Reactions and analysis of the evolving situation in Iraq, based on the author's experience working at Camp Victory and in the International Zone (Green Zone), plus occassional forays into the Red Zone - the real Iraq.

This report will reveal the results of conversations and experiences with Iraqi nationals, US troops, government personnel and candid observations of a most unusual situation, rarely reported in mainstream media.

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Iraq Exposed

Washington DC 2005

Before leaving a few people asked why I was going to Iraq. Since returning nobody has asked why I went. While I was there people talked about this question all the time. My answer was simple; Iraq was at the nexus of history and I wanted to be a part of that. Others wanted to make a lot of money quickly; some wanted to make some big deals and most of the troops were just doing there jobs. I never met anyone who thought they were spreading democracy, or saving the world. And very few were motivated by a desire to help the Iraqi people.

I arrived in Washington DC and met the other three members of our team that had been recruited to work on a State Department contract in Iraq. Our team consisted of two Iraqi ex-pats, a Palestinian-American and myself, a born and bred American. As we shared our stories about how we came to be there, it became apparent that the contractor, our employer, had little idea of what they were doing and little expertise in the field of post-conflict reconstruction. Nonetheless, they had won the contract.

Our first task was to figure out how to navigate through the red tape to get the required visas, identity cards and pre-deployment training. Our employee had no idea what to do and the federal bureaucracy was little better. Eventually we enrolled in the Diplomatic Security and Counter-Terrorism Course (DSAC), which included briefings on Arab culture and language, emergency medical treatment for such things as “sucking chest wounds,” and fieldwork with explosives and weapons training – essential elements of nation-building. 

In our brief time in the DC office it became clear that the contractor was unclear about its goals and objectives. One principle wanted to focus on commercial investments, the other wanted to concentrate on military work; neither showed any interest in the reconstruction work called for in our contract with the US State Department. The real name of the game was profiteering.

Our four-man team flew from Washington to Frankfurt and into Amman, Jordan and learned we’d been booked on one of the first flights into Baghdad operated by the new Iraqi Airways. The torn and tattered seats suggested that the word “new” was actually just a marketing slogan. As the plane approached the “new” Baghdad International Airport, the pilot began evasive maneuvers to avoid ground fire, missile or RPG attacks. The plane began a sharp corkscrew dive, circling above the airport. Aside from the obvious fear factor, this approach afforded an excellent view of the airport and surrounding US military bases at Camp Victory and Camp Liberty.

Baghdad, Iraq 2005

After a cursory customs inspection, arriving passengers were met at the curb by their escorts, battered cars for returning Iraqis and armored SUVs with armed security guards for foreigners. The armed guards put on a good show surrounding the cars, as if each was a presidential limo, and ready to repel an imminent attack. To our disappointment, our escorts arrived in battered cars. We’d been told of this low-profile tactic, but agreed that low-budget was more like it. The short drive to Camp Victory was tense but uneventful. The airport and camp Vic area are a desert scrubland, with scattered commercial buildings, dotted with no-nonsense military checkpoints and concrete blast walls.

At Camp Vic we were shown to our room in a large tent, surrounded by sand bags where we got some much-needed sleep before our scheduled midnight ride into the Green Zone on the notorious Rhino Bus. After a few hours rest, we were given a brief tour of Saddam’s Al Faw Palace and dined at the DFAC (dining facility). By early evening the light winds had turned the air into a thick brown cloud of choking desert dust that would force cancellation of the Rhino Bus. Apparently, these heavily armored buses were not allowed to travel the 8 miles highway, known as “Route Irish,” without air cover, which was grounded by the dust storm. Route Irish is considered the most dangerous road in the world. The modern four-land highway has two typical interchanges; one is considered Abu Nidal territory, the other a Wahhabi stronghold.  Wahhabis are an extremist Muslim sect based in Saudi Arabia and adamantly opposed to westerners and their decadent culture. 

Two nights later, after the choking sand storms cleared, we arrived in Baghdad’s Green Zone, now officially called the International Zone (IZ), following a grueling 5-hour ordeal on the Rhino. Despite the good news being reported stateside, security clearly remained a major obstacle to even the most basic travel in Iraq.

The Green Zone

The Green Zone, or IZ, is located in central Baghdad on what seems like a peninsula, formed by a large bend in the Tigris River. The IZ is about 4 miles wide by 5 miles long, with two bridges leading into downtown. Surprisingly, not all of the peninsula is within the fortified IZ area. In fact, access to one of the bridges entails exiting the IZ near the Al-Rasheed Hotel and traversing a densely populated part of the Red Zone to reach the bridge. The 14th of July Bridge, near the embassy, connects the IZ to the Kerrada District. The checkpoints at these gates and at Camp Prosperity gate are targets of continual suicide bomb attacks.

