not so naive or simplistic to believe we can eliminate war. We're not going to change human nature anytime soon. It isn't that we aren't rational. We are rational. But reason has limits."

And reasons change. In some instances, you are a good guy one day and a bad guy the next, and vice versa. The Soviet Union was our ally in World War II and then our enemy for the next 50 years. Saddam was our friend in the 1980s; now he's not.

This is not to say that there are no moral absolutes. There are clear principles of right and wrong to which we must adhere. We have rules of engagement because even in the act of killing in war, we want to impose restrictions to show that we are not savages. But war is messy. Sometimes there is no right or wrong, or it's in between or it's both right and wrong. In such chaotic and frightening situations, how do you determine the right course of action? If you hesitate to define your enemy, you could risk your life and the lives of soldiers around you. If you react too quickly, you may take an innocent life. And often, you have only a second to make this decision. The situation sucks all around.

I feel badly for both the journalist and the Marine recorded in Falluja. They were both put in an impossible situation that they may now second guess, obsess over, turn around in their head for the rest of their lives. And they have learned a lifetime's lesson about the haziness of the fog of war.

RED, WHITE AND BLUE

2004-11-18T19:40:00.000-05:00

Living on a military base, I'm surrounded by symbolic images. There are countless American flags, with the stars and stripes now flapping in the cold November wind. And everywhere you turn, there are the ubiquitous yellow ribbons to symbolize the "support our troops" theme. There are yellow ribbons tied around tree trunks, yellow ribbon magnets on refrigerators or yellow ribbons on car windows. And there are variations of the yellow ribbon message, most notably the "half of my heart is in Iraq" slogan.

But I've never been into symbols. I love this country but I've never owned an American flag. I support my husband but I don't have any yellow ribbons on display. And part of my heart is in Iraq, but I don't choose to advertise it.

For me, the way I show my patriotism and my support for the troops is to learn everything I can about politics, domestic/foreign policy, history and other relevant topics that explain to me the events of the day. My way of being an American daughter and an army wife is to be as educated as possible about what is going on in our world. I want to understand why our president makes the kinds of decisions he makes, why others react to his decisions the way they do and what is the result of all of it. I've been reading about Iraq's history, from the Ottoman empire to British colonial rule to the forces that brought Saddam Hussein to power. I'm learning about Islam and the differences between Shiites and Sunnis. I'm trying to get my head around the various tribes of Iraq and how those ties shape the country. I even tried to teach myself Arabic, although without much success.

Of course, I appreciate what the symbols represent. But they are not enough for me. Because I am privileged to live in a free and democratic country, I feel I should not take it for granted so I need to constantly learn, question, debate, criticize. And to me, the most patriotic thing I can do is to be an informed citizen. That is my yellow ribbon.

IRAQ, HERE I COME

2004-11-15T23:08:00.000-05:00

Yes, I know many of you will think I am crazy. But it is official. I will leave for Iraq at the beginning of December to work for a nonprofit organization. And no, I am not going in hopes of seeing my husband or wanting to be near him. I will not see him while I am working for this organization and it wouldn't matter to me if he was there or not. I have wanted to go to Iraq for some time to see for myself what is happening there and to do something tangible and concrete to help the Iraqi people. I've also thought about going to Afghanistan and Sudan, but it just so happened that the opening came up in Iraq and I went for it.

Of course, it is a bit unnerving to know that both of us will be there. Now he will worry about me, as I have about him. But we will have the rare chance as an army wife and soldier husband to relate to each other in this time of war. When he talks about the Iraqi desert, the smells, the heat, the sounds, I will not have to use my imagination to envision the scene. Often, whether it's intentional or not, the spouse is removed and separated from the soldier's deployment experience. The spouse's world essentially stayed the same while the soldier's universe has been turned upside down. Husbands come home and don't want to talk about the war, don't want to talk about what they've seen and done. They think the wives won't understand, won't be able to comprehend the moral ambiguities, the carnage, the sorrow.

Still, I know I won't be cracking the band of brothers. The bond formed by soldiers in war is a phenomenon that has largely excluded women, even in today's modern times. It is a secret society, these friendships formed amid the sounds of whizzing bullets and thunderous explosions. I know I will never be a part of it.

But, I'm guessing I will have my own harrowing tales, stories and experiences that will make me feel like an alien when I return home. Yet, I don't feel scared or nervous or conflicted. I'm excited to be doing something instead of sitting at home, feeling helpless as I watch the news. And perhaps that's where I still have hope. Even though, as I said in my last post, that I don't see a light at the end of the tunnel, I'm still willing to go inside of it.

LET FREEDOM RING

2004-11-13T18:27:00.000-05:00

These are posts from two teenage sisters, Najma and HNK, who live in Mosul, Iraq:

Najma: S called her brother-in-law, and he told her that he is in the hospital and that his father has DIED...I can't describe how I felt, I was crying and shaking and the tears wouldn't go out... I just held Aya who's just lost a grandpa and made sure she won't cry and make things worse. The war is not over and I slept at the sound of bullets and explosions last night... Mom said that this war is the worst among all the others... I remember you telling me how Iraq is going to be and how we're going to be safer, and then start to be angry at everything!! I'm thinking of making a kind of STRIKE and not to blog till things get better and I start to feel better towards you. Everything happening in Falloja is breaking my heart and thinking that dad has no emergency plan if the same happened in Mosul but running away to Baghdad makes me only sadder..

