Authors: Wesley R. Gray
Major Pyle, like many U.S. military commanders, always wanted to add complexity and extra bullshit to the Iraqi equation. In the Marines we can accept longer meetings that go over things in more detail. We can accept more attention to detail. We can accept time-consuming measures that lower risk. In summary, Marines are Americans, and Americans are typically risk averse when it comes to life or death situations. We do everything we can to mitigate risk, despite the fact the mitigation efforts will cost us in lost time.
But the Iraqis are completely different. They are much more willing to accept risk if they can waste less time in meetings and on mission preparation. The Iraqis will never accept the Marine way of doing things as the right way of doing things. Sure Marine methods may save someone's life every so often, but every second spent pontificating and addressing risk factors is time wasted to Iraqis. The cultural acceptance of death makes the
jundi
lazy. For Americans being labeled as “lazy” automatically carries negative connotations. Paradoxically Iraqis will think of positive connotations associated with being lazy. In their mind, lazy people are wise people.
I was starting to follow the Iraqi logic, despite how obtrusive it was to our mission in Iraq. Being lazy made perfect sense in the Iraqi environment. Imagine being raised in a Bedouin tribal culture, immersed in a searing desert environment where the next fight for survival could be at any moment. For any chance at survival you would make sure you didn't waste time or energy on frivolous activities. Wasted effort meant more water lost, more resources expended, and less readiness for an inevitable conflict. This attitude, I began to realize, pervades everything Iraqis do. Their laziness is an adaptation, a survival mechanism they use to cope with an extreme environment.
To get a better understanding of why Iraqis are so lazy, lack desire, and have no initiative, I approached our terp, Moody, whom I considered a sage on Iraqi politics and culture. “Jamaaaalll, come on in!” Moody shouted, as I entered the terp's swahut. Lebanese music videos were blaring on the television, and the smoke from Moody's hookah pipe engulfed his head. “Jamal, sit down, chill out, stay a while my friend.”
After a round of small talk I started my interview. “Moody, I'm going to be frank here. Why in the hell are the
jundi
so lazy?” Moody smiled and said, “Jamal, the answer is simple. Their country is at war, their families are in constant danger, they are not paid much, they live in Al Anbar, their work sucks, everyone is corrupt, they don't get a chance to see their families often, their relatives and friends are dying everyday, and there is no real incentive to even be alive. Would you be very motivated in this situation?” Before I could even answer Imus mysteriously popped out from under his bed sheets and said, “Jamal, if I already live in hell, why does it matter if I live or die? I do not care. Why would I put effort into anything?”
“Thanks for your two cents, Imus,” I replied. “You can go back to bed now.” I turned toward Moody again. “Moody, seriously, how can these guys be so lazy? Do they not have this same sense of patriotism or pride in their work as Americans? How can we get them motivated? Colonel Abass told me that in the old Iraqi army soldiers were more motivated.”
Moody broke things down like an economist. “Jamal, American soldiers are idiots when you think about it. Americans use pride, patriotism, and all that shit so they can pay their soldiers less money. And at the same time, the government is able to get them to do a very dangerous and crappy job. Think about it.” Moody looked at me then continued. “Colonel Abass is correctâat some level. In the past there was a lot more pride and sense of patriotism in the old Iraqi army, but let me tell you that Iraqi soldiers were still lazy back then. It's just that at that time Saddam was able to use fear to motivate the
jundi
. If they didn't perform their duties, they were pummeled or their families were beaten.”
I asked, “What's the solution?” Moody said, “Solution to curing Iraqi laziness? Ha!” He paused. “You want more soldiers? You want them to work harder and get more done?” He raised his voice and proclaimed, “Pay . . . them . . . more!”
I laughed aloud. Moody was spot on. “While I think there may be five idealistic patriots roaming the Iraqi countryside,” he ranted, “my guess is that the rest of those who join the Iraqi army don't believe in the government or the country. All they care about is getting a paycheck, feeding their families, and being a respected member in their tribal community. The Iraqi army is nothing more than a mercenary force made up from local tribes who are hired by the central government to do its bidding. The way to encourage mercenaries to do a better job is to pay them more money. It's pretty simple.”
