I wrote about dust and wind, but when Chrissy asked me if I would write about water, I told her probably not, because there was not enough water around here to comment about. Today there was. We had a bodacious Noah-class thunderstorm, one of the most violent thunderstorm I ever experienced. It knocked out our power and left big and deep puddles all over the place. The disadvantage of boots designed for the desert became quickly apparent as I walked through ankle deep water.
I went out to run at around 5 pm. It was a normal day until then, a little dusty. As I ran NW I notice the sky was very black. There was a bank of clouds coming. It looked like something out of an apocalyptical movie, or on the funnier side, that sky scene from Ghost Busters. The black clouds looked angry. I ran out for around five minutes and then decided better to turn around and run back home, quick as I could. That was smart. Even as I ran back I could feel the big cold drops begin to fall. The wind picked up. Fortunately, it was right at my back so it pushed me along and I didn’t get the rain in the face. Just as I got back to my can, all hell seemed to break loose. Think of the storm music from the William Tell Overture. It just started to pound like that. It went on for around a half hour and then, also like the storm in the William Tell Overture, just stopped.
Now it is clear but chilly. The rain washed the dust out of the air and it smells good to have a little moisture in clean air. I am writing this part at night on battery. Tomorrow I will go out and take some pictures of the water in the daylight. Although I expect much will have drained off, I think there still will be a lot.
The ground here does not accept water. It doesn’t soak in. What doesn’t drain off just sits on the surface until it dries out, leaving a salty ring to make the erstwhile puddle.
A long time ago in my Foreign Service career I discovered the Mayor Daley rule. The Mayor Daley rule is named after the major of Chicago (take your pick which one) and it is simply a test of reasonableness. It works like this. When planning to provide/inflict a program or policy on our foreign friends and colleagues, I ask myself how I would feel if a foreigner proposed doing a similar type of program in the U.S. To make it more concrete, I think of it how it would play in Milwaukee or Chicago.
If I conclude that it would be inappropriate applied to us/me/Milwaukee/Chicago, I have to ask myself why I think it is appropriate for them. Sometimes after further consideration I understand that it IS appropriate, but usually I have to modify the program in light of the paradigm shifting thought experiment.
It is also important to be aware of CHANGING circumstances. I remember when working in Poland many of the programs that worked well right after the fall of communism were no longer useful a few years later. At some point, our tutelage is no longer required. That doesn’t mean that the job is done; it only means that we cannot take it any further. Our goal as a PRT is exactly this – helping the Iraqis get beyond needing our help.
I remember when we taught Mariza how to ride a bike. I always held onto the seat and she couldn’t balance alone. Then I let go and before she realized she was balancing by herself; she was riding. Of course, she kept on going and ran right into a brick wall on the side of the road. I can still picture it on the little road above our house in Oslo. I raced over to make sure she was okay. She was happy to have been able to ride the bike and didn’t seem to consider the fall very important.
The reason I am thinking about this has to do with some of our governance programs. A couple of our contract trainers were weathered in at Al Asad on their way to Rutbah. They wanted to turn around and go back. This would have been a bad thing, since we promised a program to Rutbah and we need to keep our word. I saw that communication in person would be better so I drove up to the landing zone with one of our Marines to encourage them to press on. They ended up taking our advice. In the process of talking to them I also got a chance to find out more about their program. The program seemed very good, but I wonder if it passed the Mayor Daley test.
I am concerned that the program was too generic. Every place is different and programs must be adjusted to local needs. I am afraid what we are doing might be like taking the Chicago program to San Francisco w/o modification. Comments about Cubs & Bears probably would not mean the same things in both places. I don’t directly manage these particular programs or people & I am not aware of any trouble, but I am making it my business to figure out how well they are working in light of the Mayor Daley rule.
Above and around the post are pictures from a recent helicopter ride. One of the cool things we get to do is ride in helicopters. These flew very close to the ground and I got to see a lot of desert, river and green fields I usually do not see so close up. In the little helicopters, you can come close enough to the trees to pick leaves (if you were foolish enough to reach out).
This will be a tough month. The ePRT was set up last year about this time and this year many of the first waves of team members are rotating out. I am losing some of my best people. They have a wealth of experience that they are taking with them.
Rotations are always hard. We work so closely and intensely together and these guys have become my friends. I am also seriously concerned that our team will be weaker w/o their expertise.
The case that upsets me the most is Reid. He is a good friend AND he would like to stay for a couple more months, but our arcade rules do not allow it. It is ironic that we implore and compel people to come to Iraq and at the same time send willing volunteers home when they want to stay and when they still are doing a great job.