Our new home was in a rented one-level villa, renting for a staggering $25,000 a month. We found a few photos of the former occupants and wondered about their fate. The flat roof provided a good view of Saddam’s nearby parade grounds, famous for the massive crossed swords at the entrance. After meeting our in-country teammates, we slept until awakened by a nearby explosion. I rushed to the rooftop in what would become my standard drill. A cloud of smoke rose in the distance but further way than expected given the blast’s impact. Driven back inside by the searing Iraqi heat, we began settling in, as helicopters thundered overhead and we rushed back to the roof. The villa sat directly beneath the flight path of the Black Hawk helicopters ferrying passengers between the IZ and Camp Vic.  The Black Hawks fly in pairs about every half hour from dawn to dusk, rattling windows and shaking furniture. – unless grounded by the regular multi-day sand storms.

Motivated by grumbling stomachs we ventured out to find the local DFAC (dining facility) at Camp Prosperity, about two miles down the road. Traffic in the IZ is sparse, but unpredictable. Iraqis have no road sense and drive slowly; private military contractors (PMCs) have total disregard for road safety and drive at very high speed, presumably to avoid attacks, but actually to impress their high-value passengers. Meanwhile, the ever-present HUMVEE patrols drive slowly, forcing traffic back-ups since no one is allowed to pass them. Large signs on the HUMVEES warn drivers to “Stay Back 100 meters, or You Will Be Shot.” Fortunately, these patrols light you up with a large spotlight before they open fire.

Inside the IZ the roads are lined along both sides with tall, concrete, inverted T-walls, or blast walls. These same walls are used around residential trailers to contain explosions from incoming mortars and rockets. Major checkpoints are located at perimeter entrances to the IZ and lesser checkpoints are set up on roads approaching the US embassy compound.

Virtually every building, house or complex has armed private security and barriers to block entry. Our villa was located on a small through street with bollards and swing gates at either end, guarded by unidentified men with AK-47s. Despite the security presence, most facilities didn’t appear very secure to a serious attack and if fighting broke out there would be no way to know who’s shooting at whom.

I found the DFACs outstanding. These large mess halls prepare 4 meals a day with a wide variety of items to appeal to virtually any taste. Granted, many items taste alike and this is not haute cuisine, but this is an area where the military, Halliburton and other food contractors deserve high marks. They serve everything from custom omelets, hamburgers, roast turkey, bar-b-q ribs and steaks, to crab legs, salads, taco bars, curry bars, baked goods, deserts and Baskin Robbins ice cream. Red Bull and Power Play energy drinks are in high demand.

Camp Prosperity is home to the 3rd Infantry Division. Parking lots are crowded with UMVEES, Bradley Fighting vehicles and Abrams M1A1 tanks. The DFACs are unusual restaurants, seating about 500 at long tables with white plastic chairs. Food is served buffet style and as troops chow down, the floors are littered with a large assortment of weapons, making it a bit challenging to walk around.  One can’t help but wonder what madness would ensue if there was an attack or shooting incident.

The entrance to Prosperity is adjacent to the gate into the IZ from Route Irish. Traffic is relatively light, primarily Iraqis who work in the Green Zone and arrive daily on buses or in cars. Halliburton operates a shuttle bus service throughout the IZ, as it does within Camp Vic and Camp Liberty as well. It is uncomfortable being near Iraqis standing in lines as they are constant magnets for suicide bombers, but this discomfort gives one some insight in the everyday dangers that confront ordinary people going about there everyday affairs.

The US Embassy compound requires a special embassy badge and is thus off-limits to most contractors, military personnel and Iraqi workers. In fact, it’s virtually impossible to get in, even if you’re an American citizen in need of help. Most of officialdom is doubly cloistered from the real world of Iraq, with their own DFAC, their own private swimming pool and the highest level of security.

Into The Red Zone

As fascinating as it is to visit Iraq, no trip is complete with a foray into the Red Zone – the real Iraq. Most official visitors, like President Bush, Rumsfeld, Powell or Rice and the long line of congressional visitors never leave the fortified Green Zone or military bases. If they do venture into the red zone, the convoy would look like the Normandy invasion. Despite their secret itineraries, it’s easy to tell when the big shots are coming. Hoards of Iraqi workers appear to sweep the streets the day before. On the day of the visit the security measures go into over-drive, with tanks and armor stationed at every bridge and intersection. These blow-in visitors assure us that things are moving forward, progress is being made and the Iraqi people are taking charge of their future.

