47. A Powerful, Peaceful Holiday Poem
My friend sent me this poem yesterday, and I delayed publishing it until I could do it during my favorite month of the year, December. December brings Christmas, which is my absolute favorite time of the year.
I know, however, that for various reasons many people don’t share that feeling. One may have lost a loved one at Christmas, as I did at Thanksgiving. Many don’t celebrate Christmas because it’s not relevant to their faith. Still others just have a rough time during the holidays.
Whatever your particular circumstances, Powerful Peace exists on a higher plane than our personal moments of happy and sad, intent on the basic human goodness that transcends our oh-so-human peculiarities. Whatever your background, I hope this goodness as illustrated by this beautiful rhyme will comfort you and give you pause:
A Different Christmas Poem
The embers glowed softly, and in their dim light,
I gazed ’round the room and I cherished the sight.
My wife was asleep, with her head on my chest,
My daughter beside me, angelic in rest.
Outside the snow fell, a blanket of white,
Transforming the yard to a winter delight.
The sparkling lights in the tree I believe,
Completed the magic that was Christmas Eve.
My eyelids were heavy, my breathing was deep,
Secure and surrounded by love I would sleep.
In perfect contentment, or so it would seem,
So I slumbered - perhaps I started to dream.
The sound wasn’t loud, and it wasn’t too near,
But I opened my eyes when it tickled my ear.
Perhaps just a cough, I didn’t quite know,
Then the sure sound of footsteps outside in the snow.
My soul gave a tremble, I struggled to hear,
And I crept to the door just to see who was near.
Standing out in the cold and the dark of the night,
A lone figure stood, his face weary and tight.
A soldier, I puzzled, some twenty years old,
Perhaps a Marine, huddled here in the cold.
Alone in the dark, he looked up and smiled,
Standing watch over me, and my wife and my child.
“What are you doing?” I asked without fear,
“Come in this moment, it’s freezing out here!
Put down your pack, brush the snow from your sleeve,
You should be home on a cold Christmas Eve!”
For barely a moment I saw his eyes shift,
Away from the cold and the snow blown in drifts…
…To the window that danced with a warm fire’s light
Then he sighed, and he said, “It’s really all right,
I’m out here by choice. I’m here every night.
It’s my duty to stand at the front of the line,
That separates you from the darkest of times.
“None had to ask or to beg or implore me,
I’m proud to stand here like my fathers before me.
My Gramps died at Pearl on a day in December,”
Then he sighed, “That’s a Christmas Gram always remembers.
My dad stood his watch in the jungles of ‘Nam,
And now it’s my turn, and so, here I am.
“I’ve not seen my own son in more than a while,
But my wife sends me pictures, he’s sure got her smile.”
Then he bent and he carefully pulled from his bag,
The red, white, and blue… an American flag.
“I can live through the cold and the being alone,
Away from my family, my house and my home.
“I can stand at my post through the rain and the sleet,
I can sleep in a foxhole with little to eat.
I can carry the weight of killing another,
Or lay down my life with my sister and brother,
Who stand at the front against any and all,
To ensure for all time that this flag will not fall.
“So go back inside,” he said, “harbor no fright,
Your family is waiting and I’ll be all right.”
“But isn’t there something I can do, at the least,
Give you money,” I asked, “or prepare you a feast?
It seems all too little for all that you’ve done,
For being away from your wife and your son.”
Then his eye welled a tear that held no regret,
“Just tell us you love us, and never forget.
To fight for our rights back at home while we’re gone,
To stand your own watch, no matter how long.
For when we come home, either standing or dead,
To know you remember we fought and we bled
Is payment enough, and with that we’ll trust,
That we mattered to you as you mattered to us.”
Copyright © 2008 by Jack Oatmon. All rights reserved.
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45. Introducing “You Oughta Know”
There are many very, very important stories being told around the world. I began writing the TWIT series in Powerful Peace just this week to share some of what outside nations don’t see on the ground here in Iraq amid all the ratings-bait of media casualty counts.
Tonight I launch another effort with much the same aim. You Oughta Know is a weekly-changing link at the top of the lists to the right, dedicated to communicating realities that command the attention of believers in Powerful Peace.