Reid jokes about Al Asad that it is like being in prison in several ways: you have a set routine; you are surrounded by a fence; you cannot leave; and the way you got to either place sounded like a good idea at the time.
On the other hand, I am also half way home. I got here in late September and this is about the mid-point. My replacement has been named. I understand that there were a few people who wanted my job. That is good. FSOs come through when we are really needed, even if we grumble along the way. I am glad that there is somebody lined up to carry on the work. I am glad I volunteered, glad I am here and I will be glad to be finished. This has been a remarkable experience.
The work is very interesting and I get to do things I never imagined, but I miss Chrissy & the kids. I miss the green and pleasant places back home. Beyond that, the job here is very stressful. I worry that I am not doing a good job. What am I overlooking or just not doing right? In this kind of job, you never know for sure and the stakes are very high. I am often literally asking my colleagues to risk their lives and the Marines risk their lives whenever they protect one of our missions. This is a big responsibility. I am so grateful that we have so far had no serious incidents.
Today has not been a great day, but I am confident that tomorrow will be better. After all, where else can you do the things we do?
The picture is from my walk to the bottom of the Grand Canyon – and back up a few years ago. It was a long day and thinking of it reminds me that things take time and lots of forces working together over time create big results.
When thinking about my role as ePRT leader, many of the usual management descriptions spring to mind such as coach, mentor and various sports or military analogies. Of course routine management of staff and resources takes up the bulk of the time. They are necessary, but often not the most value-adding activiites. On further consideration a less common analogy came to mind, one that probably adds the most value for the leader of a diverse team – reporter.
All the members of my team are experts. They know lots of things I don’t know and they often work where I cannot watch them, far away from Al Asad doing the things they are especially qualified to do. I have to trust them. It is impossible for me precisely to direct their work; more correctly it is impossible for me to direct them closely and expect good results, because (see above) they have skills and talents that are beyond my own. I need to take advantage of their skills, imagination, innovation and initiative while still guiding them toward our common goals so that each member can best contribute his/her skills to achieve those goals. Synergy is the tired old word, but it applies well to teamwork like ours. It applies even more when you consider that our skills and actions are only part of the total effort that involves so many other USG & military officers, contractors and – most important – our Iraqi friends and allies. It is much more appropriate to think in terms of influence rather than authority.
Just keeping up with all the good work they are doing and helping other do is almost a full time job. I found the best way to get this done is to use the skills of a journalist/analyst rather than a boss or supervisor. When team members return from sojourns in the field, I sit down with them and listen to their experiences, concerns and aspirations. I put myself in the mind set of a reporter and ask myself how I would explain this in a written article and then how I might answer questions if I was on one of the panels on a Sunday morning news program. Of course, listening is good leadership and understanding is essential to right action, but this is only the first step. My responsibility goes beyond asking questions and reporting. My job is to coordinate and guide the whole team and create synergies among team members. If I were to plot my team members’ activities on a Venn diagram, I add the most value when I can find and accentuate the places of overlap. Let me illustrate with an example.In the Hadithah region, I asked my USDA expert to partner with local officials to enhance plans for restoring land productivity in ways that were both ecologically and economically sustainable. At the same time, our governance expert worked on issues of land tenure. Cloudy land title is one of the biggest impediments to responsible development in the region. (Little things like a small QRF grant to organize the records office can leverage into much bigger results.) All the while our business development team member developed and implemented a plan for an equipment rental operation as our city planning expert delivered GPS mapping software to expedite forecasting and platting of communication networks and communities. Each of these tasks was worth doing on its own merits, but when coordinated the total accomplishment will be greater than the sum of its parts. That is what I do when I am successful and I think the talent for doing this is the key skill for PRT leaders.
Lao Tzu says about leadership that when the best leaders have accomplished their purposes, the people say that they have done it by themselves. That is good team advice. I also find that thinking about my job and writing it for others who are unfamiliar with the details helps me understand my own plans. Thanks for listening. Comments are welcome. Any of my team reading this – we can talk.
Some bandits robbed a train last week. I thought that only happened in “Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid” days. Unfortunately in this case no horsemen came galloping out of a boxcar to chase the miscreants. They got away with some oil bound for the refinery at K3. I really don’t know any details of the circumstance. It was probably just an inside job and a lot less picturesque than I imagine it. But I have been learning a little re the transportation network in Iraq.