“Militias? What about militias?” Mark stumbled from his rack and into the conversation. “Mark, what's going on, brother?” I said. “We weren't talking about militias, we were talking about how the Iraqi army is made up of mercenaries.” Mark replied, “Oh . . . well, I feel stupid.” I comforted him. “Sit down, man. Let's talk about militias, I guess it's related and you seem excited about the topic.” Mark eagerly jumped up to join the conversation.
“Mark, Jeysh il Mahdi [the Mahdi army], what's their story?” Mark replied, “The Mahdi army? Oh, it is run by our good friend Muqtada Al Sadr in the Sadr City district of Baghdad. I love those guys!” I sneered at Mark and said, “You love the Mahdi army? The same guys who are causing many of the problems in Iraq?” Mark retorted, “Problems? Man, those guys kick ass. In my neighborhood in Baghdad they are the only reason my family is still alive! They walk around my neighborhood and make sure no Sunni or other troublemakers are in the region. If someone from outside the local area is in town and can't explain why they are there they are shot.”
I immediately asked, “Well, what happens if I just want to hang out or check out your neighborhood.” Mark replied, “Jamal, there is no âhanging out' in Baghdad these days. Anyone who says they are just visiting is a terrorist.”
The talk of militias got me thinking: How many of our
jundi
on leave go back home to moonlight as militia members? Are we simply training the Mahdi army? I asked Mark, “Dude, what percentage of our battalion is Mahdi army or part of a militia? I see Muqtada Al Sadr pictures on the
jundi
's cell phones all the time.” He responded, “Well, I do not know the exact portion, but my guess is there are many. I have spoken extensively with Qatan, Sermen, Ayad, and Badr on the subject and its seems the general assessment is that at least half of our battalion probably moonlights in a Shia militia when they go home on vacation.”
I retorted, “Mark, there is no way, man.” He replied, “Jamal, there is a wayâthink about it. You are a young military man, strong, trained, and so forth. How can you not join a militia when you get home? Your family and tribe would be ashamed if you did not help the local militia. You think it is coincidence that all the militia members on television look just like
jundi
in civilian clothes?” Defeated, I replied, “Yeah, you are right. I guess I just haven't connected the dots until now.”
Mark continued to describe the militias. His basic point was that the militias did a good thing for the communities because they provided
security and kept outsiders from causing problems in the neighborhood. In effect, they were the neighborhood watch with AK-47s and RPGs.
After gaining insight into why the militias were so revered by the people in Iraq, I understood why it would be difficult to get rid of them. From the local Iraqi perspective, when the central government told the militias they needed to disband, they were effectively telling the local citizens that they were taking away their security and letting them be slaughtered. The central government's claim was that the Iraqi security forces would take care of the job, but this was nonsense or the militias wouldn't have been needed in the first place. It appeared that part of the final solution in Iraq would involve accepting militias in Iraq.
Somehow our conversation started with why Iraqis are lazy, moved to militias, and ended up on the discussion of oil. Whoever coined the phrase “It's all about oil in the Middle East” was a genius. It is all about oil. Mark, unlike other Iraqis, spoke about oil in a positive light. “Jamal, we have the ability to produce three million barrels of oil a day and have over one hundred billion barrels in the ground,” he told me. “If we can produce three million barrels a day, 333 days a year, we are pumping out one billion barrels a year. If oil stands at eighty dollars a barrel, that equates to eighty billion dollars in revenue a year for Iraq.” He explained further. “Let's say it costs twenty dollars a barrel to get it out of the ground. In the end, Iraq has sixty billion dollars in profit. Iraq only has a population of around twenty-three million these days. What this means is that we could pay every single Iraqi almost thirty-five hundred dollars per year. It is insane that we continue to fight and bicker.”
“Dude,” I said, “that is insane. These
jundi
make four thousand dollars a year [outstanding pay in Iraq] and their life sucks. Now tell me this, are you saying that if everyone in Iraq just stopped fighting, went to their homes, and engaged in a national oil effort they could double the average Iraqis wage [perhaps two thousand dollars a year]?” Mark replied, “That is exactly what I'm saying. Pretty crazy isn't it? The problem is I'm a Kurd. We understand this logic. The Arabs, not so much. They will never trust each other to do something like this.”