HNK: if you didn't offer your help, tomorrow can be one of the best days in my life. But You help me ... you help every body in this word to destroy their own countries. But believe me it's time to help your self.....yesterday when I heard that boush won and the American soldiers will began to attack al_faluja, I began to cry and I couldn't stop, and my head ache me These days I have a big grief, every night I have a nightmare, my nightmare today was: our taxi driver who take us every day to school kidnapped me and najma, and took us to somewhere dark......

After reading these posts, I just cried. For the Iraqi people, for my husband, for soldiers who have died and soldiers who still have the burden of fighting. Such a tragic situation all around. I don't want to start the blame game; I'm just expressing how I see the current situation. And I don’t know when it is going to get better. What is the solution? Yes, the Iraqi people bear ultimate responsibility for their future, but they are not entirely controlling the show. Yes, we have to fight the insurgents but for every innocent civilian we kill, we are possibly creating more insurgents.

Life was terrible for the Iraqis under Saddam. But it is not good under us either. For whatever freedom Iraqis have now, however many schools we have built (by the way, only $1 billion of the $18 billion slated for reconstruction has been spent), the Iraqi people fear for their lives. I’m not sure of the utility to have the right to speak your mind when you are trying to dodge bullets and car bombs. And besides the military conflict, Iraq is now plagued by violent crimes as the security situation deteriorates.

Having lived in another war torn country, I know what a luxury our principles can seem. Before you can even begin to think about the lofty ideals of freedom and democracy, you have to have food on the table, a roof over your head and basic security so you can venture outdoors without fear of being killed. Until you have those basic needs met, freedom and democracy are meaningless. It is just the talk of well meaning, but naïve people who are better off than you.

Because of my husband’s involvement in Iraq, I feel an intimate connection to what is happening there, and even a responsibility. That is why I am mostly in despair when I think of what is unfolding. I don’t see a light at the end of the tunnel. All I see is darkness.

VETERANS' DAY

2004-11-11T11:03:00.000-05:00

So far, my husband’s company has been relatively lucky. Some guys have been wounded but they have not suffered major injuries or deaths. I can’t say the same for his sister companies, one of which has seen several guys killed in action in only a few months. Now the proximity of attacks is coming closer and I’m afraid it will just be a matter of time before the luck of my husband’s company runs out. My husband told me he feels like the danger is closing in on them.

When my husband’s unit lost its first soldier, the guys had been in Iraq for less than a month. Each time I heard of another casualty, I felt grief for the fallen soldier and his family, but relief that it wasn’t my husband. And then I felt guilty for feeling glad that it was another soldier who had been killed. Last fall, a soldier from my husband’s hometown was killed when his helicopter was shot down in Baghdad. The soldier had the same first name as my husband. When we attended the funeral and the priest kept mentioning the soldier’s first name, it was like previewing my husband’s funeral. Still, I could feel grateful, and guilty, that it was him and not my husband.

The U.S. military and Iraqi forces are on their way to taking back Falluja, but car bombs killed at least 17 people in Baghdad today and fighting continues in Mosul, which used to be a model of calm. And insurgents have kidnapped three relatives of Iraqi Prime Minister Ayad Allawi.

There have been accusations that the media and others are ignoring the good things happening in Iraq, but bad news is all I see and hear about from my husband. In this war, as in any conflict, your skill as a soldier will only take you so far. It only takes one moment of being at the wrong place at the wrong time. But I’m still hoping against hope that my husband’s luck will hold until he comes home. And on this Veterans’ Day as we remember those who gave their life serving our country, I can only think of the soldiers who are still with us, fighting in a war thousands of miles away.

VIETNAM VS. IRAQ

2004-11-09T15:37:00.000-05:00

Vietnam has been brought up a lot in relation to the Iraq war. The specter of America’s first loss in conflict still haunts us decades later. The ghost of Vietnam was supposed to have been laid to rest in our stunning success in the first Persian Gulf War. But like the phoenix, Vietnam has risen again. Pundits wonder if we are becoming entrenched in a quagmire, as we had with Vietnam. Are we being bogged down in a guerrilla war with an elusive enemy and no exit strategy? Is history repeating itself?

But one way the Iraq war is different from Vietnam is the way our troops have been treated by those on the homefront. Many Vietnam vets did not receive the welcome they deserved. Some of those who were outraged over U.S. conduct in the war in Vietnam took their disgust out on returning troops. I have not seen that kind of behavior in the Iraq war. Yes, this war has brought out strong emotions from those who oppose it. Yes, there have been worldwide protests denouncing the U.S. occupation of Iraq. But from what I can tell, people have learned not to confuse the policy of the commander in chief with the troops he commands.