Iraq has the biggest rail network in the Middle East. Rail lines reach from beyond Mosul in the north, west to Al Qaim and south to the Persian Gulf. During the early 20th Century, the Berlin to Baghdad railroad line (part of which was the famous Orient Express) was an irritant in German-British relationship, as the Brits thought the Kaiser in league with the Turkish Sultan, who controlled Mesopotamia, would use the rail network to threaten access to their colony in India. Iraq was in the middle of things then and geography has not changed.
In a reasonably peaceful Middle East, Iraq will serve as a gateway from east to west, north to south. I am told that container ships could offload their cargos in the Eastern Med ports onto railroad cars, which could then go overland through Iraq to the Persian Gulf where they could either serf local markets or be transshipped. Goods could also go the other directions. It would cut shipping time by about a week over going through the Suez Canal and save millions per shipment. Containerization of cargo makes this a profitable venture.
The Iraqis recently ran their first passenger train from Baghdad to Basra. This is more of a political than an economic endeavor. Passenger rail loses money. This trip to Basra cost around $6000 more than it made in revenue, even fully loaded. I personally love passenger rail, but the economics are tough.
Tougher than passenger rail are prestige airports. Iraq has lots of airports. Saddam Hussein built them for his vast air force, which he never used. Some people say that they should be converted to civilian use. The is easier said than done, or put correctly cheaper said than done. Most big passenger airports also lose money.
In the case of both rail and air, the freight tends to make money and the passengers lose money. It is not widely appreciated that the U.S. has one of the best rail systems in the world. I found an interesting webpage re. It is overlooked because ours is mostly a freight rail system. The Europeans move people; we move goods. One is easier to see than the other, but the efficacy of our rail system is reflected in the less expensive goods we can get.
Away from the ocean or big rivers, what doesn’t move by rail usually moves by road. It is best to take as many trucks as possible off the road, by putting their loads on rail. I prefer to ride my bike or take a train, but I know that most people prefer to drive. If the choice is between taking the passenger car or the big truck off the road, I think taking the truck off is the obvious choice.
The realization that container cargo could be sent throught Iraq like this was a surprise to me, a paradigm shift. Ferdinand de Lesseps would also be surprised and perhaps a little chagrined that his great creation was being outclassed by something as mundane as freight rail. Maybe they should play the chorus from Aida as they load the first rail cars.
The picture is not Iraq. It is from one of the spots I used to hang around as a kid in Milwaukee. People often think this is “virgin forest”. This wall dividing forest from forest shows how nature regenerates. You often find signs of walls and fences that used to mark cultivated fields that are now in the middle of the woods.
Iraqi Colonel seemed almost a little shy at first. He answered questions with as few words as possible and did not elaborate much beyond what was required. When we went down to breakfast, of flatbread, eggs, cheese and marmalade, there were often long silences. Then we started to talk about agriculture in Iraq.
It seems the colonel is the proud owner of 25 donum (in Iraq 1 donum = 0.62 acres) of farmland between Basra and Karbala. Twenty-five donum is a fairly good sized farm around here, especially 25 donum of irrigated land. The colonel grows truck farm products like tomatoes and has tried, so far w/o success, to raise a few beef cattle.
We talked about the importance of being close to the soil, one (part-time) farmer to another. The colonel mentioned that he had seen some good irrigated and dry land farming practices in Jordan and Egypt and in the not too distant past Iraq had also been a leader in this area. Unfortunately, agriculture had fallen into a state of disrepair. The unsettled conditions of the war didn’t help, but much of this problem resulted from the challenge of a country like Iraq that is rich in oil wealth. Many farmers didn’t want to stay on the land, because they saw opportunities for more money and less work in the non-farm economy. Often the best farmers were the first to leave because they had the resources to go and try something else.
Iraq is not like the Eastern U.S. or Central Europe. In these rainy places, when people stop cultivating the land, you get weeds, grass and then little trees. Within only around twenty years in a place like Virginia you have a beginner forest. It quickly reverts to a natural state. Iraq also reverts to a natural form when the hand of man is removed, but the natural form in most of this place is desolate desert. It takes significant human effort to create productive land and significant effort to maintain it. When maintenance stops, it can be disastrous, as trees and vegetation die setting up a depressing domino effect of fewer plants sustaining ever fewer plants until there is nothing left but dust and after the wind blows that away, there is nothing at all. Dust to dust. Restoration is possible. We agreed that restoration would be good for the Iraqi economy and even better for the Iraqi spirit.
Foreign terrorists are the most serious problem, but fraud at border crossings is a border crossing problem in all times and places and routine fraud is a lot more common. The POE at Waleed processes many travelers every day and among the travelers are some dishonest people, some very clever.