Regrettably, I think Mark's assessment is correct. In the midst of everyone trying to get their fair share, they will forget to share.
Iraqi Bloodlust
There are no days off in Iraq. Some 122-mm mortars hit the Iraqi army side of the Barwana FOB on one of our supposed days off, liquidating one
jundi
and mutilating another. We were immediately dispatched to retrieve the body and calm the
jundi
at the Barwana FOB. We mounted the trucks and prepped our gear.
I was furious that the insurgents had killed the
jundi
, but my anger was contained. In contrast the
jundi
were hell-bent on revenge. On the trip to Barwana they engaged two vehicles because they “looked suspicious.” In both cases it was obvious the
jundi
were acting out of character. Normally they respected civilians and granted them the benefit of the doubt, but when they were wired, everyone was an insurgent and deserved death.
The return trip home was no less heated. Immediately after loading the angels into the Kraz and exiting friendly lines at the Barwana FOB, radio traffic spewed over the Iraqi net: “We are taking fire.” The Iraqis quickly engaged a vehicle on the side of the road. Doc, the world-class Navy corpsman he is, lunged from the side door of our Humvee as it was still rolling to a stop and sprinted to the scene to administer first aid. The
jundi
had fired indiscriminately into a vehicle and three rounds had shredded an older man's legs. Despite the patient's profuse bleeding, Doc promptly stabilized the civilian and saved his life.
The event happened so quickly it was hard to decipher the situation. Luckily, at the time of the incident another group of Marines were watching over the scene. The squad leader radioed to our truck, “Shadow, what the hell are your Iraqis doing? The lead Humvee just started firing on a vehicle.” Major Gaines replied, “They told us they were being fired upon.” The Marine on the hook responded, “Negative, Shadow. They fired at vehicles on the west side of the road with civilians. Unprovoked. We've been watching the entire incident.”
I looked at Gaines. “Sir, these guys are insane.” Gaines nodded in agreement and replied on the radio, “Roger, we'll address the issue with the
jundi
when we arrive to Camp Ali. Report the incident as you saw it to your higher headquarters. Sorry about the mix up.”
We did a quick turnover with the Marines on location and forced the
jundi
to get out of the scene. At this point they were just loose, loaded cannons on the road. The longer we had them outside the wire in an emotional state, the better chance we had at landing a headline on the CNN nightly news.
As if the Iraqis hadn't caused enough chaos on the convoy, the excitement continued. While on Route Raptors, a military-only route along Lake Qadisiyah, the convoy came to an abrupt halt. Before I knew it the
jundi
were on their feet chasing down a vehicle. By the time we got to the scene the
jundi
had five young Iraqi males lying flat on the desert floor with their hands tied behind their backs. I addressed the situation with Captain Natham, the convoy commander. “NaQeeb Natham, Shaku Maku? Leysh nugof hinah?” (Captain Natham, what's going on? Why did we stop here?) He responded irrationally. He and the
jundi
felt these kids were responsible for firing the 122-mm into the Barwana FOB. In my mind these kids were obviously a group of brothers who had been fishing throughout the day and were on their way home. Nevertheless, after a long discussion it was determined that the young men would be taken back to Camp Ali for further interrogation. We were completely against the idea, but sticking to the adviser code we let the
jundi
carry on with their actions.
Upon our arrival to Camp Ali the intensity and emotions were electric. The battalion mosque was playing martyr music over the loudspeakers and everyone in the camp came to see what was left of the bodies. I looked at Staff Sergeant Haislip and said, “Good God. I didn't even know this many
jundi
existed on the camp!” Amid the mourning I was tasked with transferring the innocent detainees to the detainee questioning area. This was not a trivial task, as we had to wade through a hundred revenge-minded
jundi
who needed a scapegoat for their anger. We gingerly made our way through the traffic. Without my presence I'm sure the detainees would have been beaten on the spot.