My first trip into the real world entailed loading our weapons and driving over 14 July Bridge, pulling into an alley and then splitting up into different vehicle while Iraqi took over driving. Our destination was near the Palestine Hotel, about two miles from the bridge. While insurgents and terrorists are the biggest worry, Iraqi drivers are nearly as dangerous. Apparently, there are no rules of the road, laws, or police; driving the streets of Baghdad is an absolute free-for-all, where audacious driving is rewarded with progress. Despite the aggressive driving, road rage is not a problem. Once it is clear that another car has gained the tactical advantage, Iraqi drivers back off to avoid collisions.  Apparently, Americans aren’t as compliant; our cars were battered, bruised and beaten, even though they had less than 1000 miles on the odometers. The company cars were also usually broken down and nobody knew how to get them fixed. Not a problem, the government will pay for new ones.

Although our Iraqi drivers appeared up to the task, the question quickly arose; who are these guys? Answer; trusted Iraqi nationals. It’s true that we had entrusted them with our lives, but it was also true that our company had no idea who they were; just friends and family of other Iraqis who came highly recommended. The company had no means to investigate prospective Iraqi workers. But were the Iraqis being paid more to work for us than they could make selling us out to the bad guys?  The simple answer was, no, not by a long shot.

The RZ and IZ are like night and day. The IZ is pretty safe and relatively quiet. The RZ is a beehive of activity, bustling with life and dangerous. Baghdad looks like parts of Mexico with many concrete or masonry block buildings, streets in disrepair, open sewers in the streets, abundant litter and little sense of planning and organization. Street commerce is common, amid a plethora of small shops, or hadjiis. Some Iraqi shops specialize in related products, but many sell a bit of everything. Pirated software, music and movies are sold everywhere, including the IZ. Despite its oil resources, Iraq is perhaps only at the upper tier of the third world. It’s the Iraqi people who are intelligent, not necessarily their leaders.

Based on their dress, the Iraqi people fall into two groups, the secular and the religious. Secular Iraqis are predominantly poor, or striving and pretending to be prosperous, though a lucky few are affluent. They dress in western style clothes and slather themselves in fragrances. Religious Iraqis wear traditional garb and are even poorer, so they don’t use perfume as freely. There appears to be a powerful drive to get rich in Iraq, which may account for the rampant corruption, but in this regard Iraqis seem little different than their American occupiers. 

Electricity is unpredictable and in short supply, air conditioning rarely works properly and the streets are a cacophony of potholes, signs and street activity. Electricity is usually available for about 4 hours per day.The IZ also has electricity shortages but compensates with huge, noisy, belching diesel generators parked in front of nearly every building. Since its liberation the number of cars has risen dramatically, causing traffic jams and fuel shortages. It’s difficult to understand how people get the money for cars and fuel, food, clothing and commerce amid war and insurrection.

Like the IZ, armed men are everywhere, guarding buildings or even entire streets, but to an outsider it’s impossible to tell who’s who. Presumably, men with guns are authorized to have them, though there are no uniforms or other outward indicators of who they are, or whom they represent.

Until the fall of 2004, journalists, government contractors and NGOs were reasonably able to travel around many parts of Iraq. However, after the Abu Ghraib prisoner abuse scandal and a series of kidnappings, beheadings and widespread insurgent attacks, the RZ became increasingly a no-go zone for foreigners. Today most of the news reporting and images coming out of Iraq come from Iraqi reporters and cameramen. Foreigners who venture into the RZ are usually accompanied by private security details (PSDs), travel in armored SUVs, move quickly and don’t stay long in any one place. The longer foreigners stay put, the more likely word of their presence will spread and attract trouble.

An alternative mode of travel to high-profile PSDs involves the use of low-profile vehicles and no security. My subsequent trips into the RZ were all low-profile and unaccompanied. This attempt to blend in to the local scenery has its pros and cons. The main advantage is that older, beat-up cars don’t attract attention like high-profile SUVs. The disadvantage is that the occupants have very limited protection and must not wear distinguishable cloths, hats, sunglasses, or look American. While a low profile may fool Iraqis, it can also fool the US and coalition troops, who are nervous, under stress and even more dangerous.

One soldier described the occupation as being like a car tire driving through water. The army “occupies” the place where they are, but as soon as they move the waters rush back to reclaim the space they have left. I’d suggest that the so-called occupation of Iraq might be better described as “…islands of insecurity amid a sea of madness.”