The new director of the passport unit was a real professional. He showed us a variety of fake visas, each more professionally done than the last. At first they were easy to detect. Forgers merely replaced a page or photo shopped in a different picture. They became more and more professionally done. Eventually, the only way to tell the fraudulent passports from the real ones was by matching their serial numbers. Finally it was not even possible to do that. The director showed us a perfect fake passport. If it was perfect, how did it come to be detected? The director was a very intelligent man, but unassuming. He reminded me of Colombo on the old television series, a little disheveled and diffident. He explained that his experience made him think something was wrong. As he asked a few questions, it became clear that the passport holder knew few details about the city where he ostensibly lived. The director cracked the case the old fashioned way: with experience, persistence and intelligence. As I said, a real professional.
The director told us that the most common passport besides Iraqi was Syrian. This is not surprise at the Syrian border. Next most common? Swedish. Who’d a thought that? But it makes sense. Lots of Iraqis have gone to Sweden over the years seeking asylum. Now they come back, at least temporarily, but it is still good to have that kind of document.
The POE has access to decent equipment, but it is hooked up to a primitive system. To make the black light machine work properly, the director had to jiggle the plug in the outlet. Offices left the impression of an abandoned building. The director told us that he was going to go down to Baghdad and make sure he got some renovations done. If he is as good at this part of his job as he is at detecting fraud, he will probably succeed.
I always thought it was a joke. Iraqi men would ask me if I was married. When I said, “yes”, they would ask me how many wives. We both laughed a little. Then a couple of weeks ago, I thought I would play along with the joke and when they told me that they were married, I asked the same question about wives. To my surprise, it had been a serious question and almost everybody has more than one. It should not have come as a surprise. This is a Muslim country and the men I meet are usually well off and so are the kinds of guys who can afford larger families, but somehow it never really occurred to me.
Some of these guys are very active. One old toothless sheik has a very young son from a very young new wife. While I suspect it is possible that there might be more men on the job, nobody is particularly surprised by this. A local mayor mentioned in passing that he had three wives and fourteen kids. He also said, perfunctorily, that he was getting married next week. When I pressed him on the fact that he didn’t seem that excited, he explained that he was just marrying his sister in law. His brother had died and somebody had to take care of her. He got the job to keep it all in the family.
The extended family is one of the pillars of the polygamy. We tend to project the system into the American context of a nuclear family just with a couple additional women. That is not really how it works here. It is more of a welfare system married (literally) to a system of tribal or dynastic alliances. Tribal affiliation is the key to success for individuals. You can be born into a tribe or you can marry into a tribe and if you are particularly clever you can marry into up to four tribes. This both complicates and simplifies genealogy because after a few generations there are lots of overlaps, so you have fewer family lines but a lot more permutations among them.
If you assume that there is rough gender parity for 18-25 year-olds, polygamy means that if some guys get two or three wives, others don’t get any at all, or at least they have to pick up the older women from the age groups where women come to outnumber men. I suppose in a culture where a lot of men died in warfare, such a system works out well. I recall reading about the Blackfoot Indians of Montana. They were a particularly warlike people and sometimes as many as 2/3 of the male population was killed in the low-level but perpetual warfare they favored. No matter. The remaining men did triple duty and each generation was as big as the one previous.
I don’t think this is the way it is working in Iraq. It is just the traditional Muslim practice and seems fairly routine & uncontroversial at least among the men of western Al Anbar.
Angelina Jolie has been here, but this time it was only us. I don’t know how many Palestinians are stranded in the camp. The numbers evidently vary as people come and go. My guess is that there were around 1200 people in the camp, but I am not very good at these sort of estimates. I have heard estimates ranging from around 900-2000. These people had come from Baghdad around three years ago. During the bad days a couple years ago, various groups could not agree on much, but they often agreed that they did not like Palestinians. We really didn’t have a plan or any reason to go to the camp; we only wanted to see it because we are often asked about such things. It was not what I thought, not the picture I had in mind.
Actually the PICTURE was what I expected, the UNHCR tents, squalor and crowds of people hanging around w/o much to do. What was different from my mental model was what was going on and the people themselves. The people were friendly, but not particularly interesting in us. A few kids came around; some people gawked a bit, but most just went around their business, such as it was.
I stopped at a tent where they were selling fruit and vegetables. The bananas looked fresh and better than those we get in the chow hall. Tomatoes looked wholesome, but were imperfect, i.e. lots of bruises and nicks. Only the cauliflower didn’t look acceptable. It was past prime and browning. It was probably suitable only for soup. All the fruits and vegetables were well presented and the shopping area was neat. The shopkeeper told me that his wares came from Rutbah; most originated in Syria, but still came through Rutbah. I thought that was a little odd that things coming from Syria would pass right by the camp, go all the way to Rutbah and then come back, but the guy insisted that was the case. The grocery tent also sold rice and flour. I noticed that it said “product of Syria” in English on the bags. He didn’t have much rice on hand.