This first story, Rape as a Weapon of War, is extremely troubling. It may be too graphic for some readers, so please stop where you need to.
Copyright © 2008 by Jack Oatmon. All rights reserved.
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44. Hope – It Screams
I spoke today with an Iraqi Army General on the subject of our way ahead in Iraq. Like many of his peers, he has invaluable insight on problems and solutions regarding the ongoing struggle for Iraq. Like many of his peers, his recommendations (the other-than-combat efforts we will need for a long-term “win”) sometimes compete with more immediate Coalition needs for force protection and combat readiness.
Hope in Iraq
Hope, we concluded, is the most urgent commodity we can provide to the men and women of this ancient, noble and profoundly historic land. There are many other essential ingredients; most of them are merely steps along the path to hope.
Hope screams to be heard. Hope screams, desperately, to be felt.
It’s just at the edge of their hearing, for some of these. Hope is screaming its fool head off, just – just barely – out of reach from hundreds of thousands of decent people who can’t take their children to the market with them.
It’s just beyond the hearing of people without enough power, work, or water that won’t make them sick.
I can hear hope. In fact, I can’t hear anything else. It’s inevitable, now. I sense hope itself trembling in the unlimited potential of this moment. Hope knows its release is just around the corner. Any day, any moment, and hope will burst forth across this torn landscape like a storm. Those who fought for stability will fight ten times harder, in ten thousand little ways. But right now, before this great release, it’s so hard for many residents of Iraq to know hope.
Unemployed men with small children dying of illness and malnutrition fear to step forward to accept work with the Coalition, knowing that cruel, organized thugs may torture and kill a father who seeks to provide for his family in this way. Losing the only breadwinner jeopardizes the wife and other children in homes from which these fathers are too frequently lost.
My friend Jamal lost his family home, lifelong friends, and fiancee when he was identified as an interpreter. He very nearly lost much more.
On the other hand, there simply is not a great deal of work available with Coalition forces even for the willing, since positions for locals are competitive and jealously guarded.
In a society so wracked with danger and fear, much of the work from commerce and production is likewise only a memory. There is very little demand for non-essentials; when a citizen ventures to the market downtown even for necessities he knows he takes his life in his hands. There may be a car bomb rolling up to any part of any bazaar at any moment.
The citizens of Iraq are in desperate need of hope in order for them to see any purpose in striving and risking for change. When hope dies, initiative follows. Why bother?
In contrast to this dangerous apathy, I recently published an extracted article on the Baghdad Zoo now being open, safe, and enjoyed. (See A Walk in the Park). When a couple can take their little ones to such a pleasant and ordinary place, this glimmer called hope begins to take root. They taste freedom from insecurity – and like it. They begin to ponder the instability and terrors of the family neighborhood, and find a fresh energy to reclaim this rightful territory for the good of all.
They begin to say…”Oh, hell, no! Anything is better than this.”
The energy of hope can produce startling results. In a book entitled Let’s Roll, we read the story of true heroes, doomed passengers on a hijacked plane. They had some certainty that something very bad was going to happen with their plane. They realized that there might not be anything they could do about it…but they hoped they could. They hoped they could, and they acted.
They saw no gain in hiding in the herd and praying not to be the next one culled. They acted in the hope of stopping terrorists with their own hands. They succeeded. With this hope and their own hands, they saved hundreds or thousands of other innocent lives. They died, yes – they died because fighting to defend involves risk, and some pay the price for the rest.
Hope is something that can be given. It can’t be forced, because a person can not be “convinced” of something against his will. Hope can be inspired by example, as when the United States of America still inspires the hope of a better life for hundreds of millions who live in tragic poverty. Hope can be revealed in the genuine, consistent effort of outreach from those who have to those who have not.
Hope sometimes stays out of reach for those without hope, until someone who holds it…offers it. In some cases, it must be given from one group of people to another. Or, from one group of nations to another. When we grasp hope firmly in our hands, we perceive the extraordinary future we can create.
This isn’t a war for Americans to bring peace, or for “the West” to establish democracy, or for any other reason than simply this: this war in Iraq, however it may have started, is a war for the Iraqi people to experience hope, say “Let’s Roll”, and take back their land for peace and safety.