Freaks, Geeks and Psychos

The soldiers are in Iraq because that’s their job and that’s where they’ve been sent, but what about all the other folks. As the insurgency gained momentum most of the NGOs left the country. The US has come to rely more and more on private contractors, who in turn employ whomever they can find to work there, often regardless of their skills, experience or psychological stability. The US State Department and other government agencies have sent staff to fill key positions, though many jobs go unfilled as budgets shrink, recruiting stalls and security demands grow in disproportion. That leaves a rather strange assortment of people to inhabit the Green Zone.

As the fledgling Iraqi government worked on writing its constitution and organizing elections, career government personnel were on hand to help. Among the primary organizations managing work in Iraq have been the Project Contracting Office (PCO), the Iraq Reconstruction Management Office (IRMO) and the US Army Corps of Engineers (USACE). These are the geeks and they can be identified walking around unarmed, wearing armor vests and helmets, even at the swimming pool. These folks use dirty words like: nuance, argot and fungible. Ultimately, they may be most responsible for determining Iraq’s political outcome. Most were appalled to learn that Zalmay Kalilizad had been appointed Ambassador to Iraq.

A second subculture is the freaks, usually men drawn to Iraq to make a quick buck. They come from a weird variety of backgrounds, often military or intelligence and occasionally international businesses. They are the wheeler-dealers, willing to take any risk to get any work that pays well. Although some are functional, most have little concern for actually completing the work; the objective is simply to submit invoices and collect the money – they’re called war profiteers.

And then there are the psychos. Given the level of violence, the demand for security contractors is enormous. Initially, contractors like Blackwater and Dyncorp dominated this work, using qualified personnel. Soon, low-cost contractors began making inroads driving costs and quality ever lower. The result is gangs of tattooed, muscle-bound mutants, free to operate without military discipline and with only limited accountability. Were it not for wars, it’s difficult to imagine where some of these guys could find legal work. The guys backed up by armies of foreign security people from around the world from Ghurkas to gerkas. Language skills aren’t a pre-requisite so communication is extremely difficult.

Finally, there are the soldiers. The American media, military families and veterans and politicians often hype the sense of duty and honor that drives our young men and women in what sounds like hollow praise and propaganda, especially in the aftermath of numerous scandals. The truth is they’re right. The only time I heard any empathy for the Iraqi people was from the troops. The only people clearly appalled by terrorist attacks on innocent Iraqi kids were U.S. soldiers. These soldiers stoically stand guard in full battle gear in 115-degree heat. They load up there HUMVEES, armored or not and go out on senseless patrols because that’s their job. They come back to the DFAC even after they’ve lost their buddies, or seen innocent people slaughtered; they eat dinner and go back out again. They greet you politely and talk about their hometowns and their plans for the future. Out at Camp Vic one night, I asked a soldier where he’d found the Rice Chex cereal at the DFAC. He told me and said I might have to dig to find one. A short while later, he came over to me and offered me his. Then he went out on a midnight patrol.

Sure, there are a few bad apples, as there are in any organization, but they’re far more common in Washington, or among our elected leaders, or among career-driven officers, or among those who take a country needlessly to war, immune to the human costs.

Reconstruction

Following three months or preparation for deployment and one week of preparing to get to work, our reconstruction contract was cancelled. The company billed the government  $500,000 for costs to date. There were no results to report - none. 

During the pre-deployment DSAC course, we had an opportunity to meet and talk with most of the other participants. These included guys from the FBI, State Department employees, and so forth. In Iraq, I attempted to stay in contact with some of these folks. One guy was a senior manager with Haliburton, who had been working on restoring the Iraqi electrical system. To Iraqis this project had become a litmus test of American resolve and ability to rebuild Iraq and it jsut wasn't happening. The Haliburton manager had left the company and joined the State Department, hoping he could break through the bureaucratic log jam and expedite progress.

He'd already been through a lot and had seen more than enough death and destruction at the hands of the insurgents. When I found I was out of work, I gave him a call. Two weeks into his work with State, he'd already quit in hopeless despair. Sadly, this was a guy who really cared and was committed to the work. Dedicated, capable people like this were rare...and like others before and after, he was gone.

I was transferred to work on a different contract involved with Information Operations and Psychological Warfare, or PSYOPS. And that’s another story altogether…Watch for:

Inside the Murky World of PSYOPS

PSYOOPS and the Law of Unintended Consequences