For this war, I have heard countless stories of random people going out of their way to help out returning soldiers. Last week, we had a meeting with our guys’ sergeant major, who was in town for R&R. He told us that while he and other soldiers were in transit at an airport, waiting for the next flight out, airline officials asked for passengers willing to give up their seat so the soldiers could get to their destination. Dozens volunteered. When the sergeant major landed at his next destination, the captain came on the intercom asking passengers to stay seated so the soldiers could gather their belongings and be off the plane before anybody else. An old man sitting next to the sergeant major told him if anyone got up, “I will kick their ass.” Guys who have gone on R&R tell my husband of strangers buying drinks for them. Earlier this year when I was flying home from a trip, a grandfatherly figure sitting next to me was making small talk. When he learned I lived on a military base, he asked me if my husband had served in Iraq. I told him he was there last year and was getting ready to leave again. He absorbed the information and a minute later he turned to me and said, “Please tell him thank you.” He then turned his head and didn’t say anything else for the remainder of the trip. But he had said all he needed to say.

YOU'VE GOT MAIL

2004-11-06T20:08:00.000-05:00

As we approach the halfway mark of the scheduled yearlong deployment, some of the guys will soon have to decide their next career move. With no foreseeable end to U.S. forces in Iraq, guys who are scheduled to get out of the army when they return from their deployment are wondering if the military will decide their future for them. Regardless of what they want, they could be forced to stay in under the military’s stop loss policy, which is implemented during wartime to ensure unit cohesion. Some of the guys assume they will face stop loss, so they are considering voluntarily reenlisting, which makes them eligible for bonuses and other benefits. The only problem is if they stay in the army, they may get deployed again to Iraq or Afghanistan. And that could be a dealbreaker for them and for their spouses.

Several months ago, we said our last goodbyes to our guys in front of the company barracks. After the last hugs and kisses were exchanged, the wives stood together in the parking lot while our husbands gathered the last of their gear to head over to the airfield. Everyone was crying. One of the wives hugged another and said, “I can’t do this anymore, I can’t,” as tears streamed down her face. Her son wailed behind her, screaming, “I don’t want my daddy to go.” It was an unbearable scene. And as some husbands contemplate their future, some of the wives wonder if they can endure another scene like that. Marriages are already strained and children are growing up without a father.

I don't know how couples held it together during the World Wars, the Korean War and Vietnam. In those conflicts, months and even years went by without any communication with your spouse. Letters were the means of communication and they took months to get to their destination. One woman I know told me she didn’t know if her husband was alive or dead in Vietnam until he showed up at her front door after the war ended. During this deployment, not many letters have been written because now we can talk to our husbands on the phone and some of the guys have cell phones. We can chat online, or send messages or pictures through email. We can see them on our webcams and through video teleconferencing sessions. And with 24 hour news, we know instantaneously what is happening in Iraq, sometimes before our husbands do.

At times, though, I’m not sure that the availability of this technology is a good thing. When you see live footage of the latest car bomb and you know your husband was in that area, your imagination begins spinning tales of “what ifs.” Or you are constantly searching the Internet for the latest news on your husband’s unit. Of course, I’m glad that if I choose to, I can easily find out what is going on in Iraq at any time of the day. But sometimes, perhaps ignorance is bliss.

JUST US GIRLS

2004-11-04T16:06:00.000-05:00

Sometimes I feel like I live in Wonder Woman’s hometown. For those who don’t know, cartoon character Wonder Woman came from an island inhabited by only women. Since our guys deployed, I live in a similar gender exclusive world. At any of our recent gatherings, all of the adults are women. There is no male point of view in our conversations, no male appetites to feed during dinner, no male thirsts for beer to quench. Besides seeing men while I’m out running errands or going out to eat, I don’t really have any interaction with the opposite sex. Everywhere you go around this military town, you constantly see mothers with children and no fathers or groups of women without men. Now that the holidays are coming up, the absence of our guys is felt even stronger.

Last week, my friend went to Walmart to schedule a family photo session and I tagged along. My friend sarcastically joked that there would be no men in the picture, as she has two daughters. The Walmart clerk told us they have taken a lot of pictures recently of families without fathers. She told us of one new mother with infant twins who burst out crying during the photo shoot. Another army wife was going to pose with her son and hold up a picture of her husband to take the place of his physical body. My friend talked her out of it.

Because we have been left to fend for ourselves, we wives have banded together in a pretty strong way. When my friend moved from one military housing unit to another, several army wives got together and helped her pack up. We looked pretty comical as five women lifted couches and carried mattresses. Even funnier was me driving the moving truck. But we got the job done.

Still, we envy the couples we see holding hands at the mall. And we envy the wives whose husbands we see mowing the lawn. Yes, we miss our husbands because we love them. But we also miss them for all the Man things they did around the house. For the past few days, I’ve tried to open a jar lid and failed each day. I will now ask my friends to help me. But the jar may remain unopened until my husband returns.