Hope screams to be known. With hope, anything is possible.
Without it, nothing is.
Copyright © 2008 by Jack Oatmon. All rights reserved.
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43. The Whole, Impartial Truth (TWIT 01) A Walk in the Park
Welcome to the Grand Opening edition of The Whole, Impartial Truth, a new and sporadic exposition of what’s “really” going on out here in Iraq.
By implying that you aren’t already getting the whole truth, I don’t mean that anyone is lying. Rather, I’m acknowledging that agenda drives communication; whether it’s a husband arguing for a big-screen TV or a statesman seeking concessions from a neighbor country, the skillful use of words creates a reality.
Each writer writes from a personal perspective, and not all media outlets provide an actual fair and balanced picture. Because of each outlet’s agenda, in fact, it may even be fair to say that not one commercial outlet provides a full and unbiased version of life as it occurs.
Here’s an example:
The Pope and President George W. Bush were fishing in a little rowboat one day. A gust of wind blew the Pope Hat off the Pope’s head and splashed it in the pond 10 yards away. The Pope was beside himself, naturally, because this is an important symbol of his office. President Bush calmly rose, stepped onto the surface of the pond, and walked over to recover the Pope Hat.
The next morning, headlines across the country blared out, “George Bush Can’t Swim” (Thanks, Gabe!)
Here’s another example. In the days before this presidential election, I was amazed to hear CNN and Fox News paint two realities based on this one, undisputable fact: the polls favored Obama 52 to McCain’s 44. Here are the two realities:
CNN: “Senator Obama continues to surge ahead with his ever-widening gap.”
Fox: “Senator McCain is really making a comeback as the gap rapidly disappears.”
(Please understand that those are not actual quotes, but paraphrasings. I don’t want to be accused of still further distortion of the truth!)
So, while Powerful Peace recognizes the existence of continuing beheadings and that little girls have been blown up by terrorist bombs as recently as this week, we must also keep in our hearts the stories that don’t sell commercial airtime such as the following, lifted intact from the “Coalition Chronicle” magazine that we read out here in the sandbox:
Baghdad Zoo – Returning to Normal
- Army Staff Sergeant James Hunter
BAGHDAD - The Baghdad Zoo opened its doors to Iraqi citizens in 1971. Since then, it has been a key centerpiece to the lives of many Iraqis. Many travel from throughout Iraq to enjoy a peaceful day at the zoo with their families.
- Time Alone
Due to the potential threat of violence and security issues in Iraq however, the last several years have not brought many people to the zoo as many feared leaving their neighborhoods and the safety and security of their own homes.
“After coalition forces pushed into Iraq, ousting the Saddam Hussein regime in 2003, the zoo and surrounding park were left unattended and desolate,” said Staff Sgt. Paul Sanford…. “Animals were abandoned, stolen or freed by looters and the park grounds were vandalized.”
It was nearly two years before coalition forces began to seriously focus their efforts on the zoo after troops gained a foothold on the adjacent International Zone, which provided the opportunity for Dr. Salah, the Zawra Park director, and Dr. Adel Mousa, the zoo’s director, to truly begin rebuilding the area.
Their efforts, combined with the efforts of MND-B [Multi-National Division, Baghdad], have brought life back into the zoo.
- With Daddy at the Zoo
“The people of [Iraq] visit the zoo quite frequently,” said Sanford, who works closely with the zoo’s director. “It is a central location that helps them see the future of Iraq as a revitalized society and continues to build family relationships and a sense of normalcy in an area so often torn by hardship and conflict. Visiting the zoo and the surrounding Zawra Park area is as much a family outing here in Iraq as it is in the United States.
This time to forge friendships and strengthen family ties would not be where it is today without the efforts of Iraqi security forces and MND-B troops positioned throughout greater Baghdad.
When Iraqi security forces and MND-B cracked down on special groups extremists and sent many fleeing the area, it brought new life and a sense of normalcy back to the Iraqi people.
“The current security situation has been one of stabilization and peace in the area, drawing more families from their home and into the park and zoo for leisure and recreational activities once thought to be too risky to chance,” said Sanford. “The continued effort of both coalition forces and the Government of Iraq have allowed people who once only ventured out for necessity to stray far from their homes at times, even if just to see the new tigers, Hope and Riley, now being proudly displayed.”