In nearby tents you could buy the other necessities of life such as cigarettes (Galois was the only brand I saw on offer) and various types of soft drinks. I didn’t see any contraband such as alcohol, but I didn’t look very hard. One shop featured as small number of canned good and there were some small consumer electrical products.
Just having a market surprised me but it makes sense. People naturally organize themselves around markets if they get the chance. The refugees get a food ration, so these foodstuffs are just supplements.
I didn’t see any fresh meat in the shops, but I did see fresh meat being produced. We were greeted by the sights, sounds and smells of butchering as we walked into the camp. I was not impressed by the sanitary conditions. We didn’t actually see the sheep slaughtered, but when we came in the blood was still flowing, running downhill and soaking into the sand. They had cut the head clean off and set it near the carcass. By the time we had finished our visit; they had largely skinned the beast and killed another. We did not see ourselves but were told that the butchers just toss the waste products near the highway overpass. We did see tuffs of hair blowing in the wind.
The camp featured a recreation hall and a school. We didn’t want to go into the school because we didn’t want to disrupt the classes. The recreation hall was decent sized. There was a fine pool table with some guys were playing pool. They evidently had no cue ball, but that did not deter them. There was also a few guys playing checkers and the television was on, tuned to Al Jazeera news.
The camp was an unpleasant place, but nobody looked undernourished or even very poorly dressed. This time of the year life is probably not very uncomfortable, but in the colder times of the winter and especially during the oppressive heat of summer conditions must be almost unbearable. At any time of the year, boredom must be a factor.
No real road connects the border forts along the berm that separates Iraq from Syria and Jordan. There is a sort of track, which in its better sections resembles a bad dirt road, but sometimes you cannot tell where the “road” starts and the flat desert floor ends. Fortunately, the desert is naturally hard and more or less paved with gravel. The bad news is that it is full of axle-busting ruts and tire piecing rocks.
As we rolled down the perdition highway between the border crossings at Trabil & Waleed, one of our Humvees got a flat tire. I was impressed at how fast the Marines deployed into defensive positions and got to the job of fixing the tire and moving along. Colonel Malay pitched in and helped with some of the heavy work. I took advantage of the unscheduled stop to make a head call. I took a canine-like pride in marking this section of featureless desert.
We stopped at a border fort commanded by an enlisted man. He took justifiable pride in how well his men cared for their weapons and generally maintained operations, but he was in a tight spot. He had not been receiving sufficient supplies of fuel, so he could not patrol as much as he might have wished. His diesel generator was turned off to save power, so there was no electricity. They were taking advantage of the weak sunlight and you could still see within the fort, but as shadows of evening spread over the place, it was getting harder.
His vehicles are in terrible shape. I remember as a kid watching the Baja Challenge, where off the road driver raced across the that rugged desert in a vehicle survival contest. The winner was not the fastest, but the one that made it to the finish line. This is what our Iraqi allies face every day and you can see from their vehicles that they are not always making it to the finish. The best thing anybody could do to make life better for these guys guarding the border would be to pave a road along the berm. This is their lifeline. (The Syrians have a asphalt track on their side of the berm.) It would probably pay for itself on saved vehicles and fuel within a short time.
Below is the berm taken from the window of the Humvee. It is certainly not Hadrian’s Wall or even Offa’s Dike, but it does deter anybody who wants to drive over the border and inspections can reveal breaches where people have crossed.
Morale at the fort we visited was surprisingly high. I just don’t think I would take such conditions so kindly, especially because many of the troops are evidently from Baghdad where it doesn’t get so cold. The sharp breeze blowing across the desert reminded anybody who needed the hint that we were not in Baghdad anymore. They seem to have decent food. We saw a goat carcass (at least the lower half) being readied for supper and rice was boiling in a big pot. I suppose good chow is helpful.
One of the Marines was telling me that when they go out on a joint operation with the Iraqis, our guys report that they have whatever day’s worth of MREs, water etc. The Iraqis report that they have enough of that flat bread they eat and Pepsi-Cola, the drink of choice among the Iraqi forces – after tea, of course. I suppose you can always count on finding a goat if you really need one.
The picture is me on the roof of the fort. Off to the distance on my left is Syria; off to the right is Jordan. You have to wonder why anybody would even bother to set up a border on a place like this, but I suppose you have to have some demarcation.