CHAIN OF COMMAND

2004-11-02T16:39:00.000-05:00

Last week I was scheduled to “see” my husband for the first time in several months during a video teleconferencing session. I arrived early and waited patiently, as the sessions were running late and another company’s time was running into the hour set aside for our group. But I figured I wouldn’t have to wait for too long because I was the second person scheduled for the session in our company. Yet, when my turn came, another wife’s name was called, then another. I was perplexed and a bit worried that my husband ended up not making it. Then the NCO (non-commissioned officer) overseeing the teleconferencing came out and told me that since my husband was an NCO, he was letting the lower-ranking guys go ahead of him. So I ended up waiting over an hour to talk to him. But I didn’t mind because I know those kinds of sacrifices are part of his job.

The NCO overseeing the video conferencing told me how he loved it when NCOs did that, thinking of their guys first. He told me, “You don’t eat until your guys eat, you don’t sleep until your guys sleep. You take care of your guys first before you take care of yourself.” He was beaming as he said this, so proud of that tradition. No matter what you think of this war, individual soldiers constantly display integrity, honor and a sense of duty that seems to be lost in our reality show-plagued world.

But I saw none of that “I got your back” attitude when the Abu Ghraib prisoner abuse scandal hit. On Oct. 21, a staff sergeant was sentenced to eight years in prison for his role in the abuse. He is the highest-ranking soldier charged to date. Six others in his military police unit and one person from military intelligence have also been charged. But what about those who were supposed to be leading this group of mostly specialists, which is just a rank higher than a private first class? This cannot be written off as the sadistic behavior of a few bad apples.

Still, no high-ranking military or civilian official has been held legally accountable for what happened at Abu Ghraib. The leaders of the men and women who were charged left their soldiers out to dry and they should be ashamed. Yes, long-term careers are on the line, but all military officers are taught that in addition to accomplishing their mission, the welfare of their soldiers is their main concern. Officers inspire loyalty and admiration when they look out for their men and women. That is why a soldier will follow an order from his team leader, squad leader and platoon leader, even if following that order means facing death. I would not want any of the generals, colonels and other high-ranking officers linked to Abu Ghraib leading my husband. They displayed conduct unbecoming of an officer.

FULL METAL JACKET

2004-10-31T20:45:00.000-05:00

I recently watched Full Metal Jacket and the movie took on a whole new meaning since the last time I had seen it, which was before my husband enlisted. The beginning of the movie, which shows Marines in basic training before they are sent to Vietnam, is amazing in revealing the kind of indoctrination that troops go through. The drill sergeant, in his booming and commanding voice, tells the Marines that “God has a hard on for Marines because we kill everything we see.” At another point in the movie, the drill sergeant asks the men, “What do we do for a living, ladies?” The men reply, “Kill, kill, kill.” During my husband's basic training, he, too, had to repeat similar slogans advocating taking another person’s life. Phrases like “Kill I will” and “I want to kill somebody” became a part of his everyday routine.

Since my husband became a soldier, I’ve thought a lot about the human capacity to kill. When we are growing up, one of the core moral values we are taught is to not harm people. We are so conditioned against killing. It is one of the basic tenants of most religions. And our justice system reserves the harshest punishments for those who kill.

But when soldiers are trained, all that prior teaching is thrown out the door. You are taught that you have to be ready to kill at a moment’s notice, that the act of shooting your rifle must come as easily as blinking your eye. And the military does an amazing job of teaching soldiers to kill. I know that kind of training is necessary for troops to accomplish their mission and to stay alive. Still, it is so strange to know that my husband’s ultimate job is to kill people in war. That is what his field training, target practice and weapons maintenance are for; it’s all geared toward helping him become the best possible killing instrument.

I wonder if I could readily kill somebody if I went through similar training. Is there a difference between men and women when it comes to violence? Or with enough training, could anyone do it? My husband tells me that pulling the trigger comes easier than you would think.

If it comes down to my husband’s life or another’s, of course I want my husband to be the one to come out alive. I selfishly want him to do what it takes to come home to me in one piece. Yet, I will feel disturbed that he took another person’s life. I will wonder if killing someone will change his moral fiber. How do you measure the value of a human life if you have taken one? A recent study said more than 100,000 Iraqis have been killed since the beginning of the war, although others say the number is more in the tens of thousands. And more than 1,200 coalition troops have died in Iraq. Do the insurgents have nightmares about the lives they have taken and the mangled bodies they have seen, as our soldiers do?

My husband and I have talked about how killing someone could change him. But we also talked about soldiers doing what they have to do to make it home. You save yourself and you save your buddies, and the consequences of your actions are secondary. Still, he knows it will haunt him. And I’m glad that he feels that way. It shows me that despite all the training, he is still my husband.

WHAT IS A SOLDIER WORTH?

2004-10-29T14:21:00.000-04:00

According to the latest statistics posted on the September 11th Victim Compensation Fund web site, the average payment for a person killed because of the terrorist attacks is $2,082,035.