Mousa said he now sees a secure place for people from all over Iraq to visit.
Family Picnic at the Zoo
“The people are all smiling; they are happy,” the zoo director said.
The security situation has made many Iraqis happy people, but none may be as happy as those children who walk through the gates of the Baghdad Zoo daily to see the lions, tigers, bears, an array of fish, flamingos, crocodiles, alligators or even a little girl’s favorite, a pony.
Many are seen smiling, maybe some a bit frightened by those larger animals, as they walk across the green grass or the natural or manmade paths during their leisurely strolls.
Sitting atop the freshly cut green grass are many families with picnic baskets and soda cans in tow. The children seem to run endlessly until exhausted from the heat of the sun.
When Sanford visits the zoo to meet with his Iraqi counterpart, he too feels a difference in his surroundings.
As he walks onto the grounds on the zoo, just as many do daily, he finds himself walking along a marble walkway with an array of birds and fowl on either side surrounding him.
“As you walk from cage to cage, you will almost definitely notice the significant difference in cleanliness of the area,” Sanford said. “Trash is placed in trash cans and sidewalks are kept swept and clean.”
“As you make your way around, you will see families laughing and smiling, couples holding hands and children tugging on their parents to point out some fascinating creature,” he adds. “It is truly an experience.”
Copyright © 2008 by Jack Oatmon. All rights reserved.
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42. My Blood Is In This Flag
Literally.
As I see the Stars and Stripes cascading majestically from the highest railings here in Baghdad this week, I am reminded that my own blood marks the seam, four stories above.
During one of my visits to the Baghdad Coalition Headquarters a few months back, I noticed a group of soldiers struggling to hold up the palace’s massive, forty-foot-long U.S. flag as they prepared it for hanging.
I jumped in to keep my little piece of our treasured national symbol from touching the floor. We needed to cut old zip-ties out of the grommets, so I opened my knife and set to work on the heavy plastic fasteners.
Distracted by the complex exercise of cutting while lifting, I nicked one of my fingers. It was an insignificant boo-boo, and I didn’t think much of it at the time. With some embarrassment, I later noticed that a spot of my blood had soaked into the edge of that flag, staining the white, red.
It wasn’t until hours afterward, as I stood staring in awe at this towering display, that the greater impact of the imagery of blood in the flag struck home.
Blood Marks Old Glory
Rewind a few years, and you’ll see me as a younger, pre-retirement Navy SEAL training at one of our desert locations. My platoon was completing a particularly unimpressive series of “Immediate Action Drills” (in a nutshell: shooting and running and dropping down and shooting again).
The cadre bellowed at us to get more aggressive with every iteration, and I took that seriously – to the point of inadvertently smashing my rifle scope against the corner of my mouth on one particularly enthusiastic “drop” to continue firing.
When our lackluster performance ended, the hardcore old frogman in charge of our training said he had never seen such a disgusting spectacle in all his years as a commando. (We take solace in the knowledge that combat critique is often exaggerated to drive a point home.) After he finally got done telling us what a bunch of [blank]-ing [blankety-blank-blanks] we were, he took a long, ragged breath and we thought he was spent.
He wasn’t. Glaring menacingly around our sheepish group, he suddenly locked eyes with me and said, “You. You’re bleeding…I like that.”
And we were redeemed.
I’ll let the reader unfold some of the profound layers of meaning at this concept of redemption through blood.
Despite such boo-boos, all of the accumulated dents and scrapes I acquired during my career don’t add up to one serious injury as suffered by hundreds of thousands over hundreds of years of American life; I can still count the same number of fingers and limbs as when I got born about four decades back.
What is most desperately important to remember on Veterans Day is that our precious flag is soaked in the blood of every wounded and slain warrior who ever served America and freedom. If not for the blood of heroes, this flag would be nothing more than the tattered and molding scraps of a great experiment which had failed to rise and inspire the world.
Our grand story has been and continues to be paid for, as they say, in blood and treasure. While those who have the treasure have often found it unnecessary to also contribute blood, we have awesome exceptions. Our legendary veterans, George Washington and his comrades, are among this noble crowd. These men would have suffered the horror of a traitor’s execution if captured. Many did. They willingly risked all for this cause so much greater than themselves.
Raising the Flag
Did you know this? Washington said, “The fate of unborn millions will now depend on God, on the courage and conduct of this army.” Unborn millions! How could any ordinary man have the vision in the first, perilous birth pangs of a nation, to foresee how much would become of this fragile dream if only they risked and paid their all???
Let us remember our fathers and mothers, brothers and sisters, sons and daughters who truly paid the costs of freedom and an example for the world. Let us especially hold ourselves accountable to those future generations within and without our borders who may one day look back and say – of us – “But for their sacrifices, we would not know liberty.”
Copyright © 2008 by Jack Oatmon. All rights reserved.
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41. Did You Understand the Barack Obama Piece?
Barack Obama
It’s very important to the grasp of Powerful Peace that I clear this up. I don’t take any pleasure in one side humiliating the other; quite the opposite. I know being centrist still means being in the minority in the US, but it’s my belief that if I “lean right” or “lean left” according to political inclinations, I’ll put myself in some danger of falling down. In fact, I stand straight up in the middle, and measure each issue on its merit, not basing my opinions on what some affiliation tells me I should think and decide.
Please let me know if you share this vision. Sometimes this position of listening to all sides, and respecting all persons for the inherent value of their point of view, seems pretty lonely.
Article #39 is an observation on the profound nature of the world’s opinion of us, and our opinion of ourselves, as it relates to the election of this unique individual. Please do review it in this context: Barack Obama: 9/12 and 11/5.
Copyright © 2008 by Jack Oatmon. All rights reserved.
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39. Barack Obama – September 12th and November 5th
Days of National Transformation
Wherever you fell on the political spectrum when the final results were in, I would like to point out some details that have not yet been discussed. I would like to address the profound significance of this day, November 5th, 2008.
I’m writing this piece from my station in Iraq. On September 11th, 2001, I was working as a SEAL in another Middle Eastern country with some of my teammates. Thanks to the wonders of modern technology, we US SEALs and our class of local national SEALs endured the rare privilege of watching the events of 9/11 unfold live while half a world away.
It was evening, there. One of our number called out to the barracks that a plane had hit a Tower. We Americans and Arabs gathered in the TV lounge and sat silently for three hours as the unimaginable transpired.
The next morning, after a fitful night’s sleep, we cancelled all training and began readying ourselves for the inevitable war to come. I told a friend, “The world will never be the same.”
What I meant by this is that, as with the designations of B.C. and A.D. (or Before Current Era and Current Era, in some calendar systems), history would now be eternally fractured into pre-9/11 and post-9/11. These terms have in fact become part of today’s vernacular. That date can reasonably be likened to a national loss of innocence.
Now consider these facts that burst forth on November 5th, 2008:
The Black segment of the United States has been uplifted in a concrete way which theories and declarations of equality could never fully communicate. This will open the eyes of every citizen that American diversity is real. It is finally true that each child can grow up to become the President of the United States of America.
Barack Obama is not Black
Simultaneously, the nation must realize that Barack Obama is not Black…not Black, that is, unless we are equally willing to label him “White”. After all, what is it that makes him Black? If it’s being born of a Black parent, then is he somehow less White in also being the son of a White parent?
(By the way, this isn’t political bandwagonning. I won’t tell you which way I voted. I’m describing our circumstances objectively.)
President-elect Obama is Black and White. Conveniently, so is America…and we are so much more.
America is also Native American, (which group, by the way, we honor in the month of November), we’re Hispanic, we’re Asian, we’re Polynesian, we’re Mediterranean, and still more. In other words, Barack Obama’s victory is not merely a win for Blacks. As he is the physical embodiment of the racial extremes of America, so his selection is a vote in favor of the entire spectrum of race in America. His victory is a win for Blacks and for Whites. It’s a win for every race between these extremes.
The nation, and the world, must also realize that he is not American…not American, that is, unless we are equally willing to name him a global citizen. If an American mother and a Kenyan father produce a child, does either side have the stronger claim to its native son?