If a soldier is killed, his or her beneficiary typically receives $250,000 from the Servicemen’s Group Life Insurance, for which the soldier paid $240 a year in premium costs. Under a new law, the surviving family member now receives a $12,000 military death benefit, which is double the past amount and is not taxable. You are also given up to $2,000 for funeral expenses. And if you are a surviving spouse, you receive $833 a month until you remarry and $211 per month for each child under 18.

So, if my husband is killed in Iraq and I don’t remarry for another 10 years, I will receive a total of $363,960 over a 10-year period, compared to the more than $2 million that a spouse of a 9-11 victim receives. I know that many of those killed on 9-11 earned six-figure salaries and compensation was based on what they would earn in their lifetime. But is it right that in purely monetary terms, a 9-11 victim’s life is worth almost six times more than my husband’s life?

Meanwhile, the Army Times calculated that according to the hours worked in a combat zone, many guys I know are making between $8-$9 an hour in Iraq. But security personnel working for private contractors are being paid six-figure salaries for doing the same job as soldiers. A trainer at the gym on the base told me a former co-worker, who is a lifeguard, is now earning $125,000 a year in Iraq.

Before I became an army wife, I had no idea that many military families were living on the brink of poverty. I assumed that soldiers earned a decent middle class wage. But a specialist, who is committed to four years in service, earns a base pay of $21,768. If the specialist has a family of four, he/she is earning just $3,000 more than the official federal poverty level, which is $18,850 for a family of four. When I came here I was surprised at how easily people talked about their finances, which is considered unseemly in my world. But I guess when you don’t have that much money, it’s not a big deal to talk about it.

On payday, which comes on the 1st and 15th of every month, the commissary (grocery store on base) is packed because many could not afford to buy food until they got their paycheck. My friend who works at the credit union on the base tells me stories of people coming in a few days before payday with bags of coins to exchange for a few dollar bills. She also tells me about people coming in to take out the remaining $5 left in their bank account. Many military families live from paycheck to paycheck and have to choose between paying bills and putting food on the table. During Thanksgiving and Christmas last year, we gave canned food and Christmas toy donations. Half of the donations ended up going to army families. Yes, some people live beyond their means and are financially irresponsible. But others just can’t make ends meet on a military salary with two to three children.

Some will argue that military families get free housing. Yes, but many families still have mortgages from homes they bought in their hometown. Some will also say that deployed soldiers get additional pay. Most of the extra $475 per month is spent on phone cards and Internet time so soldiers can communicate with loved ones back home. And before the guys left, most of the soldiers I know spent several hundred dollars of their money on supplies they needed for Iraq, like socks, backpacks and additional uniforms.

How we treat our soldiers says a lot about who we are as a nation, especially now that our nation is at war. Rhetoric about troops being heroes on the forefront of the war on terrorism does not pay the bills. We have to put our money where our mouth is and give soldiers what they deserve, in life and in death.

IT'S A SMALL, SMALL WORLD

2004-10-28T16:41:00.000-04:00

Today an insurgent group announced it had killed 11 Iraqi troops who had been taken hostage a few days earlier. A video showed the National Guardsmen reading aloud their names before 10 of them were shot and one was beheaded. This followed the news that 50 unarmed Iraqi soldiers heading home were killed in an ambush five days earlier. I saw the pictures of the bodies in blood-soaked clothing laid out in rows. And I thought about their wives and what must have been going through their mind when they saw the gruesome images.

Hundreds of Iraqi soldiers, National Guardsmen and police officers have been killed in recent months. More than the coalition troops, the Iraqi security forces are one of the beacons of hope in Iraq. And they are being killed off, one by one.

We military spouses here have a profound connection to the wives of the Iraqi men who have volunteered to protect their country. Our loved ones are the targets of daily attacks and all of them face danger and death on a routine basis. And we are all fighting the same enemy.

A few weeks after the guys left, I had a dinner party for four other wives. I made Middle Eastern food – hummus, couscous, and a Moroccan chicken stew. Middle Eastern music played in the background. I wanted them to learn about the culture where our husbands now lived so they wouldn’t see Iraq and its people as a strange world to which they had no connection.

I’m sure if some of the wives of Iraqi soldiers were at my dinner, we would have had much to talk about. We would’ve traded tales of being glued to television news, raising children as virtual single parents and dealing with the stress of constant worrying. Although thousands of miles stand between us, we are all in the same boat now.

DON'T WORRY, BE HAPPY

2004-10-26T17:54:00.000-04:00

Since I started this blog, many of my friends have sent me messages of support, telling me they are here for me. I know they are worried about me and I understand why. I know from reading these entries, they are wondering if I’m depressed or unhappy. I want everyone to know that I’m fine. Even better than fine. I’m happy.

I am in good health and so is my family. I have great friends whom I can count on in any crisis. I have the luxury of pursuing my professional dreams and I feel fulfilled in my career. I am financially secure. I have had the opportunity to live in other countries and travel the world. And despite our current circumstance, my husband and I have an awesome relationship and it has only gotten stronger.

So really, I feel grateful in many ways. I am not worried about being gang raped and my family being massacred because I don’t live in Sudan. I know where my next meal is coming from because I’m not starving in North Korea. I do not have to think about suicide bombers or missile strikes or my house being demolished because I do not live in Israel or the West Bank.