In no way is this an insinuation that Barack Obama is not “American enough” to lead our nation. Rather, it’s an assertion that he is inherently and invaluably aware of the world beyond our borders. Our world is shrinking by the day. Great Walls and Iron Curtains are pitiful artifacts of a sadly frightened past in which nations looked at one another like suspicious townsfolk in a cowboy movie: “You ain’t from around here, is you, stranger?”
While on the subject of “(fill-in-the-blank) enough”, I want to point out that Jesse Jackson once apparently expressed that Barack Obama wasn’t “Black enough” to run and win as the Black candidate for President. Today I was moved to see Jesse Jackson weeping with joy over the election.
I say again: the world will never be the same.
A Change in America means a Change in the World
The United States is the single, most powerful people group on the planet. We have demonstrated the greatest willingness to extend ourselves out into the world to influence change – according to our best judgment. In helpful and not-so-helpful ways, we have proven over and again that we, as one entity, can move the globe.
That globe has in recent decades become less enamored of our ability and decisions to act or not act. Our face is mirrored in worldwide polls; the numbers do not paint a pretty picture.
We are perceived as a self-absorbed superpower. The image is that while our intentions may in fact be good, our values are not always demonstrated by our actions. We can swear to never tolerate genocide, then show that the slaughtering of families in Darfur doesn’t quite meet the threshold for meaningful intervention.
While the tapestry of our nation has been a multi-colored fabric since the first day, our executive has never been. This cannot go unnoticed by global neighbors. The proud label of Melting Pot must have appeared insincere as long as only the white wax floated to the top.
Raise your head high, America. If you voted for Barack Obama or against him, you participated in the selection of this living symbol of the whole greatness that is America. You were a vital part of the struggle that proves to a skeptical world that we love our country; we embrace the democratic process in choosing our leader, together; ultimately, we demonstrated that we treasure this grand, glorious, motley rabble of individuals…more than our individual selves. We truly value the diversity that is America – and the world.
I usually don’t say much to describe myself, beyond my status as a retired SEAL and global security professional. In case you’re interested, I’m White. Or rather, I should say, I’m a White American. Or rather, I should say…I’m a proud American. I’m proud that my country has so powerfully seized its own American-ness.
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…IF YOU HAPPEN TO KNOW THE OBAMAS, PLEASE DROP THEM A COPY, TOO.
Copyright © 2008 by Jack Oatmon. All rights reserved.
29. The Kindness of Strangers…in War
[Adapted from my monthly hardcopy newspaper column, For Goodness' Sake, in Front Porch magazine]
When I “broke my neck a little bit” a few years ago (the result of a less than optimal parachute landing), I underwent hip and spinal surgery that slowed down my hyper lifestyle…for a few days. To my dismay, friends and family began popping out of the woodwork to help me.
I had never had to feel dependent. I hated it. I felt sorry for myself – SEALs don’t quit; I wouldn’t be able to run the world for a few weeks. When I complained to a friend, he bawled me out: “You selfish (blankety blank blank)! Don’t you like to help people?”
Confused, I answered that yes, I do. He went on, “So you know it means a lot to help out, and it feels really good. And now you wanna take that away from the ones who love you the most!”
I quickly became a gracious receiver.
Acts of charity nourish the giver differently from, but equally to, the givee. When a person needs, the satisfaction of that need is a great relief. As a spiritual creature, the giver likewise has a real need met – an exercise of the heart.
Charity Done Right
I don’t know what is in the cheap plastic bag the little angel in this picture is holding. There are dozens more plump bags piled up behind her, and her broad smile suggests it contains something that she really needs. I suspect this is mainly basic foodstuffs.
Just today, while driving near the fence of our base here in Iraq, I saw some young ragamuffins walking outside the chain link. I wanted a photo of these kids (maybe we’ll use that shot in another piece), so I pulled over and stepped out. The four of them, aged six to ten and dressed literally in threadbare garments, began saying one English word over and over: “food”.
I tried to make light and asked their names in Arabic. Both boys were Mohammed. I didn’t catch the smaller girl’s name, and the eldest was a girl named Farijah.