Considering the luck of the draw that determines which family, which country and which economic class you are born into, I feel I came out with a pretty good hand. Yes, my husband is in a war zone and his life is in constant danger. But life goes on. And life is good.

BLAST FROM THE PAST

2004-10-26T17:46:00.000-04:00

Several years ago when I was living in Asia, I met an Iraqi refugee family. The father was an engineer and had worked in one of Saddam’s chemical weapons plants. He had been accused of being a spy and was tortured by being immersed in an oil-filled vat. He escaped with his family after the first Gulf war and was waiting for the UN High Commissioner for Refugees to help transport his family to Europe or the U.S. In the meantime, he and his family were stuck in Asia, isolated from the local population because they could not speak the local language and were not familiar with the local customs. They spoke only Arabic so I communicated with them through a Sudanese refugee who spoke both English and Arabic. The Iraqi man's wife and three sons mainly stayed inside the home because they had no other friends and were scared to go outside.

I felt sorry for them and wanted to do something to cheer them up. So my husband and I took them out to a Moroccan restaurant where they could eat dishes familiar to them, like hummus and couscous. A few weeks later, they returned the favor by cooking a meal for 20 in their small home. We ate like kings. Afterward, the wife told me my fortune by “reading” the grinds left at the bottom of my coffee cup. Although we did not know each other well, the gathering felt easy and comfortable, like a meeting of old acquaintances.

Since the war in Iraq began last year, I have wondered from time to time what happened to them. Did they make it back to Iraq? How do they feel about the U.S. presence in their homeland? If the family and my husband happen to meet in Iraq, will they remember that they once sat at a table together and laughed and talked as friends? Or is there too much water under the bridge now?

SUMMER OF '69

2004-10-24T23:13:00.000-04:00

A few weeks before the guys left, we had a party at our house, sort of a last hurrah before they headed to Iraq. The weather was perfect - a bright, sunny afternoon that faded into a cool, summer night. Burgers and hotdogs blackened on the grill and dozens of beers chilled in the coolers. The wives sat in the shade of our backyard trees while the kids ran around at the nearby playground. The guys played basketball with a beer in one hand, and amazingly no bottles were dropped. At dusk, the guys decided to relive their childhood and set up a game of dodgeball. Later the platoon leader was ductaped to a tree. As the night wore on, people moved into the house and moved on to tequila shots. When that was gone, they did shots of Jim Beam. Some even did shots of Pucker. By all accounts, it was a great party.

But it was also bittersweet. It reminded me of the last day of high school, when everyone is trying to hang on to those waning moments when the gang is still all together. You don’t want the day to end because afterward, you know you will never be the same people again.

I could tell those thoughts were already going through the guys’ heads during the party. Into the wee hours of the night, they became a bit melancholy and philosophical. One talked about how he broke up with his girlfriend because when he deploys, he considers his life to be on pause. Another talked about how he was coming home to his family no matter what. They debated what they were going to face in their second trip to Iraq and what they had to do to make sure all of them returned alive.

Last year when the guys returned from Iraq, some of the wives were cautious around their husbands, worried that the wrong word or action could unleash a simmering dark side. This year, people are already asking me if I think my husband is going to be fucked up when he comes back. I don’t know the answer to that, but I think some change in him is inevitable given his circumstance.

The wives and I are already talking about the party we are going to throw when the guys come back. And I wonder how much of who they were at our summer party will remain intact. Will I still recognize them, will they still be familiar to me?

THE GOOD, THE BAD, THE UGLY

2004-10-20T22:39:00.000-04:00

There is a pool on the base in Iraq. It has caused arguments and sparked outrage. The pool has become the forbidden fruit. Some of the wives have banned the pool from the list of off duty activities that are acceptable for their husbands. But it’s not the pool itself that the wives are worried about. No, they are worried about who could be surrounding the pool or wading in it. Namely, the wives are worried about other women. They are worried that in their husbands’ current state of forced celibacy, the sight of the opposite sex will cause their normally faithful men to go into a frenzy.

On the other end, some of the husbands have told their wives they are not allowed to go out during the deployment. That means no going to a bar to have drinks with the girls, no break from the kids to have an “adult dinner.” They are worried about their fellow man, and more specifically, their fellow soldier. They have heard and participated in enough locker room talk to know how nightlife operates in a military town. And I guess with the male to female ratio, perhaps they are not totally paranoid.

War always brings out the best and worst qualities in human beings. Incredible acts of kindness and generosity are mixed with scenes of inhumane brutality and cruelty.

On the homefront, the love and support that spouses give to each other would impress the most pessimistic cynic. But sometimes, insecurities are amplified and past wrongs are dug up. The frustration of missing each other and living separate lives is taken out on each other. Conversations between husbands and wives lapse into petty arguments and phones being slammed down on the receiver. You don’t call enough. You don’t understand what I’m going through. You are not there for me.

During last year’s deployment, I admit that some of my conversations with my husband also ended in anger. I was still dealing with residual resentment over him joining the army. I was still bitter over the choice he made that forced us to be separated.

But this year, there is none of that. The anger has disappeared. Our conversations are filled with laughter, teasing and affection. This is not to say that we are the perfect couple, but we don’t want to waste our limited phone time on arguing over who is right and who is wrong. The length of his deployment doesn’t bother me. I almost don’t even care when I will see him again. My only concern is his safety and that he comes home in one piece. If that is our future, then I will gamely endure this for as long as I have to.

And in case you are wondering, my husband often goes to the pool and no, he doesn’t need my permission. As for me, Saturday night is often girls' night out, albeit it’s usually just me and one other girl.

A FEW GOOD MEN

2004-10-19T01:25:00.000-04:00

I recently saw some pictures of our guys in Iraq, posing with their sunglasses and rifles in hand. There they were riding in humvees or manning checkpoints. It was disconcerting to see the young ones, the single guys who I treated as little brothers. I’ll call them M, P and G. Whenever I hung out with them here, I was always struck by how young they seemed. In the photos in which they are wearing their desert combat uniform and cradling their weapon, they looked even younger. None of them are 21 yet but two of them are in Iraq now on their second deployment. It is illegal for them to drink alcohol in their homeland, but it is legal for them to kill and be killed in service to their country. Before they were deployed, two of them got in trouble for underage drinking and were busted down a rank.

M is the one with the inflated ego, but that can’t mask his insecurity and his overeagerness to be accepted by the older guys. He joined the army because he wanted adventure and liked the idea of being thought of as a hero. He was excited to go to Iraq because he had never deployed and he thought this was his chance to bring back macho tales of courage under fire that he could use to impress girls. P is shy and quiet in a way that makes the older soldiers want to take him under their wings. I asked him once why he joined the army and he said he didn’t know what to do after high school and decided to give this a try. He treated Iraq sort of like a homework assignment. He wasn’t happy about it but he had no choice so he was resigned to the task. G is perhaps the most mature out of them and has the easygoing nature of a cheerful little boy. Before he left, he told me he was more worried this time around because now, as a team leader, he was responsible for the lives of three guys. He still seemed to be a bit incredulous that at his young age, he was charged with such a solemn responsibility. He was eager to talk about his fears, perhaps because he knew with me, he didn’t have to inject any bravado into his concerns.

When I was their age, my life was about frat parties and studying for final exams. My biggest worries revolved around boys and summer internships. I was figuring out who I was and what I wanted out of life. At that age, I couldn’t imagine facing my own mortality or the possibility of taking another’s life.

I don’t know at what age you are deemed mature enough to see men, women and children die. How old do you have to be to handle the stench of burning flesh, or the sight of pools of blood? How did our nation decide that 18 was the appropriate time for men and women to go into battle? This is not to say that M, P and G cannot handle their mission; I know they can handle it. Still, it somehow doesn’t seem right that they are in Iraq, exposed to the ugliness of war. But that has always been the reality of conflict, whether it’s child soldiers in Liberia or 16-year-old boys lying about their age to fight Hitler. Their stories are all the same; they are all about lost innocence.

THROUGH THE LOOKING GLASS

2004-10-14T11:27:00.000-04:00

My husband recently told me about a raid he had gone on. They searched dozens of houses in the middle of the night to look for someone who had been shooting at U.S. patrols. Sleeping Iraqis were woken by the unexpected sound of loud, insistent knocks. They were greeted by futuristic warriors wearing night vision goggles, who looked out of place in the cradle of civilization. While the soldiers looked around the house, the Iraqis stood outside and waited.

My husband described one woman to me and she has been in my head ever since. During the raid, many of the women stared at the ground and did not look at the soldiers. But this woman purposely held her head up high, displaying her dignity and her contempt for the intruders. I know that my husband was just doing his job, looking for a “bad guy,” but I imagine that was of no solace to her. I wonder what she thought of my husband. Did she think he was an American infidel? Did she secretly want to spit on him? Was one more anti-American sentiment born at that moment?

I wish I could tell her what my husband is really like, that the image she saw was a mirage. Underneath the body armor and camouflage is a gentle and compassionate man. I want to tell her that before he joined the army, we lived in another war-torn country and my husband was always the first to give out money, food or whatever else people needed. I want her to know that the other men my husband is serving with are good guys, good fathers, good husbands, good sons.

Maybe she wouldn’t believe me, or she just wouldn’t care. Maybe what only matters to her is that U.S. soldiers showed up at her home in the middle of the night, scaring her and her family and humiliating them by showing them they had no power in their own home. Moreover, maybe she sees my husband as a foreign invader, an occupier in her homeland. And I’m sure there is plenty she could tell me about her life, her family, her suffering.

My husband told me of another time when he was out on patrol and he saw a little girl walking with an even smaller boy. When the girl spotted the soldiers, she began to walk faster, pulling the boy behind her. When she briefly turned her head to see where the soldiers were, my husband waved at her and smiled. She hesitated, then smiled and waved back.