I didn’t have any food. It’s a good thing, because I would have tried to pass it to them. That’s an offense against base policies.
Does that offend you, that it’s an offense? I’ll tell you why withholding food from these hungry children is a good thing in this twisted up, unnatural life called war:
If soldiers could give food to these four, more needy children would come. More soldiers would come to the fence, because soldiers are no different from the reader. They’re decent, caring American men and women – they want to feed hungry children.
One day, when the mob at the fence got big enough, an innocent but unusually portly little boy would come waddling up. A man nearby would make a phone call that would explode the boy’s hidden vest, ripping apart all the hungry boys and girls and the American soldiers with loving smiles.
The man would smile, say “God is Great!” and go show his friends the video.
This is why we have to take a fierce, wise stance to confront the complexity of conflict with the courage of warriors. I call it Powerful Peace.
Many, many courageous warriors are out among these people every day. Keeping a wary eye, brave Iraqi and U.S. soldiers and civilians bring big bags of rice and flour and hope to families like this girl’s.
She has a real need. I don’t know what group she’s from; frankly, my dear, I don’t give a (blank). None of us should. She’s a small child. That’s good enough for me, whether she’s Sunni or Shi’a, Arab or Kurd, Black, White, or Purple. She simply deserves a safe, nurturing environment, purely by virtue of being an innocent little human with an absolute right to life.
Please be mindful of these complexities today.
Copyright © 2008 by Jack Oatmon. All rights reserved.
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28. The World in Iraq
[Adapted from my monthly hardcopy newspaper column, For Goodness' Sake, in Front Porch magazine]
Armed Turkish soldiers encircled me, the solitary American. They were moving closer, speaking in that mysterious language. I was only too aware that I had no weapon besides my own two hands. Suddenly, everyone paused as we heard the ferocious sounds of a running machine gun battle closer in toward Baghdad. That fight wasn’t far from my hooch, a half mile away….
Armed Turkish Soldier
This incident occurred a couple of months ago. It’s all true, but today I’m delighted to report that I am neither dead nor detained. I’m comfortably tucked in with a coffee and a keyboard, in fact. Please indulge me as I elaborate:
One of the best parts of moving around Iraq now is the opportunity to meet up with the numerous international forces comprising the Coalition. Over my 42 years I’ve lived in many of their countries (thirty-plus, at last count), exploring those cultures with the curiosity and enthusiasm of a small child.
In the early 1990’s, my stay in Turkey lasted a full year. (This was coincident with the collapse of the Soviet Union, but no, I won’t take credit for that one.)
I would drink chai in the tea gardens with my best friend Hayri. We spoke for hours about his father the Muslim cleric, the qualities of carpets in Hayri’s rug shop, and how horribly I had offended nearby little old ladies with my inadvertent mispronunciations. (Early on, Hayri had to hustle me off to different tea gardens frequently to escape the scorching glares of victims of my linguistic drive-bys.)
Years later I learned that Hayri had, like me, made his way into the military as a commando. He led a squad in southeastern Turkey against Kurdish fighters of the PKK, an organization that Turkey identified as terrorist. It’s funny how a preacher’s humble son from a small town would end up in that business.
It’s funny how people from across the human spectrum can come to be involved in violence against strangers. Our natural instincts to protect our “own” against dangerous “others” are expanded to include institutional us-vs.-them purposes.
Spetsnaz Commando Jumping, Throwing Hatchet
I once had hot dogs and beer on my patio with the head of Spetsnaz (Russia’s version of our Special Forces). We discussed how pleasant it was to not be enemies for the time being. We also discussed how, in the unpleasant case of international relations “going south” again, should we find ourselves face-to-face on a hillcrest…only the quicker would walk away.
Duty is like that.
Fast forward to this month and the Turks surrounding me. These Liaison Officers were friends of mine, at a “Hail and Farewell” party they were hosting for a change of staff. They had invited me and a variety of international colleagues; I enjoyed speaking Russian with the Ukrainian and Georgian, Turkish with the Azerbaijani and our hosts, some Arabic with the Jordanian, and English with the rest. I was unarmed, because at the time I was only working in the same palace as General Petraeus.
(This was in two different offices of the palace, you understand. Different floors, actually.)
It’s also true that, while these Turks surrounded me, we paused to listen to a running machine gun fight a half mile away…outside the base wall, but just barely. While our gathering represented the harmony possible among a dozen unlike nations, men were savagely killing each other within earshot. While the rage continued on those ancient streets, “micro-globalization” in one tiny trailer in Baghdad showed a flicker of hope for the future of this race.
Copyright © 2008 by Jack Oatmon. All rights reserved.
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25. You’re Wondering Why You Exist
Powerful Peace is creeping up on 2,000 hits in just two months. Regular membership of daily readers is increasing, much to the delight of its staff; this simultaneously puts a boot in the seat of my pants to provide more regular concepts for this more regular readership! To those in this category, I thank you. Thank you for contributing to what I consider to be our site, while I refine my ability to make it worth your while.
[On that note, as an aside, I would encourage everyone to Comment frequently and reinforce the sense of "dialogue", rather than "lecture", which I believe is so important to our improved understanding of solutions in human conflict.]
[One more brief aside: I have a special treat coming tomorrow - our first serial Guest Author Columnist, or "GAC", will be posting his first installment tomorrow evening. Please sit on the edges of your seats until then; he's good!]
…Now back to our regular scheduled programming:
One thing you don’t see, looking in through the window of P2, is what shows up on our statistics trackers provided by WordPress here on the inside of the idea factory. It’s very, very interesting to watch these indicators. The number of viewers per day is illustrated, as well as per week, per month, and so on. It doesn’t stop there, though. For example, I see how many times a particular post is clicked, and the same for our internal links (like Dick Hoffman’s original article in the San Diego Union-Tribune.
What appeals to me far more than these numbers, however, as an artist of the human experience rather than an accountant of the same, is the listing of “search terms” used to find Powerful Peace from outside our site. Would you like to know what pings I see there, as written in your own words?
One common search term is “peace“. It’s heartwarming to watch this steady current of Internet users searching for answers on this sublime, and elusive, subject.
Another is “solutions to terrorism“. I get a major charge out of that one. Inherent in the question is the evidence of another segment of society who, like we in the P2 family, understand that there are options. There is hope. I never see anything along the lines of “hopelessness of terrorism’s ultimate victory”. We just know that there is hope. Terrorism itself is not simply a large, impersonal fact that we have to accept.
Naturally, terrorism exists, and naturally, we must act in response – notice that I said “response”, not “reaction”. We act, proactively, to find solutions that reactive animals are incapable of perceiving. The fact of terrorism is not in the same class as, say, the fact of weather. We don’t control the weather; we can influence the societal topsoil from which individual terrorists (the real problem) are springing. We can examine that topsoil and discover what specific factors nourished each one’s growth to eventually inspire such a corruption of human instinct.
As I always acknowledge, we still have to shoot or nab the hardest cases among today’s terrorist population…but we can affect future crops at the source, and watch those children grow into doctors, teachers, and leaders of healthy families. [For a fantastic film illustration of a child's susceptibility to negative or positive influence, please watch little Dia's transformation into a bloodthirsty murderer in Blood Diamond.]
Another interesting search term I was surprised to see periodically is “the only easy day was yesterday“. For those outside the SEAL community, I would tell you that it’s a very specific reference to the very specific rigors of SEAL training at BUD/S (Basic Underwater Demolition/SEAL).
I can imagine a small army of young, energetic men online, seeking to one day serve the world as honorable and heroic defenders. I picture the awesome potential in youthful optimism - and I am humbled to know that these young warriors can take my generation’s efforts to unimagined heights. Young brothers, keep the faith and follow that dream. Pick up that spear…and learn also when NOT to use it.
Above all, however, is the search term after which this post is titled. For some reason, and this will draw my attention for some time, the most common phrase that links to P2 is “why I exist“. That is absolutely fascinating.
That the question is asked so much by interested individuals on the Internet is very interesting. That it sends these same querents to our site – now that’s something special. Of course, we have a post by the same title…but I like to think there might be some deeper reason that people seeking meaning in life are drawn to the website for Powerful Peace.
The optimist prevails.
Copyright © 2008 by Jack Oatmon. All rights reserved.
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