I wish the image of the girl was the one that replayed in my head, but it’s the woman with her head held high who stays with me.

WISE WORDS

2004-10-13T13:30:00.000-04:00

Rabindranath Tagore, India's Nobel laureate for literature in 1913 and a friend of Gandhi, wrote the following poem. Considering the current political climate here and the state of world affairs, it seems appropriate for these times.

Where the Mind is Without Fear

Where the mind is without fear and the head is held high

Where knowledge is free

Where the world has not been broken up into fragments

By narrow domestic walls

Where words come out from the depth of truth

Where tireless striving stretches its arms toward perfection

Where the clear stream of reason has not lost its way

Into the dreary desert sand of dead habit

Where the mind is led forward by thee

Into ever-widening thought and action

Into that heaven of freedom, my Father, let my country awake

GRIM REAPER

2004-10-12T13:50:00.000-04:00

Sometimes I feel like death is haunting me, chasing me, like a bounty hunter whom I can’t escape. Other times its presence is less obvious, like my watch, which I always have on but don’t always notice. The one constant is that death is always there, the possibility that it will hit home.

I don’t mean for this entry to be morbid. But this subject of death is with me so often, it seemed a natural topic to write about. People always ask me, “How do you do it?” Implicit in that question is more questions: “How do you deal with the danger that your husband is in, how do you deal with the possibility he might die?” To me, I am at a time in my life when many things are out of my hands so I am dealing with it the best I can. The only other option would be to stop functioning, to fall apart. And I don’t know of any army wife who has made that choice. I’m sure any of you would cope just as well, or as well as can be expected, if you were faced with this situation. And you would be amazed at what you can endure, the human capacity to take on hardship. But that is not to say I don’t have my moments.

You are told that if your spouse is killed, two military officials will come to your door. So I dread the unexpected knock or doorbell ring. The first time it happened, or didn’t happen, I should say, I felt like my stomach had dropped to my toes. I hadn’t heard from my husband for several days and we had already heard that two guys from his unit had been killed in fierce fighting just a day or two ago. It was 2 am and the noise of two car doors slamming woke me up. I immediately imagined two uniformed officers slowly walking to my door, preparing themselves for my reaction when they told me something had happened to my husband. I just lay in bed and waited. But the knock never came.

A few weeks later, the doorbell rang unexpectedly. Again, my initial thoughts were of my husband. But it turned out to be a cub scout selling candy. In the weeks that followed, my unannounced visitors included more cub scouts, fire department officials and others. It’s strange but now I feel like those moments have become a part of my routine life. But my heart still skips a beat every time it happens.

Before he left for each of his deployments, my husband and I discussed funeral arrangements, wills and all of the other details that are associated with death. I always wanted to be realistic about what could happen to him, that he might not come home. Some army wives could not bear to have these conversations with their husbands, they couldn’t face the outcome that always comes with war. Before the guys were deployed a second time around, one of my friends drove past a cemetery and started crying.

All of this talk of death does not mean I have stopped living my life. I am still forging ahead with my career. There are many times in the day when I feel happy, when I laugh and feel amazed at life’s possibilities.

I just hope that if my husband is killed in Iraq, I do not allow anger and hatred to consume me. I hope that my sorrow does not turn into feelings of revenge. Instead, I hope I will have an open enough heart that I try to understand the forces that brought my husband and his killer to that moment, when one life ended and another continued.

INTRODUCTION

2004-10-12T13:35:00.000-04:00

I named this blog Strawberry Fields because I had read that John Lennon wrote the song at a time of chaotic change in his life and at a time when he felt he did not connect with his contemporaries. I don’t know if that’s true, but I instantly related because the same could be said of my current state. In many ways, I feel like I am in between two worlds and I don’t belong to either of them.

I am an army wife and I live on a military base. I am also college educated and have maintained my career, which apparently makes me a bit of a freak here. Some army wives said they were scared to talk to me at first because I had a degree. On the other side, many of my friends outside the military think I am crazy to live here and beg me to return to big city life, which fits my cosmopolitan personality. They think it is beneath me to live on an army base.

So Strawberry Fields is where I am at now.

My husband, a sergeant in the infantry, is in his second deployment to Iraq. It’s strange and surreal to be forced to confront the possibility of the love of your life’s death on a constant basis. And it’s those kinds of topics that I wanted to write about.

I started this blog because my head is overflowing with thoughts about what is going on in my life and what is going on in today’s world. Writing has always been a way for me to sort out the jumble in my head. I also wanted to provide a woman’s perspective on traditionally male topics, such as war and the military. There are so many things that I never knew about the military before my husband joined the army. And I admit that I had a very stereotypical view of what a soldier was like, where he came from, what he thought. As with most things, I have found the reality is more complicated than that.

I am remaining anonymous because I want to be free to speak my mind, without having to worry about my husband getting in trouble or my views affecting my career. I know that may sound like a cop out and perhaps when my husband returns home, I will be able to be more open.

I hope you will find the entries here to be thoughtful, poignant and informative. Most of all, I hope it will provoke conversations on what this world and our lives are all about.